The Triangle (Shape of Love #1)

They’re sworn enemies and I’m in the middle.
Both of them claimed me. Had me. Used me. Forgot me.
Except… I don’t remember any of it. I don’t even know who I am or why I’m in this cramped basement apartment with tinfoil covering the tiny windows when my bank account says I have over two million dollars.
I don’t know how I got the stitches on the back of my head, or the scar under my chin, or the ache in my shoulder—but I do know I probably deserved it.
I don’t know why there’s a shotgun in the closet, a sniper rifle under the floorboards, and a pistol under my pillow.
I don’t know why I stay.
I don’t know why I care.
I don’t know why I’m trying to put something back together when it was never whole to begin with.
Until I look at them.
Until they look at me.
Until I touch them.
Until they touch me.
And even though the memories don’t come back.
I know.
I know why I stay.