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 could 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.
He smiled, smoothing my tangled hair. “I suppose you are in a way. My own little princess.”
“He killed them for nothing.” I curled in on myself, hugging my rib cage.
Arthur’s voice was strained. “I’m so sorry, Cleo. Believe me, the fucking bastard will pay. I can’t change the blood flowing in my veins, but I can make it up to you by putting him in the ground.”
I shook my head. Death for death wasn’t justice, it was just a tragedy. But at the same time, I couldn’t stomach the thought of him living and ruling a Club he’d taken by evil—a Club belonging to my father.
I can’t live in a world where my attempted murderer prospers.
My soul wept. “Why me? Did he try to kill me because we were together? Because he knew how we felt about each other?”
Arthur’s eyes darkened, his hands curling tight. “No. He never planned to kill you. You were at the wrong place at the wrong time.” He looked away, his jaw clenched so hard he couldn’t say any more.
Grasshopper jumped in. “He wanted you alive.”
My eyes shot to his blue ones, begging for the riddle to end. “Why?”
Arthur finally got his rage under control, whispering harshly, “He knew what we were going to ask him that night. He knew how much I fucking loved you. But the bastard had other plans.”
I didn’t think it would be possible for my stomach to fall any further, but somehow it slipped through the floor and plummeted down and down. “What plans, Art?” I breathed, every muscle seizing against his answer.
“Sell you,” Grasshopper said. “What better way to formulate loyal Chapters than selling off the daughter of the president he just killed? He planned on using you to unite another large Club out in San Diego. You were to be used like—”
“Like a pawn.” Now I saw the chessboard. Now I understood the players if not the rules. My eyes met Arthur’s. “He was never going to let us be together.”
Arthur shook his head sadly. “I only found out a few years later that he left you inside the house to terrify you. He planned on coming to your rescue, making you believe he tried to save your parents—just like he saved you. He planned on using your gratefulness as a weapon and bribe you into paying back the debt of his kindness.”
Oh God. I had evaded not only a horrible death but a horrible existence, too. “But I escaped,” I whispered.