“Hey, it will be okay.”
“Will it?” he roared. “Because I’m at the end of my fucking rope, Cleo. I can’t … I can’t stay here anymore. I need to be doing something. I can’t keep letting Mo and Hopper run my last plan for vengeance.”
Standing, he hit a key that blanked out the screens and stormed to the door.
“Wait! Where are you going?”
Spinning around, he snapped, “I’m done wasting time. We’re going to Pure Corruption.”
Grasshopper looked up from a ledger as Arthur barged into the common room with my hand clasped in his, dragging me in his wake. The main space at Pure Corruption was quiet and welcoming, its polished floorboards and spotlessly clean surfaces so different to Dagger Rose’s filth.
Grasshopper beamed. “If it isn’t the prez and his old lady.”
Arthur threw him a look.
The coolness of the room was welcome after the heat of the late afternoon sunshine. My retinas still had imprints of tire scuffs and slick oil stains from the bright concrete outside Pure Corruption.
Brushing down my jeans and white T-shirt, I gave up trying to hide the dampness of my skin or the sheen of sweat. I missed my maxi dress, but it wasn’t exactly the most practical thing to wear on a motorbike.
I tried to untangle my fingers from Arthur’s calloused ones. The bike ride here and the bristling tension between us was enough for me to need some space.
After I managed to get free, Arthur threw me a quizzical glance before marching toward Grasshopper and sitting gingerly in a black single-seater beside him. “I need some fucking action, Hopper.”
Inching away, I beelined for the blown-up magazine covers on the wall. The high-resolution pictures of the man I loved glared down from their pedestals.
Arthur today looked nothing like yesterday’s smooth, sexy, corporate man who’d been primed and photographed.
The subtle backgrounds of the magazines harmonized the juxtaposition of shadowy president with vibrant accents. He looked like an underworld emperor reigning over his lowly minions.
My eyes trailed over the one of him in a tailored suit.
I’ve never seen him dressed that way.
My heart flurried at the thought.
To run my hands over the silk of a freshly laundered shirt. To coyly remove the cuff links from his wrists before helping him shrug out of the expensive material.
Yes, I would like to see him in a suit.
My mind skipped back to when I’d first arrived. He’d blindfolded me with his tie. He’d trussed me up and took me from behind.
A cocktail of jealousy and nostalgia wedged like a pebble in my tummy. I never got to see him develop from boy to man. Would I be lucky enough to be there while he grew from vengeful to peaceful?
God, I hope so.
Grasshopper and Arthur mumbled too low for me to hear. I let them talk. There was no point interrupting when I had nothing to offer or contribute. They would kill Rubix and Asus. And I didn’t object to that plan, but the thought of full-on war frightened me tremendously. Arthur’s love for me might be immortal but he was still dangerously human.
His name is Kill. And in return, he’s killable.
I had no intention of losing him a second time.
I continued gazing at the covers until Grasshopper stood up and clapped his hands. “I’ll arrange it. Leave it with me.”
Arthur nodded, running his fingers through his hair.
The silence was like diesel-laced smog, stinking up the room. Unable to stand the murky thoughts or horrible conclusions of what Arthur and his men would embark on over the next few weeks, I said, “I want to know why you’re in the Wall Street Journal and the Times.”
Art’s head snapped up. The same pain he’d had in his eyes for days glowed bright. Heaving himself out of the chair, he came toward me. His black jeans and T-shirt silhouetted his figure while the brown leather cut glittered with the silver thread of their MC. “It was a way to get my name out there. Wallstreet’s idea. Definitely not mine.”
Grasshopper followed, pointing at the magazine picture of Arthur sitting behind his desk, glaring at the camera. “That one was taken the morning he surpassed five million—all earned from trading the FX market.”
My eyes snapped to Arthur. “Five million?”
Arthur frowned, glowering at the collage of triumphs and downfalls decorating his Clubhouse. “It was the beginning of everything. With money came power and with power came freedom.” Forgetting where he was—or perhaps not caring—he hesitantly wrapped his arms around my waist, hugging me close. The tension of our mini-fight finally dispersed like raindrops on a hot road. “I’m sorry.”
Grasshopper kindly gave us some space, drifting away and texting furiously on his phone.
I leaned into Arthur, hugging his forearm around my middle. “Me too.”
“I don’t want you to worry, Cleo. Whatever is going on inside me will get better. I just need to know you won’t hate me while waiting for me to heal.”
I flinched. “You think I could do that?”
He shook his head. “The way I’m feeling right now, I keep fearing you’ll be gone when I wake, or realize what a liability I am and break my heart.” His voice dropped to a tortured strangle. “No matter what you say, I live with the memory of what I did to your parents every goddamn day. I’m worthless and selfish and so damn thoughtless.”
My chest throbbed.
“I’ve sent the message. The Club will rally. Told them to get their asses here in thirty minutes,” Grasshopper announced, dimming his phone and returning with his gaze pensive and full of planning. He looked between us, sensing unfinished business but in a way, I was glad he’d interrupted.