Sin & Suffer (Pure Corruption MC #2)(78)

My heart stuttered as the failed trade flashed in red, determined to never let me forget the f*ckup this afternoon.

Stop focusing on the past. Just fix it.

I corralled my remaining wits and concentrated. Gritting my teeth, I closed the charted history and opened a fresh window.

With a barely there tremble, I selected a new foreign currency pair, checked to see if there was any news in order to go bearish or bullish, and entered the trade into the software.

Cross-referencing the pair with my trusted candlesticks and technical indicators, I wiped away my nervous sweat and committed.

My mouse clicked.

The computer chimed.

And I hoped to f*cking God I could remember how to do this.





Chapter Twenty-Three


Cleo


He’d been mean again today.

Honestly, he was like a bloody yo-yo. One minute he’d let me touch him, laugh with him, let me get close. The next, he treated me as if I had a disease. He belittled me in front of his father; he ignored me in front of his brother. I wasn’t stupid. I knew Dax was a liability waiting to happen. But I just wished … I just wished everyone would butt out. Why couldn’t things be simple? Why couldn’t the world be safe? —Cleo, diary entry, age twelve



My nipples tingled beneath the supple leather. The hair on my arms stood up as the sleeves cocooned my naked skin. And my belly tightened as I inhaled the tanning chemicals and newness.

I’d never worn something so sensual or so strict. Sensual because it heralded me as taken, belonging … loved. And strict because it meant I was one of them. I had responsibilities to uphold, people to answer to, duties to honor.

Lucky for me, Arthur had always held that hierarchy in my life. Yes, we were equals, but I was happy for him to protect and cherish me because I did the same in subtler ways. He was brawn and brash brutality while I was the soft drizzle after a harsh summer’s day.

Stroking the patch over my breast, my heart squeezed.

I’d done exactly as Arthur told me.

After scurrying up the stairs like an eager church mouse, I’d had a quick shower. Afterward, I’d moisturized, pampered, and padded naked across the room. I’d made sure the bedside lights were on romantic glow rather than interrogation brightness, and curled up in the middle of the bed wearing nothing but my new jacket.

And there I’d waited … growing wet with anticipation and breathless with desire.

Every rustle I made, the new jacket sent another wave of need through my blood. The silver thread glittered, reminding me time and time again who I loved.

The small jacket fit me perfectly.

Riding on the back of Arthur’s bike from the gathering had filled me with a mix of joy and justice. Any motorist who saw us growling past knew I wasn’t one of them—I wasn’t from a normal nine-to-five society—I was a member of something bigger. A sister, wife, and friend to people who understood the meaning of togetherness.

The skull and abacas logo teased fear into some people, believing we were lawlessness and terror. What they didn’t see was an extended family, and I’d just been handed the keys to their home.

I sighed, staring at the ceiling.

How much longer will he be?

My ears strained for any noise of his boots on the stairs. My instincts fanned out for any prickle that he might be close.

I was tempted to go down to find him—it’d been forty minutes, not the ten that he promised—but something inside me hesitated.

I didn’t want to interfere.

Losing the trade this afternoon did something to him I couldn’t understand. And unfortunately, this was one time I couldn’t help. He had to fix it. He had to come to terms with whatever injury shadowed him. All I could do was be there for him when he healed.

The house breathed around me, hugging me with its white painted walls. So many memories already existed in this place: the trials of convincing Arthur I was the girl from his past. The fear of being sold. The blankness of amnesia.

The echoes of everything that’d passed hovered in the air, twisting and twining, waiting for new memories to play with.

And tonight I plan on making new memories.

I planned on doing something for Arthur that had never been done before.

The bedroom door suddenly swung wide.

Arthur appeared.

His boots were off, his feet bare as he moved silently over the carpet. His eyes feasted on my nakedness and I deliberately wriggled, letting the front of my jacket gape, hinting at nipples and flesh. “I missed you.”

His lips quirked as his eyes blackened. “I can see that.”

Unashamedly, I spread my legs a little. “I missed you a lot, in fact.” The color of my tattooed leg looked almost garish against the white of his bedspread. I was a splash of color on a simple cloud.

He didn’t reply, only stared. Taking his time, he drank in my scars and ink—once again making me feel as if I was the most unique woman in the world.

“You were gone awhile.” My skin warmed beneath his gaze. “Are you okay?” I flinched as the question crashed between us. I didn’t want to keep hounding him, but I couldn’t stop my worry.

I’d long since given up trying to forecast the future—guessing what would occur tomorrow, next week, or next year. Life had taught me that things could go disastrously wrong within moments. But I also wasn’t prepared for chaos to win. There had to be structure and Arthur’s head injury was ruining that structure.