“Rubix and Asus Killian, along with every member of Dagger Rose who won’t repent, will be slaughtered with no fucking mercy.”
The room instantly lost its friendly buzz, heading straight into cutthroat. Arthur’s voice—as deep and comforting as velvet—switched to a savage scrawl. “You always knew this day would come and I prepared you for it. You know what is expected of you and I also know what a sacrifice it might be. But they deserve to fucking die again and again for what they’ve done.”
The men sat taller.
The women shuffled closer.
This was no longer about wealth or company or comfort. The Club—with just a few sentences from its leader—switched into a machine I recognized. A machine evolved to fight, murder, and pillage. Bikers lived on the outskirts of the law for a reason. We made our homes in the grey, impervious to right and wrong.
Arthur had achieved the impossible by turning people who fought against authority into a close-knit team, but at the same time they were still ruthless, still terribly dangerous.
“Over the past three days, Grasshopper has been collecting intel on where Rubix and his Club fled to.” Rubbing a hand over his face, Arthur dispelled some of his pain but not all of it.
The telltale sign that he wasn’t coping sent my heart racing.
Residual agony glittered in his eyes like shards of green glass. “I admit I was arrogant and paid the price.” Arthur glanced at me, guilt glowing in his gaze.
Glancing back at his members, he said, “At least our plan no longer includes petitioning the state to relinquish Dagger Rose land to us.” Arthur threw me a conspired look. “We have the rightful owner sitting among us, and the bastards fled, so that aspect solved itself.”
“What do you mean?” Mo asked. “How did it solve itself?”
Arthur smirked. “Cleo can tell us.”
My lungs stuck together. “Um, I can?” I had no idea how.
Arthur spun the gavel in his fingers. “Did your father ever tell you what he did?”
I blinked.
Time stopped. The feeling of being overwhelmed increased at the mention of Thorn Price—my kindhearted, lovable father. “What he did?” I tried to remember, but there was nothing. Whatever shields were in my mind still kept that part captive. I’d hoped I wouldn’t be prisoner to amnesia anymore, but there were certain holes waiting to be filled.
Just ask him.
Arthur would tell me.
But wouldn’t that be cheating? I had to do this on my own—otherwise, who was to say what I recalled wasn’t his version of the events and not mine. I might be tainted and not remember the truth.
Arthur nodded. “He did something rather extraordinary.”
The Club watched us, their heads volleying from side to side with who spoke.
“Remind me,” I said. “Tell me something and I’ll see if I can remember the rest.”
His gaze turned cloudy, looking into the past like a seer. “We’d just come back from the beach. It was mid-summer and you’d just turned—”
“Thirteen,” I gasped, hurtling headfirst into the memory.
“Happy birthday, Buttercup.”
I threw my arms around my father once he put down the castle cake and thirteen candles stuck into the turrets. “Thank you, Daddy.”
He grinned, motioning behind me.
Hands came over my eyes and the familiar scent of spicy deodorant and grease bombarded me. “Art, stop it.” I laughed, unsuccessfully ignoring the tingles his touch caused.
“Wait a second.” His voice was a soft caress.
“Okay, she can open them now.”
Arthur dropped his hands, letting me blink and focus at a piece of paper in my father’s hand. It looked like the most boring birthday present ever. But somehow, I knew it wasn’t.
This was precious. To my father. To me. To my future.
Capturing it, my father tapped the bottom where a signature had already been scribbled and a blank space for another. “You have to sign here.”
My eyes scanned the title. “Deed to property Forty-Seven Hundred.”
Arthur came from behind me, grinning broadly. “It’s yours, Buttercup.”
“Mine? What’s mine?”
My father passed me a pen, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re my only child. I own Dagger Rose outright. The land, the holdings. There’s acres of land that will only keep growing in profit the more the world expands. I want you to have it.”
I shook my head, the piece of paper trembling in my hands. “But … I don’t want it. It’s yours.”
My father smiled, but his eyes were guarded. “Sometimes, Buttercup, it’s best to prepare for the worst when everything is at its best. You’re young, but it doesn’t matter if I give you this now or when you’re eighteen or twenty-five. It doesn’t change the fact that I want you to have it.”
Taking my wrist, he guided the pen over the piece of paper. “You’re old enough to know the value of what I’m giving you. Sign it, sweetheart. Let me know that I’ve given you a present that will provide for you until you’re old like me.”
I slapped a hand over my mouth. “Dagger Rose … it’s mine.”
Arthur nodded. “Every shrub, tree, and piece of dirt is yours.”
“But—”
Arthur held up his hand. “You want to know how my father was still living there with the Club? After destroying your family?”
I nodded, unable to comprehend such an asset or that I’d forgotten something so life-changing.
And we burned it to the ground!
Had that been his plan all along? Was that why he gave me the torch—because it was my land to destroy?
My mouth hung open.
“Because there was a clause. The land and buildings all belong to you, but as long as Dagger Rose remained, it was a commune for all to enjoy.”
His lips pulled back into a cold, vindictive smile. “However, the land has just been vacated and the remnants of such a history demolished. They have no more claims. It’s yours to sell if you wish—I know big developers are looking for parcels of land to build housing. You could sell it at a fortune, Cleo. Or keep it and do what you want.”
I sat dumbfounded. I wanted to ask so many questions, but Grasshopper jumped in. “Did Rubix know? That the moment he left he’d be homeless?”
Arthur laughed. “Probably not. That’s what makes this sweet as well as frustrating. He ran like a fucking pussy—thinking he could outsmart me and prepare for his next attack. But in reality, he just gave me a winning hand. He’s out in the open at the mercy of other Clubs. He thinks they’re in on his schemes. I admit I underestimated him, but soon … they’ll all be exterminated.”
The ghost of the deed tickled my fingers as I remembered my father folding and sending the contract to his lawyer the moment I’d finished signing. How awful was it to think only a year later his inheritance would be forgotten and his life stolen?
We could’ve gone home. Once all of this is over, we could’ve taken back the compound. But now we couldn’t because it was rubble.
I didn’t know how I felt about that. The more I thought about it, the more I figured I should be angry that Arthur hadn’t told me it was mine before we burned it to a crisp. Instead, a strange relief settled over me, almost as if by burning it we’d erased the atrocities done to my parents—purging it from Rubix.
Everything was gone now.
Fresh for a new beginning.
“One less thing to worry about, then,” Matchsticks said.
Melanie typed something on her phone. “I’ll go to the records office. Get a copy of the deed and add it to our acquisitions and future developments.”
My heart suddenly swooped. “It won’t be valid anymore.”
All eyes turned on me. In one second, I learned I’d inherited acres of prime property. And in another, lost it all over again.
“Fuck, you’re right,” Arthur muttered.
Grasshopper ran his hand o
ver his face. “You’re dead.”
“What—” Molly stopped herself, nodding with understanding. “You were taken into state care.”
“A death certificate was issued,” Arthur said. “I saw it with my own eyes.”
Mo slapped his hands onto the table. “Add to the to-do list. Hire a fucking resurrectionist.”
Chuckles broke the tension.
I smiled tentatively. Fear billowed like smoke in my lungs. Being dead on paper had protected me. Being Sarah Jones had been a safety net. Not only had I stepped into harm’s way but now I also faced endless questions and debriefing, and whatever else the FBI would require closing my case. Not to mention the reprimand for leaving without a word.
“We’ll deal with that later.” Clapping his hands, Arthur changed the subject. “Did you call him?” His green eyes swooped to Grasshopper. “Arrange the next meeting?”
“Sure did. Two nights from now. His place. All arranged.”
Arthur nodded, pointing at Matchsticks to make a note of whatever had just unfolded.
I sat there still reeling about Dagger Rose but also just as lost. However, beneath my confusion was pride—a lot of pride for everything Arthur had accomplished.
Glancing at Mo, Arthur ran a hand through his dark hair. “The interviews arranged? Like I asked?”
Mo crossed his arms, reclining in his chair. “All done, Prez. Ready and waiting for a few days from now.”
What the hell do interviews have to do with killing a few bikers?
The more I learned, the more worried I became. I should’ve known that a battle over betrayal was too small for Arthur’s unwavering attention. I knew what he was like—always striving for more, never happy. What is he chasing this time?
My brain continued to clog up with information that I couldn’t compute as Arthur shot off questions and gathered answers that I supposed made sense to them but definitely not to me. It didn’t matter I was immersed in this new Club. It didn’t matter I slept beside the president every night. I couldn’t decipher their secrets no matter how hard I tried.
Time trickled past as the meeting grew more and more involved. Arthur was in his element. A born leader.
And all I could do was follow.
Chapter Eighteen
Kill
I’d said it.
I’d told her I loved her. It was too late to change my mind. All I needed to do was wait until she’d finished school and then I could officially date her. Yes, there were a few years between us. Yes, I was sure her father didn’t approve. But none of that mattered. Cleo was mine. And the world finally needed to know it. —Kill, age seventeen
“Come with me. I have a surprise for you.”
The members of Pure Corruption had filed outside, slowly trickling like water through sand until it was just Cleo and me in the room. The meeting had gone well. Things were in place. It was time to relax and regroup like we always did.
Tonight would be something normal and common, but for the first time I’d have my woman on my knee and that just made everything fucking brilliant.
Cleo’s eyes met mine, her long red hair looking like living fire down her back. “A surprise?”
I nodded, moving around the table to pluck her from her chair. Her body moved like rigid plastic, no sway or buckle toward me.
My heart stuttered as I cupped her face. “Everything okay?”
Biting her lip, her gaze searched mine—trying to tear whatever she needed to know unwillingly from my soul.
“Buttercup, whatever it is. You can ask me. You don’t need to search for answers when I’m ready to tell you anything you want to know.”
“Anything?”
I kissed her forehead, dragging her into an embrace. “Anything.”
Her small arms wrapped around my waist. My body wanted to give in to her. My legs were sick of holding my weight. My head was pissed off with existing with lousy vision and pain. But a simple hug from her crippled me.
“For over an hour, I’ve listened to plans that you’ve had in place for years. I’ve witnessed passion, intelligence, and a ruthless determination shared by all members. But I’m completely lost.”
“Lost?”
She pulled away. “What are you planning on doing? What interviews are arranged for a few days from now? Who are you meeting?”
A smile tugged my lips. “That’s a lot of questions.”
“There was a lot of information.”
I caught a handful of hair, curling the long strands around my fingers, forcing her to come closer. “There was a lot to plan for.”
Her lips parted as I dragged her closer. “Arthur, I’ve been in the dark for eight long years. Don’t blot out my light now.”
My heart flip-flopped. My fingers slipped from her hair, dropping to secure around her hip bones. Jerking her forward, I spun her around and pressed her against the table. “I would never do that. Never.”
The tip of her tongue ran along her bottom lip. “I know. You’re not deliberately keeping me confused, but I need to understand.”
“And you will understand. But there’s only so much I can tell you before it sounds impossible. I have to show you—mainly to prove to myself that I haven’t been wasting my time all these years planning this.”
She laughed quietly. “In that case, show away. You have my undivided attention.”
My fingers trailed from her hips to her rib cage, feathering lightly, skating over the cotton of her top. “Undivided, huh? Just like you had mine when you squeezed my cock in the bathtub?”
Her head lolled back as my thumbs caressed her nipples. “Uh-huh …” The sensitive flesh instantly budded beneath my touch. “Exactly like that,” she moaned as I switched from caressing to pinching.
Scooting backward onto the table, her legs parted, beckoning me closer. Accepting the invitation, I wedged my thighs between hers and rocked the fly of my jeans on her denim-clad pussy.
“Oh, God.” Her skin flushed a flamingo pink as my lips kissed a path from her throat to her mouth.
“Kiss me, Arthur.”
My cock swelled; I couldn’t disobey. Her lips were silk and softness as I took her mouth.
I didn’t rush. I didn’t take.
Time slowed down as we breathed slow and deep, both keeping hold of the straining leashes of our desire.
Her tongue chipped away at my self-control, licking me sweetly.
I parted my lips, letting her taste and guide.
Her small hands landed on my chest, sweeping down my front to catch on my belt. We both sucked in a breath, standing on the edge of stopping or giving in.
Doctor Laine’s warning came back to mind.
No exercise.
But that was fucking three days ago. Surely I’d healed enough to handle sex. I wasn’t that much of an invalid, was I?
Cleo kept kissing me and there went my conscious decision. There was no way to know if I was better—unless we tried.
And fuck I wanted to try over and over again.
Her fingers went from still to swift, unbuckling the leather and tugging it from my hips. I kissed her harder as her touch dropped lower, popping open the button before following the metal teeth of my zipper and unlatching each tooth with a tease.
Damn her for changing before coming here. If she still wore her dress, I could’ve just pushed up the material and thrust inside her. Now I had to fumble and wait. And I couldn’t wait. The desire to take her almost buckled me.
My headache pounded as I cupped her hot core through the denim. Her legs opened further, sensual and sexy.
Blood flowed faster to my cock, leaving my damaged brain gasping for help. The smog I couldn’t seem to shake clouded thicker, pressing on the back of my eyes.
Keep it together.
I couldn’t pass out again. I had no doubt the next time Cleo would admit me to a hospital. I’d wake up to countless tests on my horizon rather than the final pieces of my intricate puzzle.
No. I had to stay whole for
a few more days—then I could relax.
Then stop this.
I paused, testing my self-control.
My hands moved on their own accord.
I have no self-control where she’s concerned.
Undoing her jeans was nowhere near as quick and streamline as she’d undone mine. A small laugh escaped her as I finally fumbled and won, yanking both her jeans and panties down her legs.
“Wait—what if someone walks in?”
I kissed her again, unable to look at her wet pussy without shuddering with need. “They won’t. They’ll all be busy organizing tonight.”
“What—what’s going to—”
I interrupted her question by brushing my thumb against her clit and slowly sliding a finger inside her.
Her hands clutched my shoulders. “Oh.”
I groaned as her inner muscles clenched around my finger. I bit her neck, forcing her body to arch and her hips to ride my hand.
“Wait—”
I pressed another finger inside her.
“We shouldn’t do this. You’re still concussed.”
My cock was past fucking caring.
The way she gasped and flinched—I couldn’t stop now. I wanted her so fucking much. “Stop thinking,” I commanded, licking my way down her throat and nuzzling my face into her cleavage.
“But, Art—I’m worried about you.” She sucked in a breath as I sucked her nipple through her T-shirt. Her fingers threaded through my hair, holding me tight against her breasts. “We … we should stop.”
I chuckled.
Her words said one thing but her body entirely another.
“You sure?” I twisted my fingers, rubbing her G-spot.
Her legs went bowstring stiff; a small cry escaped.
“Yes …”
I did it again, moving my fingers and rubbing her clit in the way I knew she loved.
“Yes, we should—ah …”
“Stop?” I smiled against her mouth. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”
She nodded drunkenly. “Yes. We really need to—” My touch switched from teasing to demanding. I thrust my finger inside her, grinding my aching cock against the table ledge.
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