Sin & Suffer (Pure Corruption MC #2)(71)

My interest piqued. Keep going. “What did you buy?”

He chuckled. “Don’t laugh, but a salon.”

“A salon?”

“I bought it because the owner was being harassed by a small Club on the outskirts of town. I also bought it because the woman who owned it looked a bit like you.” He sighed heavily. “She was older, but her hair reminded me so much of your red curls that when she burst into tears knowing she’d be broken into and destroyed the moment I withdrew my protection, I couldn’t walk away.” His lips curled into a self-conscious smile. “I gave her cash.”

My heart flipped over at the kindness inside him. “And it was a loss?”

“No, not at all. It’s rather profitable considering the small investment I made.” Smiling coldly, he muttered, “Not to mention the small Club who’d been raiding shops and raping girls walking home from work was suddenly torn apart and never seen again.”

A chill worked down my spine. “You stopped them.” It wasn’t a question.

He glared past the chain-link fence to the everglades beyond. “Yes, I stopped them.”

I shuddered to think how many bodies the local alligators had devoured over the years. But if they were evil men disrupting a peaceful city—was there harm in that? To take a human life in order to save countless more? What would karma say to such a decision?

I changed the subject from death and carnage. “What other businesses do you own?”

Arthur finished his beer, dropping it by his feet to tick off on his fingers. “Well, there’s two bars, a burger joint, and another salon. Oh, and there’s also a sushi train and I’m part owner in a security firm that does neighborhood watch pro bono.”

My jaw fell wide. “Holy crap.” Was that all he did? Trade and save and invest into people he believed in? He gave so much to others, all while living a bare existence in comfort and connection. “Arthur, I’m—” Blown away.

He cocked his head, his forehead furrowed with yet more pain from the headache that never left. Pointing at Grasshopper and Mo, who were now the main chefs of tonight’s dinner, he grinned. “Grasshopper owns a pet groomers and donut shop, while Mo manages to split his time between three pubs and a yacht that’s a floating restaurant on the bay.” He laughed. “We’re all very entrepreneurial.”

“I can see that.” I laughed quietly. “Who knew? Not all men dressed in scuffed leather and riding around on custom-designed Triumphs prefer girls, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll.”

He frowned. “Those things have never been in my repertoire.” His eyes blazed. “I almost became a monk because every other woman paled in comparison to you.”

I rubbed at my chest where a sudden unbearable pressure swarmed. “I’m glad you’re not a monk.”

He chuckled. “Me too.”

We stared at each other, wrapped up in so much said and so much still to learn. I wished we were alone again—so I could show him just how amazed I was by his accomplishments.

“I’m proud of you. So proud.” I couldn’t contain the awe and pride. I hugged him. Hard.

He tensed, then relaxed in my hold, hugging me back. His leather cut creaked, smelling of lanolin and masculine musk. It was the best smell in the world.

“All right, everyone. Grab some plates and form a queue. Dinner is finally served,” Grasshopper yelled.

The men clapped and women paraded from the Clubhouse with salads, pastas, and breads in their arms. I should’ve been helping them, but tonight I permitted a bit of laziness—after all, it meant Arthur and I finally got to enjoy something so simplistically precious.

Someone switched on a radio, turning the cicada-laced air into a jive of sixties music.

“Come on. Let’s eat.” Arthur guided me forward and together we joined our new family.





Chapter Twenty


Kill


Why was it that people seemed the happiest on the cusp of disaster?

It was like clockwork.

My mom had been happiest before her cancer diagnosis. Thorn had been happiest before my father decided he had to be removed. Even I’d been at my happiest just before my life ended.

Cleo made me happy.

But ultimately, she was the one who made me want to die. —Kill, age eighteen



Sitting in the darkness with my brothers and sisters around me granted the same kind of happiness I’d seen infect others. It was dangerous. This type of joy made people lazy. Unaware. Close-minded.

Happiness was a drug. The strongest of all because it made life seem friendly, open, and kind.

That was bullshit.

I’d forgotten that lesson when I was younger. Believing that everything would work out and my dreams would come true.

And I’d paid the price.

I’d paid the price for my blindness and almost sacrificed everything to despair.

So, even though I wanted more than anything to believe in the happiness spread before me. To open up my heart to the warmth. To bask in the glow of companionship …

I couldn’t.

Wallstreet was still in jail. My father was still alive. And the world was still the same stinking pile of corruption and lies it’d always been.

Until those three things changed, I had no space for intoxication on dreams and fantasy.