“What does this mean?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “It means Wallstreet gets out tomorrow and the moment he does, our life will be very different.”
I don’t want it to be different.
I liked our life. I loved the quiet nights together. I adored the family I’d found in Pure Corruption. I even enjoyed the afternoons I spent with Molly and Melanie learning the books and diving deeper into the empire that the Pures ran.
My lips pursed as I rebelled against the thought of our life becoming public property. Of being shoved into the limelight and fighting a battle so big, it would take years to see results.
“Can’t you take a step back?” I scrunched up the paper, obscuring our printed faces. “Can’t Wallstreet take over now he’s free?”
Arthur leaned forward, his green eyes diving into mine. “You know the answer to that, Buttercup. I have to do this. And I need you by my side.”
I looked away. The thought of sharing him, of sharing myself with the world scared me to death.
He captured my chin. “Please, Cleo. I can’t do this without you.”
Despite my fear and hesitation, my heart melted. I had no choice. I wore his jacket. I shared his responsibilities. There was no other way, and I didn’t want there to be. “I’ll be beside you, Arthur. Every step of the way.”
The second thing happened that afternoon.
I received two calls—one I’d been looking forward to and another I’d been dreading.
The first was rather comical and to any other person wouldn’t have made sense. “Congratulations, Ms. Price. You’ve come back from the dead.”
I smiled, clutching the phone. “The paperwork is done?”
The past few weeks had been a lot of hoop jumping and proving my identity along with well-executed lies on what’d happened to me the night I disappeared. They didn’t need to know about Rubix’s death or the raging fire over at Night Crusaders’ compound. Justice had been served our way—without involving the police.
“Yes, ma’am. We’ve reversed the death certificate and reinstated your social security. You’ll receive new documentation and will need to apply for a new passport. Your case officer will be in touch once you’ve confirmed that Sarah Jones is no longer your alias.”
The moment the woman hung up, I received another call. The one I’d been dreading.
“Ms. Jones, we’d like to arrange a time for your case worker to come and see you. There are a lot of matters that need clarification, including your sudden arrival back into the United States, your rehabilitation, and memory gain.”
Corrine had managed to soothe my case worker after I ran so swiftly from England, but I still had to face the music and answer numerous questions in a debrief. Coming back from the dead wasn’t an easy thing. And remembering an entire lifetime from the one I’d lived for the past eight years caused a mass of paperwork.
The familiar flutter of fear that evil would find me once again rose. I couldn’t quite silence the terror that my memories would fade or that I’d wake up and forget everything all over again. But every day, I laughed more. Smiled more. I even had my own project in the works that I couldn’t wait to share with Arthur. I intended to do something special with the Dagger Rose land I’d inherited. Something that would align my two worlds: Sarah Jones and Cleo Price.
My life had come full circle and once the knots had been tied on the remaining loose ends, I would be free.
“Tell Detective Davidson he’s more than welcome to come and see me whenever he likes. I’ll look forward to telling him my tale.”
With all the illegal activities and murders expunged, of course.
I was now the partner of a public figure.
A biker princess and a soon-to-be politician’s first lady.
My, how life had changed.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Kill
Mathematics was my forte.
Trading was my calling. Ruling my vocation.
If I couldn’t do any of those things … what did that leave me?
Who would I become? —Kill, last night
Wallstreet.
I was so used to seeing him behind bars. So used to the faded cotton of prison uniforms and huddling together to speak in code whenever we had news.
All of that was in the past.
Today was the last day of my current world. Tomorrow, Cleo and I would live an entirely different existence. And I was nervous as well as excited.
My benefactor and mentor stepped out of Florida State. He wore the same pinstripe suit he’d worn the morning the police arrested him at his offices downtown. We were so similar in that respect: He wore his cut and ran with bikers most days, but other days he merged with businessmen and bankers, dressing like them, laughing like them.
Pity he hadn’t vetted the women he fucked as well as he did the men he did business with. He’d been sent to jail all thanks to a disgruntled Club bunny.
I waved, catching his eye.
His white teeth flashed in the sun and he followed the same path to freedom I did four years ago. I pushed off from the Mercedes that Grasshopper had paid a fucking fortune for the night we burned Dagger Rose and clasped hands with my friend.
He pulled me into a hug.
“Fuck, Kill. It’s good to see you.”
My heart raced. I hugged him back.
Breaking away, he raised his head to the sun and inhaled deeply. He looked ten years younger. With an open-necked cream shirt and slicked back white hair, he looked every bit the retired honcho of a Fortune 500 company.
Reaching into the Mercedes’ backseat, I pulled out a new jacket. The freshly embroidered cut had no ranking on the pocket—not yet. After all, it was up to him to decide his placement now.
We hadn’t discussed in great detail what would happen tonight, but we didn’t need to.
Those plans had been set in stone the very first day he tutored me.
My position would be very different soon.
And I’m fine with that.
It was how I wanted it—what I’d requested.
Wallstreet grinned, taking the jacket and sniffing the leather. “Shit, that brings back memories.”
“Got a lot to catch up on, and plenty of time to make new ones.”
Wallstreet clasped my shoulder. The slight twinge from my previously broken arm made me wince. The shorn piece of hair from my surgery still irritated but the headaches and vision issues were gone. I was on the mend. Thank God.
However, there was one part of me still broken.
I hadn’t placed a trade since the battle with Dagger Rose. I hadn’t opened my accounts or turned on my computer screens. The codes and algorithms I’d always lived with were still absent and it was fucking lonely inside my head.
“Shall we?” Wallstreet asked, shrugging into the suit and cocking his head at the Merc.
I smiled. The welcome home party we’d planned would kick off the moment I drove him to the Clubhouse. Grasshopper had readied all the supplies required. He still had some getting used to what would happen, but I believed in him.
He was a good guy. A perfect Pure.
Everyone’s lives would take some adjusting but the future would only be on the up.
You still haven’t told Cleo.
My back tensed. I’d been a pussy not to tell her, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t give her yet another family and tear it away from her so soon.
“Be my pleasure.”
Slipping into the driver’s seat, I had the honor of driving the mastermind home.
Pulling up to the Clubhouse, my heart lurched in my chest. This place, with its crumbling brick veneer and rusty barbed wire looked derelict and unwelcoming—exactly how it appeared when I first arrived four years ago. I’d kept the outside charm but renovated the inside.
Just like I did with the brothers.
On the outside, they still looked terrifying but on the inside they were loyal and acclimatized to business rather than battles.
I’d overhauled their thoughts and minds and given them peace instead of war.
I’d done all that at the beck and call of one man who’d saved me.
Regardless of what happened in the future, I would always be proud of that.
Waving at the entrance, I said, “Shall we?”
Wallstreet grinned, tugging his lapels. “Can’t wait.”
Crunching forward in my boots, I reached for the door handle.
“Wait, Killian.” Wallstreet came forward, putting his hand on my shoulder. “You’re still okay with this?” His eyes shone. “You’ve outdone yourself, my boy. I couldn’t have asked for a better pupil or friend. You’ve done everything I ever asked. You’ve amassed a fortune, kept my Club intact, and begun what I’d tried to do before I was locked up.” His voice cracked. “You’ve been a fucking savior.”
Shit, I’d never seen Wallstreet show so much emotion. “Hey, man. It’s fine.” Patting his arm, I chuckled. “After all, the student is only as good as the teacher.”
Wallstreet shook his head, dropping his hand. “Killian, I saw in you something special that not many people have. You would’ve excelled at anything you put your hand to. Have you ever thought that it might not have been fair of me to ask this of you? To give you a Club—knowing all along that it wasn’t yours? Or playing on your obsession for more and making you go after the biggest power in history?” He looked at his feet. “I often had doubts. Wondering if I had any right to drive you so hard.”
I cocked my head. He was right. He’d been hard on me, always pushing, never letting me fail. But then again, without him … I wouldn’t have been anyone.
Clutching the doorknob, I smiled. “Without you, Cyrus, I would still be locked up or dead. There was no way I would’ve survived a life of imprisonment and nightmares of Cleo gone—I would never have been free.”
Wallstreet ran a hand through his white hair. “That might be the case, but I don’t think I ever told you thank you.” His gaze glittered. “Thank you, Killian, for your hard work and sacrifice. Thank you for being a trusted friend. I’ll never take it for granted.”
Holy shit.
I grinned. “And thank you for saving my life.” Cracking the door, I said, “I think a celebration is in order, don’t you? For both of us.”
Wallstreet clapped his hands. “I like your—”
“Surprise!”
The celebration hit us the second we stepped foot into Pure Corruption. The women had decorated the space with gay-ass streamers and balloons, while the men had restocked the bar and already guzzled their way to a good buzz.
Wallstreet raised his hands like a returning conqueror, his lined face crinkling in joy. “Fuck, it’s good to be back.”
Cleo stood beside Molly, her arms crossed but a smile teasing her lips.
“I’ll leave you to mingle.” I patted Wallstreet’s shoulder and darted through the crowd to my woman. The moment I was close enough, I gathered her in a quick hug. “Hello.”
She giggled. “Hi yourself.”
Nuzzling my nose into her hair, I whispered, “You good?”
She nodded, leaning into my embrace. “I’m great now that you’re back.” Pulling away, her eyes fell on Wallstreet. Once again the cold dislike she wore when they met at Florida State clouded her face. “So the pioneer has returned.”
Turning to face the seething mass of brothers, we didn’t speak as we watched the spectacle of back slaps, hugs, and loudly broadcast reminiscing between Wallstreet and the older members of Pure Corruption.
I nodded. “Their leader is back.”
“No.” Cleo tensed. “Their leader is you.”
Wrong, Buttercup.
I knew I should’ve had the balls to tell her before this.
I was only temporary.
I always knew Cleo wouldn’t accept Wallstreet’s return happily. She’d made no secret that she was wary of him. I understood her need to keep her distance, but at the same time, Wallstreet wasn’t Rubix. He wasn’t cruel—only ambitious.
And I could deal with ambitious because that curse infected me, too.
Matchsticks appeared, bearing gifts in the form of beer for me and a daiquiri for Cleo. “Good to see the old bloke out of the slammer.”
We clinked beers in a toast and downed a few gulps. “He deserves to have a good night.”
Cleo stiffened but Matchsticks took another drink. “I think this party will go on all week with the amount of supplies Grasshopper arranged.”
I laughed.
Ever since I’d been released from the hospital, I’d let Grasshopper stay in control. To start with, I’d itched to take back leadership—to hold the gavel at Church and oversee every detail. But that wasn’t my future and the sooner the members grew accustomed to having Grasshopper lead, the better.
For everyone.
Today was all about celebration. Tomorrow was all about preparation.
We had no time to waste. The past few weeks, our campaign hinting at certain frauds and hidden cover-ups had been leaked to magazines and smaller TV stations. We’d planted the seed of unrest—now it was time to get bigger, louder, and jump into the political stream with the ammunition we’d gathered.
I was looking forward to it but also dreading it at the same time. The moment we put ourselves forward, along with our lofty goals of changing the way the globe was run, we could kiss privacy and indiscretions goodbye.
I’d never wanted to deal with politicians or dive into the seedy world of lawmaking and bills. But sometimes a calling demanded certain sacrifices in order to deliver the ultimate satisfaction.
Look at Cleo.
She’d been forced to live a life she didn’t want but in the end she valued everything so much more. I was envious of her contentedness. I wanted that. And the only way I would get it was to become someone I never thought I’d be in order to seek that ever-elusive goal of achieving something far bigger than myself.
Taking another swig, I watched the party atmosphere spread around us. Matchsticks headed toward Roderick and Spokes and Wallstreet prowled the room, nodding at the renovations, occasionally giving me a thumbs-up. I wouldn’t admit it but his appreciation and awe at what I’d achieved warmed my fucking heart.
I’d done well.
I was proud.
However, even with the joviality and happiness at having one of us return, there was an aura of loss and sadness. Mo should’ve been here. He was an original. He deserved to see his Club go full circle.
Every time I thought about Mo and Beetle, a dagger dug into my heart. I missed them. A shitload. Especially Mo because he’d been staunchly on my side once I’d won him over.
He was loyal to the end.
“Arthur?” Cleo popped into my thoughts. Her red hair flamed like living hell with burgundy, gold, and bronze.
She truly was a walking fire.
I forced myself to focus. “Yep?”
Her long legs captured my attention. Encased in tiny jean shorts, the elongated muscles of her thighs and calves made my mouth dry. The grey T-shirt she wore hung off one shoulder revealing a black bra strap. We’d kissed and petted over the past few weeks but we hadn’t had sex.
After my head surgery, I was given strict rules on what I couldn’t do.
Unlike last time, I followed them religiously.
It didn’t stop my cock from swelling now, though, or the overwhelming need to be inside her. Yanking her close, I breathed in her ear, “I want you tonight.”
Her eyes hooded. “How long did the doctor say to abstain?”
I licked the shell of her ear. “Yesterday. I’m in the clear to fuck you, woman.”
She shuddered. “I don’t think I’ve heard anything better.”
My cock hardened even more. “You eager to have me inside you?”
“Eager is an understatement.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve been wet for you for weeks.”
Fuck me. I groaned under my breath.
Would I eve
r get used to how beautiful and perfect she was?
Positioning herself in front of me, she whispered, “Why wait until tonight?”
The moment the words registered, I couldn’t stop the inevitable. I needed this woman. I needed her now.
“You don’t know what you’ve just done.” Grabbing her wrist, I stalked forward.
Her laugh webbed around us as we beelined toward the exit. Moving past Matchsticks, I shoved my beer into his hands followed by Cleo’s half-drunk daiquiri. “Keep that. We’re leaving.”
Matchstick’s mouth popped open but he didn’t have a chance to say anything as I yanked Cleo across the room.
It wasn’t easy navigating the swarms of people or avoiding the intoxicated happiness infecting everyone. Each delay, each mumbled conversation, only made my cock harder. My jaw clenched. Cleo didn’t help fucking matters by wriggling forward to sashay in front of me and biting her lip whenever my fingers graced her lower back.
By the time we made it to the corridor, we were both panting hard. I could barely fucking walk with needing her.
“Goddammit, I can’t wait much longer.” Choosing the room I’d had when I first arrived, I threw her inside and locked the door. The décor was a lot different than the first night I’d spent here. The dirty wrappers, awful stench, and disgusting carpets were gone. It had a fresh coat of paint and blankness of personality that came with being a guest bedroom.
My mind skittered back to the incident that’d occurred in this room. I’d lost my virginity in here. I’d cheated on Cleo all because I was a fucking rehabilitated convict who’d somehow found himself the youngest ever president of the Corrupts.
For a second, I wanted to switch rooms but then Cleo wrenched off her top and stood before me in her shorts and black bra.
“Fuck.”
I launched myself at her.
The weight of missing her—of living a life of purgatory believing she was dead—suddenly dissolved. The last dregs of fear that she might disappear again faded and my hands shook as we tumbled to the mattress with our legs and lips locked in an unsolvable puzzle.
She gasped as I captured her nipple in my mouth, dragging her bra down to reveal her delicious flesh. Her skin was soft and supple, my suction fast and greedy. I plumped the heavy weight of her breast, kneading possessively. “Christ, I want you.”