Chapter 7
He hung up.
The pain shot through me like fire.
I bit my lip so hard it bled.
I didn’t even have the energy to be angry anymore-I was too busy trying not to pass out.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing?!”
I yelled as the redhead suddenly picked me up bridal-style and carried me to his bike.
I slapped my hand on the handlebars, trying to protest, but then met his eyes.
They dropped to my stomach-he knew.
I was in no shape to argue.
“Relax. Human trafficking’s not really my thing,” he deadpanned.
I scowled.
“I’m just worried the cops will ticket you. I really don’t want a-”
Before I could finish, he hit the gas.
The engine roared, and we shot off like a bullet.
I grabbed onto his waist in terror.
Under my arms, I felt the lean muscle of someone who definitely didn’t spend his nights editing travel photos in bed.
His abs tensed-and then he laughed.
Low and warm. The sound vibrated straight through me.
My face burned.
After dropping me off at the hospital and making sure I was taken care of, he vanished.
Didn’t leave a name.
No number. Nothing.
“What a weird guy,” I muttered to myself.
Late that night, just as I was drifting off, Daniel finally showed up.
He dropped to his knees beside my bed, grabbing my hand like he was the heartbroken hero of some crappy romance movie.
“Lauren, I’m so sorry. Are you still in pain? I should’ve come sooner.”
His arrival startled me so bad, the nausea came rushing back.
“What are you doing here?”
“You can’t take care of yourself like this!”
“Jessica’s case was serious-if anything happened to her, my whole team could’ve been sued.”
19-19
Taking Amnesia to Dump His Dying Wife? Challenge Accented!
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Chapter 7
“I had to be there.”
Sure. That sounded rational.
But I wasn’t in the mood for logic.
I was already planning how to end this engagement without setting both our families on fire.
“I need to use the bathroom.”
He hurried over and let me lean on him as I got up.
But the second my hand touched his abs, I had a flashback-to that biker’s solid torso.
God. No comparison. Daniel was all soft edges and cheap cologne.
Then the bathroom door swung open.
The red-haired guy stood there holding a bag of hot soup.
Daniel bristled.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Oops. Wrong room.”
The guy didn’t flinch. No expression. No hesitation.
He pulled the door shut and walked away like nothing happened.
Inside, I noticed he’d changed clothes.
He smelled faintly like lemon-not the scent of any body wash we kept at home.
“You coming in?” I asked.
“Yeah. Almost pissed myself getting here.”
He unbuckled his belt-and I realized he wasn’t even wearing the boxers I packed for him yesterday.
Okay, Sure. Maybe he borrowed a hoodie from a friend.
But who lends out underwear?
That was the moment I knew.
Once I got discharged, I started keeping tabs on him.
The wedding was weeks away. Everything was already planned.
If I was going to call this off, I’d need real proof.
And closure.
For both of us.
For the three years I wasted.
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