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Just as she said…
There was an accident. A drunk driver smashed into their car, killing Paul and Lea instantly and putting a teenaged Taylor into the ICU with severe brain trauma.
A week later, she was brought out of a medically induced coma and diagnosed with retrograde amnesia, remembering nothing about her life, her parents, or who she was.
My jaw tightens, and anger I don’t quite understand surges inside.
She wasn’t lying. Everything she said really did happen. The living in DC. The parents. The car accident.
All of it.
And yet, when you pull on a string, you don’t stop pulling at the first resistance you get.
At least, I don’t. I keep fucking yanking. And in Taylor’s case, that’s where things start to get interesting, according to what Dimitri’s sent me.
Yes, her parents were real people, who really did die in a car crash, and have official death reports.
The problem is, that’s all there is.
There’s not a single other record of them in the system. No mortgage, bank accounts or employment records. Not even social security numbers on their death certificates.
Nothing.
They’re fucking ghosts. But they’re ghosts with a daughter who has a record naming her “Taylor Crown”.
I, however, have a marriage certificate naming her Annika Brancovich. Whose body I saw.
…Or did I.
What I actually saw was a charred, almost unrecognizable corpse. I assumed it was her, because who the fuck else would it have been?
Clearly, I was wrong.
I frown, drumming my fingers on the edge of the desk before I pull up the cameras to her room. She’s not in the bedroom. She’s in the bathroom, sitting in the tub with her arms wrapped around her knees and her cheek lying on them, staring at the wall.
She has to be Annika. She is Annika.
If not, who the fuck is she?
17
TAYLOR
My second day as Drazen’s prisoner, I wake up starving.
And naked.
The hunger is because I haven’t eaten anything since the tray of food Yaelle and Milos brought yesterday morning, before I tried to plot my escape.
An escape I now know won’t happen.
The nakedness, though…
My face burns as I feel my own nudity under the sheets of the sumptuous bed. That’s because of what happened last night.
When he chased me, caught me, threw me to the ground, and buried me in the most hardcore exploration of my darkest fantasy I could have ever imagined. Harder than anything I have imagined, actually.
The roughness. The viciousness of it. The raw lust and violence.
