An image of the alligator tattoo on Lighter Boy’s neck came back to me. “Yep, that’s him.”
Wallstreet grinned, doting on Arthur as if he was his favorite pupil. “I trust you to take care of it.”
Arthur shuddered. “Damn right, I will. Fucking asswipe.” Snatching my hand on the table, he squeezed my fingers painfully. “He’s not coming near you again. I’ll call Grasshopper to track him and put him on lockdown.”
Wallstreet sat taller in his chair. “How is Grasshopper?”
My ears pricked.
“He’s well. Setting in place the final pieces to take down Dagger Rose.”
“That’s good,” Wallstreet said, his blue eyes bright with interest.
Then it all suddenly made sense.
The blue eyes, the dimple, the identical traits.
Oh my God.
They were related.
Grasshopper and Wallstreet are related.
My muscles trembled with the realization. I wanted to ask—to confirm my suspicions—but something held me back.
Looking at Arthur, I tried to see if he knew the correlation between his right-hand man and the benefactor who’d brought him under his wing.
Arthur was president. He was the law in his world. But really he was as much a pawn as I was. The king sat across from us smiling and waving as perfect as any sovereign, getting others to do his dirty work, all while keeping his hands clean.
“What is it, my dear?” Wallstreet leaned forward, patting my forearm. “You look as if you’ve tasted something rather disgusting.”
I blinked, shoving away my conclusions and hoping I looked clueless. “Sorry, I was just thinking about Alligator and how he would’ve known I was me, even though I didn’t.”
Good excuse. And now I’d said it, I truly did wonder that.
God, my brain needed a rest. It was an overstretched rubber band that any moment would snap or lose all will to bounce back into normalcy.
Wallstreet nodded, understanding sharp in his gaze. “I can imagine all of this must be so hard for you. I think you ought to go, rest up so you don’t damage what progress you’ve made.”
Trailing his fingers off my forearm, he said to Arthur. “There are men and there are other men, Killian. Don’t confuse the two.”
What the hell did that mean? Once again my brain whirled.
I’d thought I was intelligent, but talking to this man made me feel like I’d just crawled from the first stages of evolution.
Arthur dropped his voice. “I’m paying them back for this. With or without your blessing. And I’ll make it up to you about Mr. Steel. Just give me a bit of time before you agree to whatever pissed-off demands he’s making.”
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.”
He sighed, opening his arms. “Come here.”
Moving around the couch, I slid down the wall beside him and snuggled into his masculine warmth. He kissed the top of my head, breathing in the scent of my shampoo. “I am real. You are real. We’re never losing each other again.”
His voice was strained, the strange mix of hatred and guilt plaiting together to form a heavy oath.
“What are the photos of?” I murmured. I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable and force him to show me things he’d rather not reveal, but at the same time, I wanted truth. I wanted to rip aside the curtain and see the secrets beyond.
“It’s nothing, Cleo. You should go back to bed.” His arms tightened in direct retaliation of his words. His mouth said he wanted me gone, but his actions said otherwise.
I sighed, liquefying against him. “What are you so afraid of?”
He tensed, not answering.
I waited for a few minutes, but he never slipped or admitted.
“When will you tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“The story of how you ended up in prison? The tale of what happened while we were apart? The fable of why you were so adamant I was dead? There’s so much I don’t know. So much I need to know before giving everything that I am to you.”
“You haven’t given me everything?”
The darkness was a soft voyeur around us, hushing our confessions. “No. Not yet. You’re keeping too many things from me.”