Sin & Suffer (Pure Corruption MC #2)(96)

Arthur took my hand, stroking my knuckles with a calloused thumb. “We aren’t out to bring anarchy to the country, Buttercup. We’re out to show the truth.”





Chapter Twenty-Eight


Kill


What qualified another to dictate what I could and couldn’t be?

What right did anyone have over another?

My father had given me life, but did that give him the right to beat me if I didn’t obey?

My brother shared my blood, but did that give him the right to taunt and manipulate me?

I didn’t need an answer. I already had one.

Nobody had the right to make another do what they didn’t want to—especially when it was wrong. —Kill, age fourteen



It was done.

My ultimate plan was out in the open and Cleo knew everything.

My steadfast concentration over almost a decade was aired, admitted, and alive. Trading hadn’t been for wealth or prestige—it was to finance the largest operation in reform we’d ever seen. Pure Corruption’s overhaul wasn’t for Wallstreet’s enjoyment; it wasn’t so small-minded to be about the members or our way of life—it was to show the world that communions who put their followers first thrived. It was to show that men voted into power had the responsibility to govern and direct without constant manipulation or supervision.

That was what the government forgot. It was so out of touch with its people. So blinded by kickbacks and bought by men through campaigns and under-the-table dealings that they’d become the enemy rather than the savior.

All of this had a purpose.

My revenge was multifaceted. Yes, I wanted my father’s blood. But I also wanted payback. This was what kept me going in those pitch-black moments of missing Cleo and wishing for death so I could join her. This was what gave me energy to keep fighting. Keep believing.

Not to kill my father.

Not to extract revenge.

But to make the world better. So no one else had to suffer the betrayal I had.

“Say something,” I finally murmured.

Cleo sat frozen, the blue beads on her dress twinkling every time she breathed.

“It’s a lot to take in.” Samson got up and poured himself another drink. “I was the same when Kill first explained it to me. But if you let it mellow, you’ll see we’re doing it for the right reasons.”

Cleo swallowed, her hand opening and closing beneath mine. “I honestly don’t know what to say. It’s huge. I can’t get my head around it.”

I wanted to gather her close and chase away her dumbfounded fear. “I understand. I’m not asking you to follow everything we’re saying, or even appreciate why it’s up to us to do this. But I am asking for your support.”

Please accept this part of me. Don’t run.

I hadn’t let myself acknowledge just how f*cked I’d be if she said no.

Cleo’s green eyes latched on to mine, blazing with honesty. “You never have to doubt that. You have it. Forever.”

A huge weight dissolved.

I squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”

“But why tell me now?”

I smiled. “A lot has come into alignment. I’d always promised Wallstreet that I would take my time in the limelight when my father was dealt with. And …”

How could I tell her that the man who helped organize this—who gave me the confidence and skills to pull this off—would be released soon. He was the linchpin in all of this. He would become the spokesperson and it was up to me to have his throne ready for when he was freed.

“And …,” Cleo prompted.

Scooting to the edge of the chair, my leg bounced with nervous energy. Talking about this sort of stuff never failed to energize and stress me out in equal measure. I knew the mammoth task we’d set. I also knew the lies and bad press that would come to light. Nothing about my life would be spared, and in turn—nothing about Cleo’s life either. She was a part of this, even if she didn’t want to be.

“Wallstreet has been pardoned. He’s just waiting on the final discharge papers and he’ll be a free man again.”

Cleo’s eyes narrowed. “And he thinks the world will follow him because he’s a white-collar criminal who got done for what exactly? Tax evasion?”

I shook my head. “No, of course people wouldn’t listen. He’s not exactly an upstanding member of society. But in many ways, he’s exactly what’s needed. He’s willing to donate the fortune he kept hidden from the government to aid those who need it most.”

Cleo scowled. “So you’re saying he’s going to be a modern-day Robin Hood? Taking from the grubby paws of leaders and giving back to the penniless public?”

A grin broke my face. “It’s a rather flattering analogy, but it sort of works.”

Samson perched on the arm of the chair he’d vacated. “It’s a lot more complicated than that. To pull off something of this scale, we need unlimited resources.” Pointing at me, he smiled. “That’s where the genius comes in.”

A sharp lance in my skull reminded me that if I didn’t fix my brain soon, all our plans might be in the f*cking gutter. My ease and ingrained knowledge was still lost to me. The trades I’d placed yesterday clunky compared to before.

“And we need members on each side of the fence to be in accordance with one another. Politicians, bikers, journalists, squeaky clean businessmen, and convicted criminals. We all have a part to play.” Samson raised his glass. “So you can see why it’s been a long planned strategy.”