Sin & Suffer (Pure Corruption MC #2)(42)

Unable to help myself, I nipped at his pectoral, tracing the pink scar and tiny puncture holes left over from my stitches.

His back tightened but his chuckle echoed like a chorus inside my ears. “Very.” Holding me at arm’s length, he smiled. “But I like bossy women.”

Coldness entered my lava-blood, delivering once again the fear that he wasn’t as well as he made out. Tilting my head, I peered at him, hoping to read his secrets.

Why was he making such an effort to distract me?

Distract me from what?

“Wrong, Mr. Killian. You only prefer one bossy woman.”

Capturing my cheeks, he placed his lips against mine. “Only one. Only you.” His tongue slipped past my lips, tasting me, encouraging me to let go of what’d happened and allow myself to be swept away in this new cascade of togetherness.

Obeying his command, I did my best to let go. I did my best to live in the moment where his kiss was as fleeting as a comet and as precious as a falling star.

The kiss stopped as sweetly as it’d begun. Arthur brushed a fiery strand from my cheek. “Let’s go rectify the problem of my starvation. Savory first, then dessert.” Pinching my butt, he smiled. “And if you hadn’t guessed by now—you’re the dessert.”





Chapter Twelve


Kill


Genius was a gift. But obsession was a curse.

Problem was I’d never been able to have one without the other.

When I wanted something—I’d go after it. I’d chase it until I’d either solved it, or it no longer interested me. That sort of single-minded determination was fine—to some degree. But in some cases, it was the worst kind of punishment because I was never satisfied. Never content. Always driven for more. —Kill, age seventeen

I left Cleo in the bathroom as I threw on a T-shirt before descending the stairs.

The steps remained where they should and my eyes judged distances like normal. The reprieve after last night’s agony made me weak at the knees with gratefulness.

It wasn’t intentional to keep the seriousness of my condition from Cleo.

Who are you f*cking kidding?

Okay, I was intentionally downplaying the agony in my head and the terrifying sludge where my intelligence used to be. But I couldn’t handle hurting her even more with a weakness I couldn’t control.

She didn’t need to fret. And I had the power to stop her worrying by simply withholding tiny details.

It was a worthwhile trade.

I stepped into the foyer with strong convictions that I’d done the right thing keeping her in the dark. My body wasn’t nearly as tense as it was yesterday, my eyes not nearly as bruised.

That was until I saw the letter.

Then I tensed up like a f*cking fist.

The mail had been delivered.

Hardly a life-changing event, if it wasn’t for the very common and familiar envelope sitting on top of my utility bills.

Moving calmly, I stole the mail as if it was any other day.

My hand stayed steady as I took the correspondence into my office and sliced the paper with a letter opener.

The stationery brought back so many memories. Memories of scribbling equations after equations, committing to memory Wallstreet’s famous trading sequence. Memories of jotting down names of newspaper editors, friendly police officers, and most importantly eager politicians—all so I would know who to contact when I found freedom.

Looking over my shoulder—never able to shake off the feeling of being watched—I unfolded the note from Florida State.

Wallstreet’s swift font indented the page.

Kill,

All plans change and ours have done just that. You received the one thing you thought you’d never see again and in return I want you to finish our ultimate goal.

It’s time.

Up until now you’ve been playing with inconsequential affairs. That was your training. Consider this your graduation.

You know what to do.

Wallstreet

He was right.

I did know what to do and I’d been expecting this letter for months. Having Cleo come back from the dead only expedited the inevitable.

And regardless of my concussion, I was ready to take on a new challenge. Ready to complete my final task. Ready for more.

To the outside world, I was just a biker.

To my brothers, I was just a president.

To Cleo, I was just Arthur the mathematician from her past.

But everyone was wrong.

Only Wallstreet knew the real me. He knew me because he’d groomed me into what I’d become.

We both knew I had bigger dreams, loftier goals. It wasn’t that I didn’t value my success or ranking within my Club—it was just … not entirely what I wanted.

I wanted retribution. I wanted to live in a world where evil and corruption didn’t win over love and togetherness.

I wanted a great many things and not all of them achievable in the lifestyle I lived now.

And that’s why I need to become someone else … someone more equipped to deliver my promises.

My obsession for more had threatened to cripple me with my never-ending desperate drive. The pressure for more money, more security, more freedom.

More. More. More.

Wallstreet had seen that. He said that was what made him choose me—even over my intelligence and gift with numbers.