By stripping my rank, he wasn’t making me homeless. He wasn’t casting me out with nowhere to go.
He was making my future infinite.
Cleo balled her hands, baring her teeth. “I knew you had an ulterior motive! How could you do that? Let him create you an empire then shove him out the moment you’re freed?”
Other men and women shifted, confusion coloring their faces.
Before me, I saw the truth. I might’ve taken over this Club against people’s wishes. I might’ve inherited Wallstreet’s followers and fought tooth and fucking nail to get them to follow me, but now … the tables had turned.
This was my Club. My members. They were loyal to both of us.
Wallstreet shook his head. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Ms. Price.” Looking at me, a flicker of concern appeared. “We discussed this. We agreed this was the best way. However, if you’ve changed your mind, Kill …”
I finished my beer. “No. I haven’t changed my mind.”
I want this.
Wallstreet relaxed, pride once again glowing in his eyes.
I’d been waiting for this day for four years. I feared I’d resent him—that I wouldn’t handle being forced into a new career. But surprisingly, I felt … fine. It was right. It was the perfect end to this reign and the perfect beginning to another. “I’m ready for this. Truly.”
Grasshopper looked mortified. “Kill, you have to know Pure Corruption is yours. You’re our prez.”
Wallstreet held up his hand. “Actually, he’s not anymore.”
The room went deathly silent.
I’d just been stripped of my patch in front of every brother I ruled.
It should’ve been fucking horrifying. A death sentence.
But it wasn’t, because I knew more than them.
It all came back to the “more” obsession. Wallstreet knew me better than I knew myself. He was doing me a fucking favor.
I wasn’t losing my family. I would still be welcome. Still loved and permitted to sit in Church and my opinions would still hold power—I’d been promoted rather than demoted.
“So you’re taking back the chair?” Matchsticks asked Wallstreet.
Wallstreet grinned. His trimmed black eyebrows were the only pigment left compared to the snowy hair on his head. “Nope. You’ll have a new president.”
All eyes turned to Grasshopper.
Wallstreet raised his glass. “This is your new prez. My one true heir. My flesh and fucking blood.”
Instead of looking proud and humbled, Grasshopper ran a hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry, Killian.”
Tossing my empty bottle to the side, I shook my head. “Nothing to be sorry for.” Shrugging out of my cut, I passed it over. “Here. No fucking apologies required. I always knew this was a temporary gig.” When he continued to stare at the leather, I threw it at him. “Take it. It’s yours.”
“But, Art …,” Cleo said.
I held up my hand, silencing her. She didn’t know the full story yet. Patience was always a virtue in these situations.
Wallstreet nodded as Grasshopper reluctantly slipped off his cut and yanked on the one labeled prez. He’d have to stitch over my name but it was official.
I was no longer a president. Just like that.
Grasshopper swallowed. “The position is yours, Kill. I’m content to remain your VP—”
“No, he can’t,” Wallstreet interrupted. “Kill can no longer be seen to be associated with this Club.”
“Why the hell not?” Cleo snarled. She moved forward, anger and unhappiness painting her face. I loved that she was pissed on my behalf, but this wasn’t a betrayal.
This was a favor.
“Because the next part of my life can’t mix underworld with glossy pages of newspapers.” I smiled. “I can’t be president and politician.”
How could I let her see that this was the sacrifice I was willing to make to ensure I found happiness? The Club had given me everything I needed: revenge and a home. But I’d made an oath when I was a kid and made Wallstreet promise the same.
I’d made him swear that if I did this for him, then he would do something for me.
I would run his Club. I would be his leader in his stead but when he was free, I wanted out. I’d been born into this lifestyle. But I didn’t intend to die in it.
I had too much more to experience to stay in one role forever.
That had been the final seal on our bargain: Wallstreet wanted a stand-in … I wanted a ready-made army. We both had higher goals that required sacrifices, both wanted the same thing.
Cleo’s eyes burned into me but I didn’t look at her. I would cherish and protect her. I would keep her in my heart always. But it was time for a change. It was time for something more.
“You’ll still see a lot of Kill,” Wallstreet said, smoothing ruffled feathers and concluding his upheaving speech. “He’s forever welcome in our homes, our hearts, our Club. He will always be a Pure, but privately not publically. We’re family and will always be family, just like Cleo will forever be one of us, too.” Wallstreet glanced at Cleo’s jacket. She’d slipped it on after we’d sneaked away. “You wear our emblem and oath, Ms. Price. I would never take that allegiance or home away from you. I know your past. I know the loneliness of being stripped of friends and love.” He placed his hand on his heart. “You have my ultimate word your ranking within Pure Corruption will not change. Killian will always be respected and listened to but from now on, we will no longer call him prez … with time and luck we’ll hopefully be calling him senator and he’ll be ruler to thousands.”
The gruffness and authority in his tone melted into love and pride. “Kill will give others what he’s given us. And that is a fucking hero in my book.” Opening his arms, he embraced me like a son and friend.
I hugged him back, feeling the weight of the past eight years fizzing away with every heartbeat. This was what I’d been searching for.
I knew the goals of becoming a true senator would be hard—if not impossible. Every aspect of my past would be used against me. The newspapers would have a fucking lifetime of ammunition with my background—but it wouldn’t stop me from trying. I didn’t need the title to become a leader in politics.
I liked the unknown—the upcoming trials.
One challenge defeated and another new to conquer.
Freedom.
Power.
A blank slate where the past no longer dictated my future and a present where I could be eternally happy.
“You gave me back my will to live, Cyrus.”
He kissed my cheek. “You gave me an empire in return.”
We broke apart, clasping hands like equals. We were no longer mentor and student.
We were family.
And that was all I ever fucking wanted.
Epilogue
Cleo
One year later …
For a long time, I was a stranger to my life, my past, my family.
But now I was home. I’d found peace. I’d found joy.
Arthur was finally mine—like I always known he would be. We were happy—like I’d always known we could be. And we were safe—like I’d always hoped.
Our scars were still healing, our futures still evolving. But we were together and that was all that mattered. —Cleo, today
Life had a way of tearing someone apart before granting their utmost dreams.
The tribulations we had endured in order to be triumphant made everything so much brighter, intense, and precious.
So damn precious.
Sitting up in bed, I looked over at the man who held my heart.
My heart fisted and leapt like it did every morning. It was so easy to forget his radiant force when sleep carried us off into different worlds. But every time I woke in his arms, I was reminded of his dangerous power. His immense force of will.
No wonder he’d had such success in front of the cameras.
No wonder people flocked to him and listened—truly l
istened—to his ideals and suggestions.
With reverent fingers, I brushed aside the inky strands of hair from his cheek. Twelve months had wiped away lines that’d graced his eyes and washed away the stress from his face.
Being cast from the lifestyle we’d always known turned out to be the best thing that’d ever happened to us.
Not only did we visit Pure Corruption regularly, but I’d also become best friends with Melanie and Molly. Only a few days would go by without me seeing them, and our phones would ring constantly—asking Arthur’s opinion, shooting the breeze, and generally being the best family I’d ever had.
So much had changed in a year, but it’d all been positive.
Grasshopper was president; Wallstreet was the oracle, but Arthur … he was the prodigal child reforming the world and bringing about revolution. Somehow he’d become more to them than just a president—he became a true idealist, a savior to everyone who needed speaking for but had no one to trust.
I’m so happy that he’s happy.
He’d done the impossible and straddled the line of lawlessness and law-abiding. And because of his background, everyone flocked to him. Criminals believed in him and listened. Middle class were intrigued by him and paid attention. And the men in power who’d treated the globe like their own personal playground were afraid of him.
A perfect combination of power and threats.
Finally, after a war, secrets, double-crossing, and drawn-out vendettas, we were finally enjoying our hard-won peace.
Shifting carefully, I propped my head on my hand and studied the decadent man who graced my heart and soul. He slept on his stomach, his arms wrapped around a pillow. The huge tattoo on his back was the only reminder of the world we’d given up in order to save it as a whole.
At the beginning, he’d been nervous, fumbling with how to speak, trying to pretend he was something he wasn’t in front of newscasters and journalists. But one night, I’d reminded him that this was his idea. This was his choice and people would react better if they saw the truth.
On paper he’d distanced himself from the outlaw world, but in his heart he was still a biker. And for the public to follow him—he had to be true to his heritage.
The next day, he’d undone his shirt and presented his tattoo to the world. He’d opened up—spoken about his incarceration, his love for his Club, and even skirted the tricky topics of what’d happened to Dagger Rose and Night Crusaders.
Overnight he’d gone from wannabe politician to someone taken seriously. And with that public investment, he finally evolved into the man I always knew he was.
He became Arthur “Kill” Killian—mastermind, genius—spokesperson for the mistreated and disadvantaged.
He sighed heavily, eyelids flickering with dreams. His chiseled biceps and rugged jawline looked so distinguished. The more immersed he became in uncovering international crime and fraud, the more delicious it was.
I was so proud of him.
So proud of all that he’d become.
I was also proud of my own endeavors. Dagger Rose was no longer a rubble wasteland. It’d been transformed into a veterinary homestead for mistreated and injured animals. Corrine had come across from England to help me and when I was away with Arthur, she ran it single-handedly with our staff of three vets.
When I’d approached Arthur with my idea, he’d chuckled and said it couldn’t be more perfect. Not only were we saving the world for humans, but I was saving it for animals, too.
Tugging the sheet down, I bit my lip as a few crescent-shaped marks appeared adorning his ass. My nails from last night. My tummy clenched, remembering the way he’d filled me. Taking me on my back, my front, against the wall, on the floor. He’d fucked me tirelessly and loved me eternally.
The longer we were together, the more insatiable we became. It could become a real issue. But then again, could being in love ever be considered a problem?
No, never.
I shifted restlessly, my body stirring with new desire.
I’d always been grateful for my life. I was intelligent—had a healing skill I could use anywhere, and a lifetime of love from my perfect other. All of those were gifts and big gifts—wondrous gifts—especially Arthur.
I liked to think I was deserving of them, but fate had wanted a guarantee from me.
So, it’d made me lose everything. It’d stolen my parents, my home, my soul mate, and washed away my past. I could’ve floundered. I could’ve embraced darkness and anger and never found my way back.
But I didn’t.
I stayed true to myself even when I didn’t know who that was.
I never stopped believing.
And in return, fate decided I deserved my gifts. I received them all over again and from that day onward I cherished them deeply.
I would never take anything for granted.
Ever.
“Buttercup, whatever you’re thinking about, stop it.”
My heart fluttered at his sleepy voice. “You can hear my thoughts?”
His green eyes cracked open, looking as perfect as the glassy ocean on the horizon. We’d been here for a week and I still couldn’t get used to the view of soaring cliff tops, sparkling beaches, and jewel-encrusted rain forests.
Arthur had finally honored his promise to take me wherever I wanted.
Our first vacation together.
A year late … but better than never.
Yawning, he propped himself up on an elbow. His long hair curtained one eye, making him look like a ravaging pirate about to claim me. “Your opinions are very loud.”
I giggled. “You never complained before.”
Our private paradise in the Dominican Republic was barricaded to everyone but us. We’d rented an exclusive treetop villa for three weeks and the space filled with my laughter as he scooped me beneath him and tickled me. “Perhaps I’m too afraid of you to complain.”
“Whatever.”
His lips touched mine and we slipped into the waltz that never failed to arouse me.
I’d never been so deliriously happy.
The moment Wallstreet had taken away Arthur’s position, I’d been hurt, pissed, and downright livid. Not only were the Pures Arthur’s success but they were also his friends and surrogate family.
Arthur had been born on the back of a motorbike and inhaled the lifestyle since before he could speak. But in one move, Wallstreet took that away from him.
I expected him to fight. But once again, Arthur and his juggling act of plans surprised me.
He was the one who wanted to step down.
He was the one who wanted more.
And to be honest, I thought it was a mistake leaving a world we’d always known, but now I had different conclusions.
Waging daily battles on bent politicians and delivering information to the people gasping for help was Arthur’s perfect vocation. He stood up for people who couldn’t and fixed messes others didn’t understand.
The enormity of what he’d taken on didn’t faze him. It only energized him to the point of joy.
It was as if the shadows of guilt and hate were gone. All that was left was the happiness he could never find before.
Arthur pressed me onto my back, capturing my wrists and holding them above my head.
My hand landed on the television remote, heralding the news to boom on the flatscreen and tear apart our interlude.
The international news channel blared.
“Early this week, up and coming political superstar, Arthur Killian, revealed yet another fraudulent fact on the nationwide bank Cross Fund. Through an independent regulatory committee, the house and senate denied emergency funding provision set forth by Cross Bank representatives. New audit reports reveal the company has been running at a deficit for seven years and owe their investors millions of unpaid loans.”
Arthur groaned as his own voice filtered from the screen.
“We, as a society, have to stop believing men in power are gods. They’re human. They m
ake mistakes and get caught up in deals suffocated with fine print. Most of the world’s problems are caused not from illegal activities but from illiteracy when it comes to dealing with long-winded contracts for the exact purpose of blindsiding taxpayers.”
“Fuck, I sound like a stuck-up asshole.”
Kissing the tip of his nose, I shook my head. “No, you sound divine.” I looked over his shoulder, eyeing up the marvelous man in a suit, dripping with sex appeal and breaking all laws of business with his untamed long hair and unbuttoned blazer.
My mouth went instantly dry.
He’s mine.
That delicious spectacle on TV was currently between my legs. My hunger for him increased exponentially. “Eight three one …”
His lips parted. “What?” Then understanding brightened his face. “You’ve been studying sequences again.”
I giggled. “Well, seeing as you’re back to speaking in numbers and codes that fly over my head, I figured I could put in a little effort.”
Awe glowed. “You’d do that for me?”
My heart lurched. “I’d do anything for you. You know that.”
He brushed aside a strand of hair from my cheek. “Eight three one, huh?” He bowed his head, inhaling me. “Let me see if I can guess. Eight … letters … am I right?”
I nodded. He’s so smart. It’d taken me days to figure it out when I’d first seen the code, before having to cheat to find the answer.
“Three words?”
I nodded again.
His eyes lit up, glowing rich emerald. “One meaning. I know what it is.”
“Smarty pants.” I pouted. “So … what is it?”
Arthur kissed me. “It means I love you. Eight letters, three words, one meaning.”
I huffed, wriggling away from his kiss. “Fine, Mr. Genius. Way to show me up.”
He chuckled. “You’re the one who started it.” His forehead furrowed. “Hang on, I’ve got one.”
I rolled my eyes. “What, just like that? You can come up with them that fast?”
I’d spent an entire afternoon studying cheesy mathematic sayings online and he could conjure one in a second.
If I didn’t love you so much I’d be jealous.
“One four three two …,” he said with a flourish.