Page 225 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

Am I Phoenix’s lover?

Am I a runaway, a killer, a monster, a mistake?

“The last thing I remember really clearly,” I continue in a low, hollow voice, “is my fourteenth birthday. A few snippets here and there. My best friend getting married. Feeling lonely, isolated. A job I can’t remember very well. But the rest of it… it’s all blurry. It makes my head hurt just trying to think about it.”

His eyes narrow. “And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“It’s the truth.”

“What would you know about the truth?”

He’s being purposefully cruel. But I have no retort. No leg to stand on.

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I can’t remember anything.”

“You don’t remember attacking him?” he asks.

“No.”

“You don’t remember putting on the wedding dress?”

“No.”

He leans forward and grabs my arm. His fingers are sticky with Anna’s blood but he seems not to even notice. He pulls me upright, towards him. My body hits his chest with a dull slam and I ripple with anxiety.

He’s so beautiful. Is it twisted that even now, even when he’s leering over me threateningly, even when I’m fully aware that this man could be my end…

I still can’t quite extinguish my feelings for him?

“Please, Phoenix,” I beg, hoping he can see past my flaws, my sins. “Please believe me. I don’t remember.”

“Liar.”

“It’s true. The memories are gone.”

“No memory is ever gone. You can’t remember because you don’t want to.”

His voice, his eyes, his grip—it’s all meant to hurt me.

It’s working.

I shake my head. “I’ve tried to remember.”

“Have you, though?”

Maybe he’s right. I didn’t try to remember. In fact, I tried actively to forget. Because I knew I wouldn’t like the revelations those memories would unveil. I wanted a fresh start, and I didn’t think I could attempt one without putting all that ugliness behind me.

“Phoenix,” I sob. “Please…”

He flings me back onto the sofa. I cry out as I collapse into it and the wind is knocked out of my lungs.

“Tell me.”

“Please stop…”

“Tell me!”

He hasn’t hit me but it feels that way. His voice is a whip, flaying me open again and again and again.

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