Fated Lies (Lies #3) - Ella Miles Page 0,26

know I didn’t do this to you?”

She smiles. “Because you would never hurt me.”

“I’ve hurt you dozens of times. I’ve threatened to kill you. I would definitely hurt you.”

“Not like this.”

“Tell me what you remember,” I say. I need to know what happened. I need to know every detail so we can put the pieces together and hopefully find a way out of this.

She takes a deep breath, and I can sense how much it hurts her to just breathe. Although, she tries her best to hide her pain. She tries to hide her moan, her wince, her agony.

“Don’t hide how you feel from me. Please, I need to know so I can help you.”

“Help me move so I can look at you.”

I help her adjust in my lap so that I’m still holding her, but I can see her face. She doesn’t hide her moan this time. She lets it out.

It breaks me.

She notices my reaction, but we don’t speak about it. I’m not supposed to feel anything for her. I’m not supposed to care. And I can’t admit that I do, ever.

“What do you remember, huntress?”

I stroke her face, and she shivers, which makes her cough in pain.

I withdraw my hand from her face, resisting the urge to comfort her in case it might bring her more pain. But I keep holding her hand. I still haven’t let it go from the moment she was lowered back into our dungeon.

“I remember the gun being aimed down at us. I remember us both diving toward each other. I remember you being hit in the neck.” She reaches up and touches my neck, examining me for any injury.

“I’m fine. I was knocked unconscious while you were taken, but I awoke here and alone, with no injuries.”

Her hand runs down my neck to my arm, where I have some bruising, and she looks at me with an accusatory stare.

“I, um, I did everything I could to get to you. I tried climbing, digging, and even ramming myself into the wall to see if it would break.”

Her eyebrows drop, and her eyes narrow suspiciously. “You shouldn’t hurt yourself trying to save me.”

I shake my head. She still doesn’t understand that I would do anything to save her, even from myself.

“Tell me what else you remember.”

“I remember holding you as you fell unconscious, and then I remember the dart hitting me in my arm.”

I nod. “And then?”

She sits for a moment, staring off into space. “And then, nothing but black, coldness.”

“What about after you were lifted up?”

She shakes her head. “All I remember is darkness.”

“You don’t remember how you got these bruises?”

She thinks for a moment, like she should be able to remember, but from her blank expression, she doesn’t seem to have her memories yet.

“You don’t remember being questioned?”

She shakes her head.

“You don’t remember your attacker’s face?”

She shakes her head, and then her hand brushes over the bruises on her body. It’s one thing to be attacked and tortured. To be able to fight back. To try and defend yourself. To remember and plot your revenge. It’s another thing entirely to have your memory of that event taken from you.

I pull her tighter to me, trying my best not to hurt her as I hold her. Liesel was tortured and doesn’t remember. That kills me. It kills me that she went through something and didn’t even gain the benefit of learning who her attacker was.

And yet, I can’t help but think she could be lying to me. She might remember what happened to her, but it was so horrible she can’t bear to tell me. By lying, she’s trying to protect me.

Oh, my huntress, stop trying to protect me. We can’t protect each other. All we can do now is survive together.

12

Liesel

I don’t remember what happened after I was darted. According to Langston, I was taken out of the cell while Langston remained. When I awoke in the dungeon, I had bruising all over my torso like I was beaten for information, of which I have no recollection. I should examine how the rest of my body feels, but I’m too afraid to find that I’ve been violated in other ways without remembering.

Instead, I focus on how good it feels to be held in Langston’s arms. He’s been holding my hand since I awoke and hasn’t let it go. For now, I hope he never does.

We are two broken souls intertwining our bodies where our hands cling to one another. In a