His brow tightened, shadowing his eyes. The soft pads of his fingertips kissed my cheek as he smiled sadly. “Do you trust me?”
I frowned. “As much as I can while I’m blind from things you won’t tell me.”
His shoulders sagged. “Do you love me?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”
“Then let that love be enough for now. Be glad that we’ve found each other, because there’s still so much you don’t understand and I don’t—I can’t ruin it yet.”
“Why would it ruin what we have?” I looked deep into his eyes. “Tell me. You’re starting to scare me, Art.”
Cupping my cheek, he kissed me softly. I would’ve loved to see the action from an outsider’s perspective. A scary-looking biker dressed in boots and leather, kissing a girl half his size outside a prison.
Breaking the kiss, he murmured, “Let’s go see Wallstreet. And then… I’ll do my best to explain.”
Getting through security wasn’t fun.
Arthur moved through the metal detectors and body checks easily enough—used to entering on a regular basis.
I didn’t enjoy being touched or made to feel like I was a criminal just for visiting one. My name was triple-checked on the approved list of visitors that Art must’ve called ahead for and the smiles were laced with suspicion. The grudging approval for us to move forward when they found no contraband was almost comical.
“A place like this jades you,” Arthur said as we were marched down the cold, nondescript corridor. Windows with mesh and locked doors were the only décor as we moved forward into the bowels of the jail.
A guard noticed Arthur and gave him a salute. “Hey, Kill. You good, bro?”
Arthur grinned, nodding. “As good as could be expected. You?”
“Can’t complain. Your buddy’s well and prisoners are behaving, so all good in the hood, as it were.”
Arthur waved and we kept moving.
We were led into a private room with high windows, rings bolted to the floor for chains and bindings, and a metal table in the center.
The guard who’d been our guide said, “Wait here. He won’t be long.”
Arthur sat down, slouching in one of the metal chairs as if he was completely at home here. I supposed he was. How many years had they said he’d lived inside these walls?
The urge to know why he’d been locked up ate at my soul. I had to know. It worried me. Worried me because it was somehow intrinsically linked to my past and all the things I was trying to remember.
The clanking heavy door opened again, spewing forth a man in an orange jumpsuit. He looked like a friendly grandfather, with shrewd intelligence but a kindness in his eyes that immediately made me gravitate toward him.
His white hair glistened neatly beneath the fluorescents and his skin glowed a healthy pink.
For a prisoner, he was meticulously clean, with clipped nails, ironed collar, and pristine shoes.
Arthur stood, smiling as the old man glided forward, unbound by shackles to sit primly on the other side of the table.
“Kill, my boy. Lovely to see you.” His blue eyes landed on mine. “And who do we have here?”
I froze. Those eyes… Why were they so familiar?
Arthur linked his fingers together on the tabletop, smiling in my direction. Pride and love glowed on his face. “This is Cleo Price.”
The room crackled as energy swirled from the old man. “Ah… is it now?” His eyes drifted from the top of my head to my clenched hands before me. “Now I understand.” His skin crinkled as he smiled. “It all suddenly makes sense.”
And you don’t.
I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something about him…
Arthur locked eyes with his friend and mentor, transmitting so many things that I didn’t know. These men had history, a bond that went deep—deeper than anything I’d seen in any other relationship Arthur had.
Jealousy was an odd thing to feel, but I did. I was jealous that this man knew more about Arthur than I did. I was jealous that Arthur trusted him more than he did me. And I was insanely jealous of the loyalty Arthur had toward him—even over his loyalty to me.
Eight years apart had put me second place in his life. And I hated it.
The old man stretched his arm across the table, bearing a welcoming hand. “I’m Wallstreet. Real name is Cyrus Connors, but it’s best you call me what everyone else does.”
Slowly, I placed my hand in his. My eyes widened as he squeezed back with genuine pleasure and warmth. Untangling my fingers from his, I reclined in my seat, never taking my attention off him. “Nice to meet you.”
It would be nicer if I understood you.
Flicking a glance at Arthur, I tried to read the dynamic between our odd little trio. Wallstreet cared for Arthur—there was no question about that. But something deep inside me screamed that the perfectly poised older gentleman was a front. A carefully designed persona to hide the true depth of his deception.
Wallstreet mimicked me, leaning back with a grin on his lips. “I must say, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Price. Killian didn’t speak of you often, but I feel as I’ve known you for many years. And to see you alive—well, it’s rather intriguing after believing you were dead. I want to hear everything—I’ve always been a lover of mysteries.”
My heart picked up its tempo. “What do you mean by that?”
Did he have something to do with my demise?
He laughed, a dimple showing in his cheek. “I meant nothing. Only that you were a large part of Kill’s life. You molded him into the man he became—the boy I met all those years ago. Without you, he might never have escaped the violence of such a world and focused on his raw talents.”
My eyes narrowed. Wallstreet’s mannerisms nudged my subconscious. There was something there—a link to someone I knew—I just couldn’t unscramble it. Yet.
I looked to Arthur, who never stopped watching us, his head volleying with each spoken word.
“Your math. Is that what he’s talking about?”
He nodded. “You know my father hated me wasting time on it. He thought all I needed to know was how to shoot a gun and hurt people.” He cocked his chin at Wallstreet. “Without Cyrus, I wouldn’t have the wealth I do, the Club I run, or the masterpiece of revenge currently in play.”
Wallstreet sighed contentedly. “You truly were the best student I’ve ever taught. And loyal.” He leaned forward, patting Arthur’s hands on the table. “I trust you, my son. Despite the rumors I hear of you going against my orders.”
I turned into a statue.
He’s talking about my sale as if I were nothing more than merchandise.
“I’m sitting right here, you know.” I crossed my arms. “You’re seriously going to berate him for not selling me? For not giving me up after all the time we spent apart?”
“Cleo, cool it,” Arthur muttered. “There’s more to this than you know.”
Oh, for God’s sake. I was done.
“Yes! Apparently everything I seem to know is either wrapped up in things you won’t share or you’ll ‘tell me later.’ ”
“Funny, I didn’t think you would have a temper, Ms. Price.” Wallstreet smiled at me. “Kill always spoke so fondly of you.”
“Just because I stand up for myself, that gives a man grounds not to speak of me fondly?”
Who was this guy? After almost a decade of having no past to rely on to make judgments, I’d learned to listen to my instincts. And they bellowed at me to pay attention.
Arthur held up his hands. “Enough. Both of you.”
Wallstreet smiled, completely unruffled while I breathed hard and angry. “Forgive me. We’re getting off topic.” Looking at Kill, effectively blocking me out, he said, “The man destined to receive the sixth sale—”
“Sixth sale being me.” I glared.
Wallstreet tensed. “Fine, my dear, yes. The sixth sale—you—was meant for Mr. Steel. He was the final pin in the plan. But no matter; we have enough to proceed without it.”
Damn right they did.
I tried to calm down, to stop the boiling temper in my blood. After all, this man had protected Arthur when he’d had no one. A second father to him while he rotted in jail for a crime he still wouldn’t tell me.
Wallstreet was his foster parent, just like the nameless lovely people who’d taken me in.
Wallstreet looked at me again, blue eyes glittering. “You know, there’s destiny and then there’s inevitability. Similar concepts but completely different in execution. I believe this is a bit of both.”
My mind hurt trying to figure it out. “What?”
“Huh?” Arthur asked.
“You and her. Her and you. It was inevitable you would find each other, just like I believe destiny has a part to play in all epic love stories. The question is, have you paid enough to be free from suffering?”
“Who are you?” I whispered. He didn’t talk or act like a criminal. He sounded like a psychologist, a dreamer.
The longer I sat in his presence, the stronger I sensed him. I suspected a hidden agenda, an ulterior motive lurking beneath the fatherly pride he felt toward Arthur.