Page 2 of Mangled Memory
“Ayla!”
2
wrapped in anguish
Ayla
I have the mother of all headaches and the beeping noise on the alarm clock might as well be nails piercing my temples.
“Make that stop.”
My hand is squeezed on one side and from the other I hear my name. “Ayla.” The tone is wrong.
Why would people be in my bedroom? God, what did I drink last night?
I open my eyes, immediately squeezing them shut against the lights. “Worst hangover ever.”
The chuckle that meets my ears is countered on my other side by a gasp and a hand squeeze that borders on painful.
“Ayla-girl, that’s no hangover, but glad you’re back.” Liam. God, I love him. It’s been too long since I’ve seen my brother.
Cracking my eyes open, I turn from his beautiful, ruddy-bearded face straight into the eyes of… a tall drink of water. Scary, dark, and gorgeous. He’s who holds my hand—the unknown man with an unknown face. I study him. High cheek bones look to be chiseled in stone. He has a jaw that could cut glass, and his rich, olive skin holds dark stubble that accentuates the hollows of his cheeks. His eyes are piercing and nearly black like his hair. He is all angles and planes, shadow upon shadow, both striking and forbidding.
I look to our joined hands before returning my gaze to Liam. “Who’s this?” I lift the hand joined to the beautiful man. “And why am I here? Speaking of… Where am I?”
Liam turns to the stranger, his mouth popping open like fish, before closing it and turning back to me. “Ayla-girl.” He pauses for too many beats. “Christian’s your husband. Do you— I mean… What do you remember?”
Husband? What husband?
I don’t need to say anything because the beeping becomes a symphony of the macabre. Saved by the painfully shrill bells as the cacophony of beeps swells like a crescendo with my panic.
I try to lift both hands to cover my ears as I squeeze my eyes shut. Pinching in my hand tells me this is a bad idea. I open my eyes to see what I feel—IV tubes, waxy skin, and a hospital bracelet with the nameAyla Baroneprinted on it.
Ayla Barone.
Barone.
Black spots swim in my vision. The corners tunnel. A roar mounts in my ears, and I fight. I fight the nausea that bubbles up in my gut, threatening to expel its contents. No fight is enough, and my stomach releases yellow bile and sour vomit dangerously near the handsome man I do not recognize. I fight my body’s betrayal and wish I could sink into oblivion. Instead, I fight the panic that seizes me, nearly freezing me in place as the world rocks uncontrollably.
Medical staff swarms.
My head throbs.
My mind whirls as the two men stare back at me in utter confusion.
I’ve had a few minutes of reprieve—that is, if I can call being poked and prodded, cleaned up, lights flashing into my pupils, and more doctors and nurses in my face than I’ve been able to count, a reprieve—since Liam acted as a wrecking ball, and physically removed my husband from my room.
My husband.
On one hand, go me. That man has got to be the most beautiful specimen on the planet. On the other, what in the ever-loving hell? Who is he? What’s he like? Is he kind to me or is hecruel? But most importantly, at this moment, why don’t I recognize him?
I don’t have any more time to panic as he bursts into the room with my brother right behind him.
Liam, head nearly shaved bald, unruly rust-colored beard covering his baby face, solid build that would never be underestimated in a fight, looks around Christian’s back. “Ma and Dad are on their way. Ci will be here as soon as he can. I’m going to give you a moment.”
“No!” I extend a hand like he’s a lifeline.
Liam’s jaw goes tight as he and Christian Barone exchange a glance. The tall man drops his chin once before he moves around the bed to my side. Liam leans against the wall by the door, propping a black booted foot behind him, and pulls out his phone, tattooed fingers tapping away on the screen. I guess I’m getting my way.
