I wanted sex. I wanted to affirm I was still here. Still alive. Still his—regardless that so much had happened to prevent it.
My lips parted, breathing shallow.
His eyebrow quirked, lust shadowing his face. “As much as I’d like to give in to the idea of taking you here, Buttercup, there is no way in hell I’m dropping my guard down around this place.”
I knew he was right, but it didn’t stop the disappointment dousing my face.
Bowing his head, he nuzzled into my throat. “Fuck, stop looking at me like that.” His hips arched against mine, a soft groan falling from his lips.
My hands shot up and wrapped in his hair as his chest brushed against my nipples. “You better move, Art, otherwise I won’t be focusing on anything but you.”
Swallowing hard, he deliberately leaned away, keeping his hands splayed on the palings. Gritting his jaw, he ordered, “Look through the fence. Then we can leave.”
“Look through the fence?”
He nodded, swirling his finger in the air, motioning me to turn around.
Carefully I spun on the spot, twisting in the barricade of his arms. A piece of wood had a natural knot, which had fallen away, leaving an eye-shaped spy hole.
“See if you remember,” Arthur murmured, his breath tickling the back of my neck.
I shuddered, completely unable to concentrate. “Stop that.”
He chuckled.
The heat from his body warmed me as I closed one eye and peered through the wood.
Another compound.
This one was large, more village style than the large abode of one-story living and location of Pure Corruption. It had a massive Clubhouse in the center that looked like the congregation area and town hall. Surrounding the large building were smaller ones, all nondescript but well maintained, with motorcycles resting in front of gates and in carports.
I looked further, drinking in the lifestyle below. Children’s toys were strewn on yards, cars glinted in the dying sun, and more houses existed in the distance.
What is this place?
An emblem of a bloody dagger disemboweling a rose glowed in neon on the Clubhouse.
Rose…
“Thorn, take Cleo across to Diane, would you? I have to get this done for Rubix by tonight.”
My father scooped me up from the porch, where I was playing with LEGOs. “Come along, Buttercup. Time to go and bug some other family.”
I stared harder, willing more memories to come. The longer I looked, the more frustrated I became. I knew I knew this place, but the damn wall refused to let me see.
Arthur pressed against me. “Recognize it?” he breathed.
I shivered as his breath skated down my neck again, making me not care in the slightest about the view in front but only the man behind. “Not really. I know I should, but it’s not coming.”
“What’s the club’s name?”
I stared at the rose and dagger and went for the obvious. “Rose and Dagger?”
He twitched behind me. “Close. Dagger Rose. They’re a fifty-member-strong MC. Bigger than Pure by over half. They have Chapters all around USA, but this is the main HQ.”
As I kept spying, I noticed children playing in a sandpit in one of the yards and two women taking in washing from the line. Men lazed around in the typical biker attire while others did gardening chores half-naked and content in the late-afternoon sun.
It looked normal and safe.
“Hey, little Cleo.”
I looked up at the man who’d been there since I was born. He always had something sweet in his leather jacket and he hung out with my dad all the time.
“Hey.”
“Where’s Thorn?”
I cocked my head at the Clubhouse. “With Mom. They heard of a raid. I think they’re shredding a few things.”
The guy scowled, darkness flickering in his eyes before disappearing just as quickly. Reaching into his pocket, he threw a small packet of licorice allsorts at me. “Thanks, princess.”
I jerked back from the fence, breathing hard.
Burn, baby girl. Burn.
Him.
The match.
The fire.
The melting house all around me.
It was all because of him.
“What did you remember?” Arthur spun me around, clutching my shuddering frame. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you. No one will touch you.”
That’s what I thought. I thought I was safe. I was supposed to be untouchable.
Burrowing into his jacket, I inhaled his winds and salty scent. “I’m all right. Just give me a second.”
Arthur stroked my hair. “You saw him. Didn’t you?”
I froze.
“Fuck, you remembered.” His voice turned hard and almost evil. “That fucking bastard. That lowlife fucking piece of shit.”
I squirmed in his fierce embrace, looking into his eyes. “Who? What is this place?”
He paused, his body tight with anger. “I thought you just remembered?”
I bit my lip, the heavy wall inside my mind slamming resolutely closed. There was no point prying. It was locked and impenetrable. “It doesn’t work like that. I remember snippets. Things come in a flash and then fade. I still don’t have enough to piece together the full story.”
Sighing, I asked, “I should know that place, though, shouldn’t I?”
Arthur pinched the brow of his nose, striding away with frustration. “You should, yes.”
“Why?”
Standing still, he dropped his hand. “Because you were born there. You were raised there. Me, too. Our entire lives, until you turned fourteen, were spent happy—down there.” His tone wasn’t that of a man speaking fondly of his childhood, but a prisoner who’d miraculously escaped and wanted to slaughter the men who held him captive.
My mind slithered like a hibernating snake, hissing its way to truth, strangling all other thoughts in its way. “What happened after my fourteenth birthday?” I murmured.
Arthur went ramrod straight. “You mean… you don’t remember that either?”
Horror crept over his features.
My heart seized. “Arthur… I’m asking you… what happened that night?”
He backed away from me, his hands diving into his hair. “Don’t ask me that, Cleo. You can’t ask me that.” His face turned white.
“Art, you can tell me. I need to know. It all hinges on that one night. The fire. The blood. I remember escaping, but I don’t remember how it started or why.”
Arthur shook his head, pacing like a caged animal. “I—that night.” He looked up, tortured. “I—I can’t—shit!”
I moved forward, reaching for him.
He dodged my touch, striding toward the bike. “Come. We can’t stay here. They’ll see us. I mean to start a fucking war, but on my terms, not theirs.”
War.
This means war.
He’d said something similar in the Clubhouse.
“Why? What are you keeping from me!”
Arthur spun around, grabbed my wrist, and yanked me in the direction of the bike. “I’m not going to tell you until I know what you know. I don’t want to risk putting memories in your head.”
Lies.
He’s keeping something from me.
My stomach dropped to think that the one man who I loved—the one man who was supposed to be on my side—had a hidden agenda. I was still that pawn, being shoved around an unseen chessboard.
“It will only be worse if I find out what you’re hiding and you don’t tell me,” I whispered, following in his footsteps as we stomped through the forest.
He didn’t reply.
He didn’t need to. He knew he was in the wrong. And he was both petrified and eager for me to remember.
War was coming.
War was imminent.
It would happen between Pure Corruption and Dagger Rose.
And it would happen because of me.
Chapter Twenty
So much
she didn’t know.
So much I couldn’t tell her.
Death on the horizon. War in the air.
I couldn’t share what I meant to do until she remembered on her own. Only then could I show her why I had to murder the people closest to me. Only then would she understand.
—Kill
We hadn’t talked.
Not one word since Arthur dragged me away from Dagger Rose and threw me on the back of his bike. The roar of the engine nullified the awkward silence between us, but only until we arrived beside Mo and Grasshopper’s Triumphs at the yellow-and-white diner.
Arthur didn’t make eye contact as he took my helmet and opened the door for me. Striding inside, he shrugged his jacket off, slinging it over my shoulders in a possessive alpha gesture.
I blinked.
Why the hell had he done that? Staking a claim?
The restaurant was busy with families, a few biker members with patches I didn’t recognize, and solo motorists.
Mo looked up. His dirty-blond hair caught the last rays of sunshine glinting through the glass. Waving, he motioned us over to the booth.
Grabbing my hand, Arthur guided me through the diner before sliding in beside Mo.
“Sit beside me, Sarah, Cleo, whoever you are.” Grasshopper waggled his eyebrows, stroking the yellow vinyl beside him.
I flashed a smile, perching beside him. “Thanks.”
“No worries.” Pouring a glass of water from the jug on the table, he slid it to me. “Saw the old place, huh? Home sweet home, right?” He laughed as if he’d made the best joke in the world.
Something ached inside me.
I craved answers—to know the history of Dagger Rose, to remember the large compound. Why had something so fundamental as the location of my childhood disappeared?
Something happened down there. Something so traumatic, your brain protected you.
Some protection if it now ruined my future.
I narrowed my gaze at Arthur across the table. “It was interesting,” I said. Arthur refused to make eye contact.
Dammit, what was he hiding? And why was he absolutely terrified of telling me? The scent of him clouded my nose from his jacket. Was that why he made me wear it? To remind me that no matter what happened, I was under his protection? His love?
“Interesting?” Grasshopper laughed. “I’d say it was a lot more than that.”
Arthur’s head snapped up, glaring at Grasshopper. “Enough.” Grabbing the jug of water, he poured himself a glass and threw it back. Slamming the empty on the table, he added, “He wasn’t there. Not that I could see.”
Who wasn’t where?
My eyes flew between the men.
Mo said, “Maybe he was off the compound?”
“Maybe.” Arthur raised a finger, signaling the waitress. “But I don’t like the fact that the motherfucker wasn’t there. If I’d had a clean shot, I could’ve taken him out and handicapped them before…” His eyes fell on me, lips zipping tight.
“You’ve had a shitload of times you could’ve taken him out. That wasn’t how you wanted it to go down, dude.” Grasshopper glanced my way. “Cleo… maybe you shouldn’t—”
“What, be here? Listen to whatever you guys are planning?” I balled my hands in my lap. “No way are you keeping me in the dark anymore. Any of you.” My eyes bored into Arthur’s, transmitting just how close I was to losing it and screaming for truth. “Tell me. I want to hear all of it.”
Grasshopper flicked a glance at Arthur, but not before I saw the look of nervousness in his gaze.
“Stop doing that,” I snapped.
“Stop what?” Grasshopper blinked guilty.
Ugh!
“You know what. All of you do.” Glaring at the men, I added, “I’ve remembered enough to know that Arthur and I have history. I’ve come from the same place he has. We grew up together. Whatever you’re hiding from the past affects me, too. I deserve to know what it is.”
Arthur suddenly took my hand, squeezing it in full view of his brothers. “Don’t be so keen to learn horrible things, Buttercup.”
“Don’t ‘Buttercup’ me. I want the truth, Art. And I want it now.” When he didn’t move, I lowered my voice to a plea. “Tell me everything—including why you want to start a war. What did they do to deserve it?”
Arthur’s jacket made my skin prick with heat.
All three men laughed in perfect dark sync. “What didn’t they do,” Grasshopper said. “Seriously, if you remembered half the shit that went down, you’d be the one with the fucking gun.”
I willed another flashback to come. To remember that place—to recall which house had been ours, what it looked like inside.
Nothing.
No voices, no smells, not even sensations of knowing something. It was a big black secretive void.
My eyes flared wide as a horrible thought came to mind. “If I was born there… Are my parents still there?”
The men looked anywhere but at me. Arthur glanced out the window, the same tortured terror hiding unsuccessfully in his gaze.
My stomach sank into my toes.
No, it can’t be.
No matter how I avoided the answer hiding inside my head, it only grew stronger and stronger.
They’re dead.
No!
I gritted my teeth, hexing any flashbacks that might choose to come and show me the horrible truth. The last time I’d seen them… they’d been alive. Hadn’t they?
Hadn’t they?
Arthur’s green gaze glowed with love and sympathy, sending percolating fear down my back.
A waitress appeared. “Hi, all. Here are your menus. Can I interest you in the specials?”
Everyone froze, almost as if we were guilty of talking about things that should never be discussed in public.
Arthur withdrew into himself.
I hated her interruption.
Another moment—that was all I needed. One moment to turn the tension into a knife and slice through the lies. Arthur would’ve told me.
I need to know about my parents!
“No specials and no menus,” Grasshopper said. “Just bring us all a round of burgers and fries.”
The cavern between Arthur and I yawned wider with every passing second. Our eyes locked, never once looking away.
A tear trickled silently down my cheek as my heart broke. I didn’t need words to know. His gaze spoke too loudly to be ignored.
They’re dead.
It’s true.
The blonde waitress nodded, her pen scratching over a notepad. “Coming right up. Burgers all around.”
The thought of food repulsed me.
How could I eat when I’d just found out I was an orphan?
Arthur growled, “We’re on a deadline. Speed is paramount.”
The waitress nodded again. “Sure thing, dear.” Tucking the unread menus under her arm, she bustled away in her white-and-yellow uniform.
“ ‘Dear’? Don’t think you’ve been called that before,” Grasshopper said, trying to lighten the mood. Problem was the atmosphere would never lighten until the lies were aired—permitted to rain from a cloud of history and revenge.
“Art… how could you keep that from me?” I whispered, cutting straight to the crux of my pain.
“Aw, shit,” Mo muttered, scooting closer to the wall and avoiding Arthur’s seething bulk.
Arthur tensed. “I would’ve told you tonight. When we were alone and I knew how much you remembered.”
“Why do you have to know what I remember? What’s locked inside my head that you’re so afraid of?”
He dropped his eyes to the table.
He’s still keeping something from me!
My temper snapped. Rage hijacked my muscles until I trembled with a potent mix of grief and ferocity. “Now. Tell me everything. Now!” Running hands through my red hair, I hissed, “Everything, Art. I won’t ask again.”
Silence reigned for one second. I tore at his jacket, wishing I cou
ld take it off. I felt as if he consumed me—keeping me from dissolving into madness.
That’s why he gave it to me. To remind me that whatever happened in the past, good or bad, he wasn’t letting me go.
Anger replaced his anxiousness. “Fine. You want the truth? I’ll give you the fucking truth.”
“Oh, boy. Here we go,” Grasshopper muttered.
Arthur threw him a vicious look.
“Your parents are dead. The house fire you were in was lit to cover up their bodies and destroy evidence.” Breathing hard, he dragged both hands through his long hair. “They were shot to take over the Club.”
Knowing it was real and hearing it were two totally different things. My mind rebelled against the truth. I couldn’t stop shaking. “Who—who shot them?”
For a second everything paused, the world ceased to spin, and even the dust motes in the air refused to move. Arthur battled with the answer, his face contorting then smoothing into acceptance. He had to tell the truth—as much as it hurt.
“Your family home was burned by Scott ‘Rubix’ Killian.”
Green eyes.
Licorice allsorts.
My unrelated uncle.
Arthur’s… “Your father killed my parents and tried to murder me?” My voice barely carried across the table. My heart ached and I rubbed my chest, trying to ease the jagged agony. “But why? I remember him always being there. They were best friends.”
Grasshopper inched closer, granting me comfort but not touching.
Arthur bowed his head. “He wanted what your father had. He wanted it all.”
“Who are you, Daddy?” I asked, tracing the embroidery on his black leather jacket. The words of his rank were in a font I couldn’t quite make out.
He plucked me from the carpet, cuddling me close. “I’m the head honcho, Buttercup. The law.”
“You’re the boss?” I crinkled my nose. “You’re not the boss of me.”
He laughed as I squirmed out of his hold and ran to hide behind the couch. Stalking me with his hands up ready to tickle, he said, “I’m the president and definitely the boss of you.”
I squealed, my seven-year-old legs not fast enough to outrun him and his tickling hands.
“What does that make me, then? If you’re the president, does that mean I’m the princess?” I couldn’t believe my luck. I was Princess Buttercup, just like my favorite movie.