I pushed back from the table so suddenly, the chair toppled over in my haste to get away. But there was no getting away from this. I might not remember the last eight years, but I remembered her. I recalled the delicate features of her face—high cheekbones, a kissable mouth I still ached to taste, and the sensual tones of her voice. Her image burned in my brain, as if I’d seen her just yesterday, and in a way, I had. My last memory of Alex wasn’t from eight years ago; it was from a few weeks ago.

Turning my back to Jax, I propped my good arm against the counter and hung my head. Closed my eyes. Focused so intently, I gave myself a headache that rivaled the throb in my shoulder.

Nothing.

Just an empty vault where eight years of memories should reside. No matter what Jax said, I doubted my innocence. I couldn’t believe I’d force myself on her, but she was…she’d been underage, and I wanted her with an uncontrollable urge so sharp, it sliced me up every time I got within ten feet of her.

I held that secret close. No one knew, except for maybe Alex herself. I gave a slight jerk of my head. I still hadn’t reconciled the shift in time. Then. Now. It confused the heck out of me.

“You okay?” Jax asked.

I clenched my jaw. “Yeah.”

She had to have known how I felt, especially considering the way we’d gravitated toward each other, orbiting with a forbidden vibe. How we’d pounced on every chance to banter and tease. Those intense glances she’d sent my way were too familiar. They’d imparted the same need I’d kept hidden since the day I noticed her as more than a child…more than the kid sister of my best friend.

No. Impossible. I wouldn’t have done that, no matter how much I’d wanted to.

“You don’t seem okay.”

Was I okay? I had no fucking clue. I turned around. “What kind of ‘fucked up shit’ did I do?”

Jax hesitated, only for a moment, but it was long enough to make me squirm. “Maybe you should take a peek in the cellar.”

“What the fuck does that have to do with any of this?”

He rose, scooting the chair back in a grating manner, and chugged the rest of his beer. He glanced at mine, still untouched on the table, and lifted a brow. But he didn’t say anything about my aversion to drinking the day away. “Come see for yourself.”

It felt odd to follow someone else in Dad’s cabin, but I didn’t complain as he led the way to the cellar door. He pulled it open and switched on the light. We descended the stairs, and upon first sight of a cage that closely resembled a prison cell, my mouth dropped open.