“Yes … I did.”
A squeal forced me to jerk the phone away from my ear. “Really? Oh, my God. That’s awesome!”
“His name is Arthur and I’ll introduce you once a few complications are ironed out.”
“Arthur? As in King Arthur of the Knights of the Round Table? Does he have Merlin conjuring spells for him by any chance?” Corrine snickered.
The picture of a wizened old man wrapped in mystique and secrecy was the exact summary of Wallstreet. I rolled my eyes. “Funny enough, he does have someone kind of like that.”
“Whoa, now I have to meet him.”
For a second, I wished I were back in England, curled up on the couch and sipping dirty martinis while plotting our future and fawning over ideals of future husbands. The only thing was, every trait I ever wished for in a future lover was everything Arthur was and had been in our youth.
“Oh, by the way, your case worker called last week. You forgot about the regular check-in.”
I slapped my forehead. “Shit.”
“I covered for you, but I don’t think she bought it. I’d call them if you don’t want some angry FBI dude chasing you down. Mom and Pop have been chatting with someone, too. They’re not happy that you upped and left. Going to have some explaining to do.”
“Thanks.” An awkward pause followed. There was so much to say and not enough time. Sighing, I said, “I have so much to tell you, Corrine, but I have to go.”
“Aww, that sucks. Just when it was getting juicy.” Her tone lost its joviality, sliding into serious. “Sarah … everything is okay … isn’t it?” A pregnant pause. “Do you remember—what happened to you, I mean? Do you know how you got the scars?”
I held my breath. How could she ever understand the world I’d been born into and the circumstances that forced me out of it? She was smart, sweet, and strong but so innocent at the same time.
“Yes. I did remember. I know how I was burned and I know who did it.”
“Are you safe? What can you tell me? Give me something—anything.”
Flicking through my revelations and problems, I decided on the issue raised thanks to Dagger Rose. “I inherited a large estate. But I can’t claim it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have to come back from the dead.”
A shiver ran down my spine. On paper I’d died years ago. How did one come back from the grave?
“What do you mean?” Corrine’s voice trembled.
“I mean my name isn’t Sarah, it’s Cleo. I’ve fallen back in love with the boy who stole my heart when we were young, and I’m about to help him end the man who killed my parents before trying to murder me.”
The silence was long and deafening.
When Corrine didn’t respond, I said, “You still there?”
Corrine said, “That’s a lot to dump on a girl.”
We didn’t speak for a while, finally Corrine whispered, “So my sister’s name is Cleo and she’s a ghost.”
Smoke and soot and sausages.
The scents shot up my nose, igniting hunger and welcoming me outside.
Corrine had understood when I said I truly had to go. She’d assured me she would let her parents know I was safe and I promised I’d call again soon. I meant what I said about taking Arthur to visit them. My foster family could never replace my real parents but they’d been so good to me and I loved them.
The door behind me swung closed as I crossed the threshold from Clubhouse to backyard. I hadn’t explored the expansive grassy lawn leading to a fence cutting off the everglades. The grass was thick and lusciously green.
The sun had put itself to bed, and the stars had decided to break all bedtime rules and pepper-sprayed the rich velvet of the sky. Constellations twinkled brightly, the perfect backdrop for the gathered members and the relaxing embrace of an evening of laughter, good food, and great friends.
“Holy shit, it’s alive!” someone yelled. Followed by, “Didn’t know we had a damn dragon!” Men abandoned their beers on strewn tables or on the ground by chair legs as they raced toward billowing black smoke.
Three men with vests marking them as prospects fanned tea towels and dueled the morphing blackness with cooking tongs.
“Christ’s sake.” Mo jogged across the grass and slammed the lid down on the flaming barbeque. Coughing and wafting at the smoke cloud hovering over his head, he growled, “What the fuck are you doing to our steaks?”
Grasshopper stomped over, snatched the tongs from the closest prospect, whose eyes ran red with soot, and shoved the other two aside. “What kind of man can’t barbeque without setting the fucking place on fire?”
A prospect with a large gauge in his ear shrugged. He looked completely happy to give up control. “You told me to get the chow ready. I tried to tell ya that I’ve never cooked in my life. Not my fault you didn’t listen.”
“How hard is it to work a fucking grill?” Mo asked, hoisting up the cover of the barbeque and assessing the damage now the flames were out. The smoke lazily dispersed like spirits summoned back to the underworld.
The two other prospects, one with long ratty blond hair in a ponytail and another freshly shaven, snickered. “Yeah, Mo. You should know not to trust Beetle with anything.”
Shaking my head, I ignored the instruction on how to cook a perfect steak and focused on the rest of the gathering. A chain-link fence barricaded us in and kept trespassers out, while a few sparse trees had been layered with fairy lights by some overzealous old lady.
The ground vibrated with footfalls beneath my ballet flats and I spun to face him. Somehow, I knew it was him. The hum of my skin, the glow of my heart. His cells spoke to mine in a way I would never understand. “Hi.”
Arthur stepped closer, an imposing statue of muscle and authority. He shook his head, his lips twisted in wry amusement watching his dinner go up in smoke. “Can’t trust anyone these days.”
I swayed into him as his arm brushed mine. “Who names the members here? Matchstick, Beetle? They’re hardly scary.”
His green eyes smoldered in the gloom. “I was the one who gave Beetle his name, actually.” He smirked. “I found him shoplifting at one of my businesses.” His eyes clouded, recalling the past while I’d been curing puppies and dreaming of him. “His getaway car was a dinged up Beetle. Needless to say, I outran him on my bike and put an end to that fucking nonsense. After a bit of a rough-up—so he would remember the lesson of ‘thou shalt not steal’—I gave him a choice.”
“A choice?”
He nodded. “Stop stealing and make money my way or I’d report him to the law and see how he liked jail.” His gaze glinted. “I might also have provided insider knowledge on just how much he wouldn’t enjoy captivity.”
My mind reeled. There was so much to unscramble, but the most important slapped me in the face. “I heard Molly mention other businesses in Church. What do you mean?”
Arthur smiled, his teeth white and perfect in the night. “Oh, didn’t I tell you?”
I scowled, not appreciating his obtuse merriment at hiding yet another thing about himself. “No, you didn’t tell me.” Putting my hands on my hips, I looked him up and down.
Arthur had evolved from boy to businessman with endless connections and wealth to bring everything to life. No wonder Wallstreet chose him—he saw the potential, even after Arthur had been destroyed.
“Well, I can tell you now.” He gathered me close, tucking me against his side. “Believe me, Buttercup. The only things you need to know about me—you already do. The rest of it—the businesses, the trading, the Club—none of that makes me who I am.” Leaning closer, his eyes tripped into mine. “Only you can do that. And I’m the man I am because of the girl you were.”
My heart pounded. The gentle warmth of him softened my every molecule. After the meeting, I’d been tense and slightly unnerved about what plans were about to be implemented. And after calling Corrine, I’d been homesick and—if I was honest—guilty for how I’d run
away. But all of that disappeared—that was the magic of his embrace.
Somehow, with just one touch from him, energy, excitement, and most of all lust rejuvenated me all over again.
“Besides,” Arthur said. “Everything I’ve created belongs to you anyway.”
Following the silver thread of the Pure Corruption logo on his breast pocket, I bit my lip. “I don’t want it. Everything belongs to you—not us.”
Arthur chuckled. “Buttercup, I earn a fortune with one click of my mouse.” Tapping his temple, his smile faltered just for a second. “This machine up here has meant I’ve been able to fulfill everything Wallstreet has ever asked and create a buffer for myself so if anything changes in the future, I’ll be able to survive.”
I cuddled into him, hating the sudden bleakness in his voice at the thought of things changing. Yet another family torn from him. Another choice taken. Of never having his full capacity back from the concussion. His thoughts led him somewhere dark; I needed to bring him back to the light. “You’re a mathematical whiz. I always knew you were destined for great things.”
His eyes shadowed. “Try telling that to my father back then. He thought I was a fucking pussy.”
I tensed. I couldn’t talk about Rubix without wanting to murder the son of a bitch. Forcing him out of my mind, I rested my head on his chest. “You’re changing the subject so I don’t find out just how wealthy you are and then cook up plans to divorce you and take half.”
He went still.
The whoosh of air in his lungs echoed in my ear. I flinched. Did he take it the wrong way? I hadn’t meant it—not at all. I would never do that to him.
“To divorce me means you have to marry me first.”
Slowly, I untangled myself from him, staring into his eyes. “Not these days. De facto counts as marriage in legal purposes.”
His face fell.
God, why did I say that? Why did I say such a stupid thing? It made it sound like I didn’t want to get married. That my heart hadn’t selected him since I was born. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m …” I glanced away. “I’m nervous, I guess.”
Arthur’s fingers pressed against my jaw, guiding my eyes to his. “You’re nervous because you’re worried I’ll think you’re after my money, or you’re nervous because I might ask you right here, right now to marry me?”
The world stopped spinning even as my heart started whizzing in my chest. “Um, both.”
Bending slightly, he pressed the sweetest of kisses against my lips. “Riches come in many forms, Buttercup, and you’ve made me beyond wealthy.” His mouth moved to my ear. “And rest easy. When I propose, it won’t be in the middle of a smoky barbeque with a bunch of drunk-ass bikers.”
I swallowed. My heart floated. My body was weightless.
“You know me. You know I’ve always had that desire to better myself. To provide for people I care for.” His tone was strained rather than proud. “To make a mark in the world.”
“I remember,” I murmured. “But what does that have to—”
“Nothing. I’m just glad you’re here. You can tame me. Bring me back to what matters and stop me chasing things I don’t necessarily need.”
Like what?
A patter of fear disappeared down my spine.
“Take that, motherfucker.” Grasshopper danced around like a lunatic, holding up a perfectly charred piece of meat. The barbeque was now tamed and behaving after imitating a fire-breathing demon. “You can all refer to me as master chef from now on.”
The men and women mingling around laughed.
The interruption ceased our conversation and Arthur let me go, moving away to slouch against a spindly looking tree. He shoved his hands into his pockets. I liked to think he just wanted to relax, but the pain darkening his eyes squeezed my chest. The tree wasn’t just to lean against—it was for support.
I let him recuperate in silence.
I went to his side, and we watched the commotion for a while. Beetle came forward and handed Arthur an icy beer. When he offered me a bourbon, I turned my nose up and accepted a bottled water instead.
Sipping quietly, my heartbeat calmed and I soaked in the happiness of such an evening.
I didn’t know how much time passed while we relaxed in each other’s company.
I wanted to ask questions. I wanted to know everything there was to know, but I kept my thoughts to myself.
However, Arthur must’ve sensed my desires, because he took another pull of his beer and said, “When I gained my freedom from Florida State, I had nothing to my name—not even the T-shirt on my back. Wallstreet made sure I had a home to go to, a bank account to utilize, and friends to trust.”
His voice was thick and delicious as honey. “The money trickled in at first. I wasn’t confident in what Wallstreet taught me and it took a while for me to start trading large amounts.” His eyes connected with mine. “Wallstreet gave me two million dollars to use to get the Club back in order and to trade with.”
I blinked. “Wow. That’s a hell of an investment.”
Arthur took another sip. “It was the strangest thing to be treasured for the same gifts that I’d been shunned for all my life.” Stroking his weeping beer bottle, he continued. “Like I said, I didn’t feel comfortable trading with his money—what if I lost it and couldn’t get it back? I owed him my life, my world.” He shook his head. “No, I couldn’t do that.”
“How did you make your fortune then?”
Arthur kept his eyes on the chaos of bikers and their women as the Club prepared the garden for dinner. Three large foldaway tables appeared and were put in a mismatch of places. Chairs were slammed into the grass and firewood was brought by the armful to slowly create a teepee of logs and tinder in the central fire pit.
“I allowed myself one hundred thousand of Wallstreet’s money. I figured if I lost it, I wouldn’t be in debt all my life trying to pay it back. And it was enough to trade large amounts that meant my rewards swiftly grew.”
I stayed silent, willing him to tell me more.
“I came pretty close to losing it. One trade wiped me out because I hadn’t put a fucking stop loss.” He scowled. “A dumbass mistake—just like the one I did today. I should’ve known better then and I definitely should’ve known better now.”
Taking a deep breath, he ran a hand over his face. “Stop loss, Buttercup. The ultimate requirement in any trade. I’ll teach you that. Don’t worry.”
I jolted to think of ever having the intelligence Arthur did. Trading with money terrified me. It seemed as dangerous as gambling if not taken seriously and approached with logic and formulas.
Arthur pushed off from the tree. “When I’d doubled the hundred grand, I started to look at other means to make money. I used some of my profits and bought a local business.”
My interest piqued. Keep going. “What did you buy?”
He chuckled. “Don’t laugh, but a salon.”
“A salon?”
“I bought it because the owner was being harassed by a small Club on the outskirts of town. I also bought it because the woman who owned it looked a bit like you.” He sighed heavily. “She was older, but her hair reminded me so much of your red curls that when she burst into tears knowing she’d be broken into and destroyed the moment I withdrew my protection, I couldn’t walk away.” His lips curled into a self-conscious smile. “I gave her cash.”
My heart flipped over at the kindness inside him. “And it was a loss?”
“No, not at all. It’s rather profitable considering the small investment I made.” Smiling coldly, he muttered, “Not to mention the small Club who’d been raiding shops and raping girls walking home from work was suddenly torn apart and never seen again.”
A chill worked down my spine. “You stopped them.” It wasn’t a question.
He glared past the chain-link fence to the everglades beyond. “Yes, I stopped them.”
I shuddered to think how many bodies the local alligators had devoured ov
er the years. But if they were evil men disrupting a peaceful city—was there harm in that? To take a human life in order to save countless more? What would karma say to such a decision?
I changed the subject from death and carnage. “What other businesses do you own?”
Arthur finished his beer, dropping it by his feet to tick off on his fingers. “Well, there’s two bars, a burger joint, and another salon. Oh, and there’s also a sushi train and I’m part owner in a security firm that does neighborhood watch pro bono.”
My jaw fell wide. “Holy crap.” Was that all he did? Trade and save and invest into people he believed in? He gave so much to others, all while living a bare existence in comfort and connection. “Arthur, I’m—” Blown away.
He cocked his head, his forehead furrowed with yet more pain from the headache that never left. Pointing at Grasshopper and Mo, who were now the main chefs of tonight’s dinner, he grinned. “Grasshopper owns a pet groomers and donut shop, while Mo manages to split his time between three pubs and a yacht that’s a floating restaurant on the bay.” He laughed. “We’re all very entrepreneurial.”
“I can see that.” I laughed quietly. “Who knew? Not all men dressed in scuffed leather and riding around on custom-designed Triumphs prefer girls, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll.”
He frowned. “Those things have never been in my repertoire.” His eyes blazed. “I almost became a monk because every other woman paled in comparison to you.”
I rubbed at my chest where a sudden unbearable pressure swarmed. “I’m glad you’re not a monk.”
He chuckled. “Me too.”
We stared at each other, wrapped up in so much said and so much still to learn. I wished we were alone again—so I could show him just how amazed I was by his accomplishments.
“I’m proud of you. So proud.” I couldn’t contain the awe and pride. I hugged him. Hard.
He tensed, then relaxed in my hold, hugging me back. His leather cut creaked, smelling of lanolin and masculine musk. It was the best smell in the world.