Breaking Hailey: Chapter 13

The door to my room bursts open making me damn near jump out of my skin. For the past hour I was on the Orient Express, searching for clues with Detective Poirot, wondering who murdered Daisy. My heart jackhammers and the book slips out of my grasp, face-palming the floor with a heartbreaking thud.

I swear, if a single page is damaged, Chloe will pay.

Dolled up to perfection, her winged eyeliner perfectly even and her hair in beach waves, she stops by the loveseat, hands akimbo, one hip jutting to the side.

“Well, look what we have here. Little Miss Slumber Party.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief. “It’s nine in the evening, grandma. What are you doing in bed?”

“Is knocking like so two years ago?”

She snorts a laugh, bouncing her eyebrows. “Making fun of your hard drive failing? Nice. I approve. Now, out of those.” She flicks a dismissive hand at my PJs. “Like, yesterday. There’s a party happening tonight across the lake.”

“A party?” I echo, my brows furrowing. “Really? The dean made it sound like anything other than studying might be punishable by death.”

Chloe shrugs, rummaging through my closet. “She makes a show, acting all strict for the parents. If we keep our grades up and don’t do anything too crazy, F doesn’t give a flying fuck what we do after classes.”

I guess F is the dean. Dr. F. Harrison. Felicity? Freya?

Who knows, she didn’t mention her first name when we met.

“What about Dear Melinda?” I ask, recalling the robotic woman chastising two freshmen in the cafeteria this morning after spotting them with energy drinks.

“Dear Melinda? Oh, you mean F’s stick-up-her-ass assistant. Don’t worry about her. She’s only uptight during working hours.” She flicks through my hangers, dismissing one outfit after another. “Rumor has it, she woke up on a boat in the middle of the lake after last year’s graduation party.” She finally smiles and turns, hurling a jean pinafore dress at me, followed by a white, long-sleeve tee. “Seriously, Hailey, you need to change. Get moving!”

She carries on sifting through my clothes, holding some up for inspection before hanging them back. I lock myself in the bathroom, glad the dress is front zip, so it’ll be easier to put on.

I don’t know what altered my style so drastically and, as I stare at my reflection in the long mirror, I miss the clothes I hid behind for years. My style now is ninety percent dresses and skirts. Casual, cute, colorful, girly.

A far cry from what I used to love.

“You don’t have eyeliner, girl,” Chloe mumbles, barging into the bathroom. “Have you been living under a rock?”

“Possibly.” I tap my head, reminding her I have no idea.

She flips her tiny purse open, pulling out a black pen that must be the eyeliner she’s been hoping to find among my stage makeup collection. Its sole purpose is covering scars and bruises… eyeliner won’t do that.

With a huff, Chloe drags the desk chair into the bathroom, sits me down and starts arranging my hair into two French braids before moving onto makeup.

By the time she’s done, I no longer look as if I’ve been left for dead in the woods. My lips are peachy, eyes pop thanks to the winged, symmetrical lines drawn on my eyelids, and the dark patches are hidden under concealer.

“Okay, come on,” she urges, helping me slip into the sling. “Jensen’s waiting for us.”

Oh joy.

It’s not that I don’t like Jensen, I’m simply not a fan of his obnoxious attitude and lack of filter.

The party’s taking place in a derelict building on the other side of the lake, hidden behind a thick curtain of tall trees. It’s a twenty-minute stroll before we hear music and another five before what can only be described as a haunted house—requiring no decorations—comes into view.

From Jensen’s monologue on our way here, I gather that this place was a lab where doctors carried out unlicensed experiments on the patients.

Theater lights illuminate the weathered, stone façade and strobe lights pulse from the doorless entryway and glassless windows. At least half of the student body is in attendance, some inside, some outside, some squealing nearby, interspersed with occasional water splashes.

Late-night swimming with this amount of booze around doesn’t strike me as a good idea.

The stench of beer and sweat mingles with the scent of the forest as we step inside, rubble crunching under our feet. Goosebumps rise on my skin as I take in the old, rusty equipment scattered around and the bare, damp walls.

Chairs with leather straps that must’ve been used to immobilize patients now serve as party props. A bulky guy sits in one, his wrists and ankles bound, head thrown back while another guy near-drowns him by pouring a pitcher of beer into his open mouth.

Wheelchairs are used for impromptu races down a long corridor to my right and old medication carts stacked with bottles of spirits instead of pills roll every which way, pushed from one person to the next.

Metal tables once filled with medical instruments now line the grand entrance hall, bending under the weight of alcohol and tall towers of red solo cups.

There’s even a DJ set up in the corner, the booth a repurposed electroshock therapy machine, but the console professional and modern.

Bass shakes the fragile, twelve-decade old walls, but no one pays attention to the dust scattering all around from people jumping to the beat upstairs.

It’s chaotic, a little wild, and a lot creepy.

It’s also not my scene. Although, that’s up for debate. Who knows what my scene is now? Not me.

A red solo cup is thrust into the hand dangling from my sling, the other wrist encased by warm fingers pulling me toward the dancing crowd.

“Dibs!” Jensen shouts. “Let’s have some fun!”

He doesn’t give me enough time to use my shoulder as an excuse. It’s not that sore today but I’m not feeling this music. I’m also not feeling him or the way he ogled me the whole trek here.

Still, I’m not about to be a buzzkill. As intimidating as having friends is, it’s nice. I take a deep breath, letting him drag me into the whirlwind of dancers in the middle of the room. The dance students are easy to spot, shining like beacons, their moves flawless.

I down half the cup’s contents for courage.

“Relax, babe,” Jensen yells over “Nicotine” by Panic! At the Disco, his arms around my waist, head dipping enough that his warm breath tickles my ear. “You look so hot tonight. I love those on you.” He pulls my braids, his touch too intimate as he ghosts his fingertips along the nape of my neck, leaning in to speak in my ear. “You’re not like other girls,” he breathes, spewing the cheapest pickup line known to mankind. “You’re… different. Special.”

I catch myself before I roll my eyes, and in the next breath, his words sink, hitting harder than a kick to my stomach. They resonate inside my head, resurfacing almost word for word from somewhere deep in my subconscious.

The voice grows louder and louder but doesn’t match Jensen. No, this voice is different, lower.

It makes me feel cold.

Melancholic.

Frightened.

I gasp, stumbling back as a memory kidnaps me from here and now. The music fades, people blur, and I focus solely on what’s happening in my head.

I’m in a room I don’t recognize.

A man in a black t-shirt and blue jeans, his back to me, sandy-blonde, wavy hair curling behind his ears.

“She’s not like other girls,” he says.

His hands ball into tight fists at his sides before he sends one flying into the wall. The same flavor of fear that had me sprinting from the cafeteria yesterday ensnares my frame.

“She’s different. Special. Can’t you fucking understand? I didn’t plan this, Hailey. It just happened!”

My brain jams up, refusing to show me more. I clutch my throat, almost doubling over to hurl because I’m so dizzy… and at the same time, relieved.

I got a memory back.

Incomplete, a tiny fragment, but a memory nonetheless. And that means not all is lost.

“Hailey, you okay?” Jensen grabs my shoulder. He’s not standing in front of me anymore and I swear that’s where he was before the flashback hit.

My throat constricts as I spin, realizing that we’re no longer on the busy, makeshift dance floor, but in the wheelchair-race corridor.

How did I get here?

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? You’re fucking see-through.”

“I-I’m fine, I just…” I pause, staring into the distance and wondering what the hell just happened. “I need fresh air.”

Jensen smooths the frown marring his forehead, nodding once. “Yeah, sure. Need company?”

“N-no. I mean, I’m okay. I won’t be long.” I nod at the half-empty cup he gave me earlier. “Get me a fresh beer, please.”

His face falls, sculpting his disappointment, but he catches himself fast, curving his lips into a smile. “Sure thing. I’ll be here when you get back. Come find me.”

I turn away. Those blonde, wavy hairs curling behind the ears of the man in my memory stay at the forefront of my mind as I leave the building. My heart rate is too fast for comfort, but cool evening air flirts with my skin, easing the pain throbbing in my temples.

The music fades along with the overpowering stench of sweat, giving way to the freshness of the lake the further away I get.

With every next step, my pulse subsides and I let out a sigh of relief. I’ve never been a party girl. Looks like that hasn’t changed… which makes my new style even more confusing.

Why would I swap jeans for dresses if I don’t feel comfortable at parties?

A beaten path takes me to a small, secluded beach—occupied by a group in their underwear.

The shoreline is overgrown with clusters of reeds and cattails swaying with the evening breeze. Tall willows completely close off access to the water almost everywhere else, but I keep walking until I come across a boat platform. It’s far enough from the party that the music is a distant hum. Hopefully far enough that Jensen won’t follow.

Taking a few wary steps to test the planks, I walk across, taking a seat at the edge, my feet dangling inches over the calm water, not a soul in sight.

Perfect.

I kept to myself in high school: no friends, and no boyfriend. I’d expect the same story for the two years I lost, but the man in my memory comes back, his broad shoulders, blond hair, the words he spoke, the tightness gripping my throat… I think he was important to me.

I cared about him.

My stomach ties itself into knots so elaborate I feel sick. Where is he? Who is he? Is he looking for me? Is he worried?

Why would I be scared of him?

I set my red solo cup aside, my eyebrows knotting in the middle when I spot a six-pack of beer by a stack of clothes. One bottle is notably missing…

I glance around then scan the calm lake, but it seems I’m alone. Someone must’ve left the beer and forgotten all about it. I’m sure it’ll be dearly missed. Just as the trousers and… boxers.

There’s a naked man here somewhere.

I smirk, raising the cup halfway to my lips, freezing mid-motion when a soft splash sends my heart soaring.

A head breaks the surface of the lake, then neck, shoulders, and a muscular, tattooed chest that would make Michelangelo weep. Low and behold, the Brute stands less than ten feet away, water cascading down his inked skin.

A cold sneer seizes his features and dark, ominous eyes once again scorch a slow path from my head down to my sneakers.

His name would come in useful right about now. I doubt he’d appreciate hey, Brute, and I’m not in the right headspace for verbal scuffles.

“Sorry,” I say, bracing my hand against the cool wood to haul myself up.

How can he boil my blood so fast? I’ve gone from confused and a little melancholic about the bizarre memory to mindlessly battle-ready in less than a second.

“It’s not that hard to mean an apology, is it?” he retorts, getting closer with each slow stride that sends bow waves across the lake.

The water moves around him as more of his torso resurfaces. I can’t make out the tattoos across his chest, stomach, and ribs in the pale moonlight, but whatever they are, they suit him.

Ink suits him, adding a few points to his insidious aura and many more points to his hotness.

His sudden proximity sends my pulse racing. Not just in fear… there’s more to this emotion. Something heavy and loaded. Something exciting…

A hot flush burns my cheeks when he takes another step, the V of his abdomen on display, and I’m painfully aware he’s buck naked… and not far off flashing his dick.

“Stop!” I squeal, snatching his boxers off the pile.

I turn to throw them, but he’s closer now. He’s right there, almost between my legs.

Eye level with my knees.

And yet he still comes across as intimidating.

“What’s wrong?” he muses, grasping my wrist to take his boxers before I drop them in the lake. “Never seen a cock?”

Involuntarily, I look down. His cock is still underwater, barely an outline from my vantage point. I can’t judge the size considering how water distorts the image but—

“Cock?” I peer into his eyes, raising one eyebrow. “You sure you don’t mean a teenie weenie?”

A lazy smirk curls his lips, contrasting the menacing amusement lacing his tone. “It’s cold out here.”

“That’s what they all say.”

As if he’s out here to prove a point, or maybe mortify me beyond repair, he moves to my left. His muscles ripple, shifting beautifully under the tattoos as he grips the edge of the platform, effortlessly hauling himself out.

I do my best not to cover my eyes like a little girl. Instead, I stare straight ahead, careful not to let my gaze wander in case I turn my head and find myself face-to-weenie.

Too bad that no matter how hard I focus on the main asylum building on the other side of the lake, my peripheral vision is perfect and I see. Not entirely, but enough to know he’s well equipped. Too well.

“Brave of you to wander after dark,” he muses, the rustle of fabric telling me he’s covering himself up.

A shudder slips down my spine but it’s not unpleasant. My scalp tingles when he sits beside me, the aromatic smell of his cologne invading my senses.

I chance a glance at him, my muscles relaxing when I see he’s dressed from the waist down.

Still, his chest is in my face and… Well done, God.

You did good with this one. He’s hot.

He’s also dangerous. A man like him doesn’t belong here. Not just at college, but out in the world. There’s something so undeniably ruthless about him that a prison cell springs to mind. Titanium bars. Ten men with guns guarding his cell because any less couldn’t hold him.

I swallow hard, corralling my fantasies as our eyes lock. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you should be smarter, Hailey.” The emphasis he puts on my name makes my skin break out in hives. “I’d make sure I’m never alone if I were you.”

“Why is that?”

He leans back to grab two bottles, not gracing me with an answer.

Maybe I’m paranoid, but nothing in my new reality feels black or white. Everything is fucking gray.

I can’t navigate the world while simultaneously working out who I am and what I can’t remember. His words sound like a threat but… why would he threaten me? He doesn’t know me.

My instincts tell me I should be running. Brute is disturbing. Dark and menacing, but before I make a move, he leans into me, his face inches from mine.

“Smarter,” he reminds, tossing the contents of my solo cup into the lake.

“Hey! That was—”

“You forgot two years, didn’t you?” He pushes a beer bottle into my hand. “I doubt the next thing you want to forget is how to breathe. You never know what that…” He points at the solo cup, “…was spiked with.”

Now that sounds more like concern than a threat, but my brain’s already nitpicking, disassembling every word.

“And this?” I raise the beer bottle. “Roofied?”

“Kinky,” he huffs, the corner of his mouth twitching in an almost-smile. “It’s a sealed bottle. No drugs tonight, I’m afraid.”

I shove the beer into his hand, cocking an expectant brow. He doesn’t wait for instructions, popping the cap off with ease before he hands the bottle back.

Reckless. I’m so fucking reckless.

I should be far away from him by now. I should’ve left the moment his head emerged from the water, but… I’m curious. He tries to come across menacing. He definitely wants to scare me, and I want to know why.

“So…” I start peeling the label to keep my hands occupied. “Are you always this friendly?”

“You’re not used to guys not fawning over you?” he bites back, his tone icing the air between us. “Jensen will gladly worship at your altar.”

If there’s one thing I’m not used to then it’s male attention, but I won’t go down that road with him.

“Takes a man to understand the importance.”

“Wrong, pretty girl.” He presses the bottle to his lips while I calm my heartrate over that pretty girl comment.

I don’t remember anyone other than my parents ever calling me pretty.

“Men are predators, not lapdogs. We chase.”

There’s a spark in his eyes, a greedy glint that makes my skin prickle. My mouth opens and closes, the words failing to come. The image his sentence summons into my mind leaves me vulnerable and insanely thrilled.

Is this how he sees the world? A battleground of predators and prey? Is that how he sees me?

Why do you care?

I have no idea. I also have no idea why I’m so affected by his raw, unfiltered honesty.

His smirk deepens as he basks in my silence.

“Chase?” I echo, forcing a dismissive chuckle. “I’d say you’re more the club and drag type.”

He cocks an intrigued eyebrow.

God, his kaleidoscope of bad vibes is addictive. Egging him on could easily become my go-to source of entertainment.

“Careful, Hailey. You’re stepping on thin ice as it is.” He chugs whatever’s left in his bottle, reaching back for another. “If I must own the caveman comparison… what’s the point of the club if they come willingly?”

I grit my teeth when blazing heat crawls up my neck, flushing my cheeks. I refuse to let him see how his words affect me or show that he ruffled my composure. That, instead of fearing him, I’m burning up.

There’s still that undercurrent of danger licking my temples, but there’s something else now and, whatever it is, it’s loaded. Tension sparks between us, as electrifying as it is unnerving.

He’s beyond attractive. Hotter than hell and as far as I’m aware, no one quite like him ever took one look at me.

No one quite like him ever crossed my path. I doubt there’s anyone quite like him in the world.

“Well,” I counter, injecting confidence into my tone as I wave my good arm around, fighting for an upper hand in this game. “It doesn’t seem they’re flocking in droves.”

He leans back, eyes darkening ever so slightly as his heated gaze roams my body. “I prefer a challenge.”

Am I the challenge?

How did we get here? From threats to… I don’t even know what to call this. Flirting?

I don’t think so.

Whatever it is, it’s maddening and infuriating, but also so exciting there’s a wet patch of lace between my legs. My mind skips forward, imagining things that won’t ever happen…

His long fingers in my hair, his lips on mine, his tongue teasing and tasting, that big body pinning me down to show me heights of pleasure I never dreamt about.

I pinch my lips, meeting his gaze with a shred of calmness, but before words come, we both turn at the sound of footsteps.

“Hailey.” Jensen stops mid-step, his gaze faltering as it idles between me and… whatever the Brute’s name is. “I’ve been looking all over the place for you,” he adds slowly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, I was about to head back.” I push off the ground, eager to leave while I have the chance before I end up doing something I’ll regret.

Or worse… something I won’t.

But as I make the move, bracing my healthy arm against the wood, a vice-like grip cuffs my wrist, pulling me back.

“Nash,” the Brute offers, leaning in so only I hear him, his warm breath whispering against my ear. “You’re quick to judge my manners but you haven’t even asked my name.”

“Nash,” I repeat, steeling myself against the goosebump-raising shivers. “Can’t call it a pleasure. Now… I’d appreciate it if you’d let me go.”

Lies. Filthy lies. I don’t want him to let go, but I wrench my arm free, a surge of emotions battling within. Anger, confusion, pinching fear, and that undeniable, sparkling excitement.

“Alex! Don’t do it!” someone shouts in the distance, the plea followed by a loud splash.

I can’t focus on what else the hysterical girl nearby is yelling. The lake fades and I’m back in the same room I saw minutes ago when Jensen called me special. I’m back in the maze of my lost memories with the blond man.

The past rushes in, simultaneously mine and utterly foreign.

“Alex! Don’t do it!” comes again, but this time from me. I’m moving in the memory, rising from the bed.

Whose bed is that? Mine? His? I don’t know. I can’t see any details. The walls are a blur. Only the man before me—Alex—is sharp, as if I’m looking at him through a single-point focus lens.

He stands with his back to me again, the muscles of his squared shoulders coiling like a loaded spring, hands in fists.

He’s angry. Furious. Emotions radiate off him in warm waves and my heart gallops faster than a frightened horse.

“You can’t stop me,” he barks out, making me jerk back as he spins to face me, his features distorted.

“You’re going to get killed. Please… you need to stop, it isn’t worth—”

“She’s worth EVERYTHING!” he bellows, spit flying from his mouth.

I can make out blue eyes teeming with desperate rage. Bushy eyebrows bent in a deep frown that feels so familiar.

“Hailey.” Nash’s low voice breaks through the memory.

He wants my attention, but the past holds me captive. It’s too strong. I’m trapped in quicksand, sinking deeper and deeper, further away from reality.

“Fuck, Hailey!” Alex snaps, taking a few threatening steps forward. “You shouldn’t even know what I’m doing! We’re all fucking dead if I don’t finish the job! I’m trying to protect you too!”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” I say. I think I’m crying. “If… if you don’t drop this, I’ll tell Dad. You’re too involved with her, you—”

“You won’t!” he snarls, closing the distance between us. “You know that’ll get me off the case.” He grips my throat, digging his fingers so hard I start choking. “Breathe one fucking word to Charlie and I promise you’ll regret it.”

“Hailey!” Nash’s voice pierces the fog again. “Hey, look at me. You need to snap out of it.”

The urgency in his tone drags me half back to reality. The chilly evening air kisses my face but there’s more substance to Alex’s fingers circling my throat. I stare into his blue eyes, my heart triphammering against my ribs.

“I don’t love you, Hailey. Stop getting in the fucking middle.” Alex loosens his hold, then shoves me back, watching as I slide down the wall, coughing and pumping air into my lungs. “Stay the fuck out of this. I’m warning you.”

And with that he storms off, slamming the door shut, his footsteps thundering further and further away. I gather myself off the floor and take a step. Suddenly, the ground beneath my feet stops being so solid. The memory bursts like a bubble gum balloon. Reality rushes back and the world tilts.

I’m teetering on taking an unplanned dive into the cold lake when strong arms circle my waist, snapping me against a firm chest.

I’m dizzy, nauseous, shaking so hard my teeth clatter, but Nash’s rapid heartbeat and the heat of his body anchor me in the present. He holds me close, his warmth seeping into my skin as the remnants of my memory dissipate around us.

“You back yet?” he asks, waiting for me to nod. “What the fuck happened? You stepped off the platform like you were certain you could walk on water.”

I wiggle out of his embrace, still lightheaded as I touch the back of my hand to my forehead. I’m cool to the touch, cooler than the evening air. I feel pale.

“I… I remembered something…” I inhale a few deep breaths to regain some sense of balance. “My memories are returning.”

“Bad ones.” The hostility’s gone from his tone. He’s not asking, he’s stating the facts as if he had a front row seat to the flashback. I arch a brow at him so he’ll explain. “You scratched your neck. Looked like you were trying to get someone’s hands off you.”

My fingers fly to my throat, the scabs are gone, torn off, my skin raw and tender. I breathe a sigh of relief when I find my necklace is still there.

I’m almost certain it’s something my mother gave me, and I’d hate to lose it.

“It’s nothing…” I mutter. “I’m fine.”

His jaw tightens. “Didn’t look like nothing. You were beyond terrified, Hailey. What did you remember?”

My defenses shoot up faster than a camera shutter. Nash spent the past ten minutes weaving threats into the conversation, and now he’s acting concerned?

I’m not buying it.

I catch movement in the corner of my eye and remember Jensen’s still here, silent, his eyes flicking between us like he’s watching ping-pong.

“Thank you for catching me.” I take a cautious step from the edge—away from Nash.

Lacking better ideas for a quick getaway, I add “Goodnight”, and spin on my heel, not far off running toward Jensen.