Wallstreet ran a hand through his white hair. “I’m nobody, Ms. Price. No one of relevance, anyway. Only a man with an eye for numbers and coincidences, just like your lover.”
Arthur gritted his teeth. “They broke in last night.”
The swift change of topic threw me for a moment; I struggled to catch up.
“Did they take it?”
“No. They didn’t find what they were looking for.”
Wallstreet stiffened. “Are you sure about that?”
Arthur growled, “I’m sure. What else could it be?”
Wallstreet’s eyes fell on me. I shifted in my seat as a cold gust of ice shot down my spine. “Forget it,” he said softly.
Looking back to Arthur, he added, “You don’t want to rush this. Years you’ve been planning. Don’t fuck it up when you’re so close.”
Planning? Planning what? I needed to know!
Arthur leaned over the table, lowering his voice. “I have no intention of fucking anything up. It’s time for them to pay. I gave them years. I did as you asked. It’s my turn—”
“You did what I asked so you could reap what is owed to you. Don’t forget I taught you the art of patience as well as trading, my son.”
Arthur pulled back, chastised. “I only meant that I have more than enough wealth. More than enough standing and goodwill in the local community. I have the politicians you wanted all on our side. I control the strings of everyone you ordered me to pull into our power. It’s time. I need to move before they try anything else. It’s war, and I want it on my terms.”
The energy he gave off singed my body—prickling with ominous foreboding. Something told me that the minor rebellion I’d interrupted when I first arrived would be nothing compared to whatever Arthur had planned.
Politicians? Power? He spoke of controlling men like puppets. I didn’t like this grim, cutthroat side of Arthur. I didn’t like that it had formed without me.
Unthinkingly, I rubbed the mostly healed burn on my arm as Lighter Boy popped into my head.
Wallstreet followed my fingers. His eyes narrowed. “That looks like it was painful. What happened, my dear?”
If I weren’t wearing jeans and a long-sleeved top, he would’ve seen just how painful my past had been—my scars never failed to paint a picture of horror.
I tensed.
His question held so much more than an innocuous enquiry.
What does he know?
My gaze locked with the older man, forcing past his perception. He stared right back, temper swirling below the surface.
Arthur answered for me. “It happened the night she came to me. We haven’t figured out the how or why yet.”
Wallstreet went deathly still. “How did you find each other again, after all this time?”
Wallstreet and I never looked away from each other; the more I stared, the more my apprehension grew.
I recognize you. But how?
Arthur shot me a look. “One of my crew picked her up. I was fed a bullshit story about where she’d been and who she was.”
Ah yes. The story that I was another one of his father’s mistresses—destined to pay for the sins of the man they chose to sleep with. Even though I understood Arthur’s reasoning on a personal level, it still didn’t make it right.
Wallstreet finally broke gazes with me, looking at his prodigal son. “So why did they deliver six instead of five?”
Arthur shrugged.
I wanted to wave. Me… sitting right here. Number six.
I glanced at the guard standing by the exit. It felt so wrong to be talking about trafficking in front of a man who had the law on his side.
I wasn’t a criminal or a bad person. Yet I’d fallen in love with a boy who did bad things and loved a man who seemed absolutely deadly.
And now I knew how he’d formed the hard exterior—the cold-blooded drive—it’d been taught by Cyrus “Wallstreet” Connors.
Wallstreet frowned. “Why?” Frowning, he added, “What was there to gain?”
Arthur’s muscles locked down. “They know.”
Wallstreet scooted closer, energy crackling even louder. “How would they know? How would they have found her after all this time?”
“Who the fuck knows, but they do. It explains everything.”
Wallstreet rubbed a hand over his face. “It is incredibly convenient that the sixth just happened to be from your past.”
Arthur froze, his hands curling on the table.
Wallstreet dropped his voice. “I hope this isn’t true, but you have a leak.” Looking my way, he muttered, “She’s from your past—the same past you’re trying to—”
“Motherfucker,” Arthur hissed.
Wallstreet nodded sanguinely. “Exactly.”
My mind spun, trapped in a cyclone of never making sense.
“Can someone please explain what the hell is going on?” I asked, not that I expected to get a response.
Wallstreet ignored me. “The original Corrupt members I vouched for are trustworthy—I have absolute faith in that. Have you welcomed any new members since?”
Arthur nodded. “A couple, but only after heavy screening and a long time as a Prospect.” His back bunched beneath his shirt. He’d had to leave his leather jacket in the coat check—no gang-related memorabilia allowed in the building.
“I can’t believe someone would do this. And why? After the wealth I’ve given them, the peace I’ve fought so fucking hard for.”
“Why?” Wallstreet chuckled. “Anyone who knows you knows your past is your driving force.”
“But that? Shit!”
The guard shuffled closer, his hand closing over a baton on his hip.
Wallstreet looked over his shoulder, smiling. “All good, Mark. Just a bit of human passion, is all.”
“Fair enough. Just keep it down.” The guard melted against the door again. The power Wallstreet had was impressive.
I piped up. “If you’re wondering who betrayed you, I know who took me.”
Silence fell like thick snow.
Why oh why didn’t I mention it before? It never came up. I’d been so enamored with reliving our love, I hadn’t had time to mention the man with the lighter.
Stupid.
“What did you just say?” Arthur asked, his face growing black.
Shit, if my emotions weren’t already stretched to capacity, I would’ve felt sorry for the man I was about to out.
My heart raced.
“Lighter Boy. I don’t know his name, but he was at the lunch when you came back after three days away. By the way, that reminds me. What were you doing for those three days?”
Now was not the time to ask, but the question fell out unbidden. He’d been bruised and reeking of alcohol. It seemed a little out of character—I couldn’t imagine him willingly becoming intoxicated; he liked control too much.
Probably because he was stripped of it when he was thrown in jail.
It was Wallstreet who replied. “He was doing what I requested. Not only has Killian taken my instruction and done more than I ever hoped, but he also runs an empire that has many facets.”
My hands balled. “What facets?”
Wallstreet smiled. “You know in your heart he isn’t just a biker. Sure, Pure Corruption is his family, as much as it is mine, but it’s beyond that now.”
Arthur grumbled. “Those three days I was socializing with a few contacts. Building friendships with men in power that will increase our reach. And, if you must know, I spent a lot of time at the beach where I took you last night… going over the past.”
My arms ached to hug him, while my mind was desperate to break open his brain and see the truth.
Wallstreet nodded. “Everything I’ve given Arthur is nothing compared to what he’s giving back. Kill is the smartest, most capable man I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet, Ms. Price. You should be immensely proud of all that he’s achieved.”
I crossed my arms, feeling possessive and pissed off. He spoke as if he owned Arthur. As if Arthur was nothing without the things he’d learned from Wallstreet. I knew differently. I’d had the pleasure of knowing the boy before he fell into Wallstreet’s clutches and I couldn’t separate my rage at having to share him with this man, and the common sense that Wallstreet had saved him.
“What does Lighter Boy look like?” Arthur asked, bringing the conversation back to focus.
Sighing, I said, “He plays with a lighter, has brown hair, hazel eyes, and is skinny.”
Arthur’s attention turned inward, figuring out which of his brothers was responsible.
I took his silence as another opportunity to trip Wallstreet up. “How long have you been in here?”
Wallstreet grinned, letting tension ebb. “Seventeen years. Been a while.”
So I can’t have known him from before.
“When will you get out?”
He shrugged. “That depends on God, I suppose. I have another five to serve, but I hope that will be reduced. However, I won’t know until I’m walking free from those gates.”
The way he moved nudged my thoughts again, begging to connect the dots.
“Alligator. Fucking Adam ‘Alligator’ Braxton,” Arthur suddenly growled.
“Ah yes. I remember you saying he’d been voted in by the brothers but you still withheld judgment,” Wallstreet muttered.