Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 148238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Wallstreet grinned. “Fair enough. And I do agree that you need to pay them back. It’s time. Don’t you think?”
Arthur bristled. “It’s been time for a while.”
Wallstreet cocked his chin. “In that case, you have my approval. Finish it, Killian. Teach those who ruined you that you now rule. Their kingdom is yours. Their lives are forfeit.”
A shiver disappeared my spine.
Arthur stood up. “I will.”
Wallstreet stood, too. They clasped hands.
“No touching!” The guard pushed off from the wall.
The men dropped the link, sharing a cold, secretive smile. “Let me know how it goes, son. I know you’ll find what you need once it’s finished.”
Arthur gathered me close, the first time he’d touched me with affection since we’d walked through the doors of the jail. “I already have everything I need. I’ll just be happier when it’s all finished.”
You and me both.
Wallstreet smiled. “You’ve earned it. And when Dagger Rose are no more, you’ll be one step closer to our ultimate goal. Don’t let me down.”
Arthur bristled beside me. “I’d never let you down, Cyrus. Never.”
I was left with a horrible gale inside my heart, howling with uncertainty and queries.
Would Arthur be so blindly loyal if he knew he was being lied to?
And how exactly could I show him the truth without him hating me?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Was I strong enough to protect Cleo?
Was I old enough and wise enough that I wouldn’t be so fucking naïve again?
I’d achieved more than I’d ever dreamed. I’d created wealth from nothing. Re-created a life from near impossible odds. And I had a wealthy, intelligent guardian angel who’d become fundamental in my plans and rehabilitation.
He was my saving grace.
He’d taught me everything I knew.
And yet when it came to Cleo, I still felt endlessly uncertain.
The same boy loving a girl who was never meant to be mine.
The same boy with the same damn insecurities.
—Kill
I looked at the clock.
2:30 a.m.
Ugh.
I rolled over and found an empty bed.
Where is he?
The sheets were thrown back and the forlornness of his empty side hurt my heart.
After we’d returned from visiting Wallstreet, Arthur had spent the afternoon on his laptop, trading the foreign currency market as if it were an addiction. He clicked and studied and made notes in his ledger, slowly unwinding the more he traded.
We hadn’t spoken much as we’d had dinner and headed to bed. I couldn’t shake my confusion of going to see Wallstreet. I couldn’t line up his cryptic answers or make sense of anything.
And I couldn’t understand why Arthur didn’t realize that Grasshopper was related to Wallstreet.
To me it was so damn obvious. But to him—to a man locked in the winds of vengeance and single-minded determination—it had never registered.
Then again, maybe he does know and it’s all part of the hidden agenda?
Getting back to sleep was a lost cause. I would never relax with buzzing questions or the emptiness of the mattress beside me.
Deciding to go find him, I sat up and swung my legs out of the warm cocoon. Dressed only in one of Arthur’s black T-shirts, I padded down the corridor and drifted down the stairs.
No lights were on.
I wanted to keep it that way. I liked the anonymity the dark provided. I enjoyed creeping through the shadows, almost as if I crept through my own mind.
The house had been spotlessly tidy and clean when we’d arrived home. Whoever Arthur called to come take care of it had also left his home in immaculate condition.
Knowing where I’d find him, I kept ghosting silently until stopping on the outskirts of his office.
The four smashed computers had gone, replaced with unopened boxes of new gadgets and technology. The glass from the equation poster had been swept up and the desk re-buffed.
It was as if the break-in never happened.
I found Arthur on the floor by the safe behind the couch. He rested against the wall, his legs up and head bent. His eyes glued to the photos I’d seen when he’d opened the safe yesterday.
He didn’t notice me and I took the opportunity to stare at the beautiful man whom I’d been privileged to watch grow from boy to teen to capable, protective adult.
His strong hands flexed with power around the delicate photographs. His tanned and kissable throat rippled as he swallowed. His entire body was sculptured and groomed into a fighting machine—every inch spoke of readiness and a ruthless temper that could kill.
I sucked in a breath at the tiniest shimmer in his green eyes.
Tears?
No, it can’t possibly be.
Anger.
Glittering anger that never left him alone—no matter how gentle and loving he was with me.
Arthur’s neck snapped up; he quickly slapped the photos color side up on the tiled floor. “What are you doing up?”
I didn’t take my eyes from the hidden images. “I couldn’t sleep. You left—I couldn’t go back to sleep without seeing you. Without reminding myself that you’re real and not a dream.”