“Mind your own goddamn business,” I growled. With a grunt of agony, I stole Cleo from the ground and hoisted her into my arms.
She hardly weighed anything, but even the slightest pressure sent my head blaring with sirens and more pain than I thought I could endure.
Shit, I hated being so weak!
Blinking back dark spots, I turned to face Grasshopper and Mo. “I’m done with hospitals and doctors. Get me a car. I don’t care how you do it. Beg, buy, or fucking steal it, but don’t come back without one.”
Grasshopper clenched his jaw, the urge to argue bright in his gaze. My fists tightened around Cleo, fully prepared to sock him in the jaw even with my woman sprawled in my hold. “I’m not asking, Hopper.”
“Fine.” Running a hand through his mohawk, he nodded at Mo and jogged toward the blown apart entrance. Once he’d bypassed the bikers, who all looked at a loss of what to do, he broke into a full-out run.
Good. One thing I could stop worrying about. Grasshopper was reliable and fast. I had no doubt I would have wheels and driven away from this town before the ambulance arrived.
Can you drive?
Once again, I ignored my brain. My flickering vision would make it dangerous to navigate at high speeds. It wasn’t rational for me to drive. But that cool-headedness I always prided myself on was missing.
All I focused on was getting Cleo home by me.
Healing her by myself.
Proving to her I was worth all the shit that just happened. And all the crap to come in order for me to win. I needed to ensure she couldn’t live without me, so when she found out the truth, she might somehow forgive me and not leave.
I have to do this.
I had to if I had any chance of deserving her.
Hoisting Cleo higher in my arms, I looked at her beautiful features. Her full lips were smeared with blood—whose blood? Her temple was bruised and a large bump decorated her hairline. It drove me to distraction thinking we both suffered the same injury—both incapacitated by a concussion at the hands of my asshole family.
Matchsticks came closer, peering into Cleo’s heart-shaped face. “She gonna be okay?”
I narrowed my eyes. “She better be.” Cocking my head at the compound behind me, I ordered, “Grab her some water. She has to wake up.”
Matchsticks nodded. “Right.” Sprinting to the nearest house, his gut wobbled and bounced. A few moments later, he returned with a plastic pink cup brimming with water.
I shuffled Cleo so her head tipped back a little over my arm. “Feed it to her gently. Don’t make her choke.”
Matchsticks tipped the overflowing water in the general direction of Cleo’s mouth.
It went fucking everywhere.
“Goddammit, what are you trying to do? Drown her?”
He froze. “Sorry, Kill.” Tipping some of the water out, he tried again, this time lucking out and managing to get some into her mouth.
Cleo mumbled incoherently, moving her chin away.
“Cleo, you need to open your eyes.”
Another moan.
Anger sneaked over my concern.
“Buttercup,” I snapped. “Open your fucking eyes.”
Men moved past me, forming small groups to ransack the compound. I let them go. I was too wrapped up in Cleo to care.
The pounding in my head never ceased as I wrapped my arms tighter around her. I forgot about Matchsticks and Dagger Rose. I forgot about what I would have to do to make my father pay. All I focused on was the girl who owned my heart.
Pressing my forehead against hers, I begged, “You have to open your eyes, Buttercup. I’m a fucking mess without you. You can’t do this to me. I won’t let you. Do you hear?”
I groaned as my headache became endlessly heavy, compounding deeper and deeper until I felt like Atlas trying to hold up the world.
Tucking her against my body, I moved past Matchsticks and left behind the smoking ring where Cleo had lain. Marching to the gates, I found Mo, who was busy coordinating the gathering of oil, gasoline, and diesel. In his hands, he held an assortment of lighters, matches, and a long rope made of knotted sheets that’d been soaked in what I assumed was bourbon thanks to the empty bottles by his feet.
My lips twitched into my first smile since I’d woken in hospital. “Good idea.”
Mo tilted his chin at the compound. “You up for it? They’re not here; everything important has been taken or destroyed. We won’t gain anything by keeping it standing.” Glancing at Cleo, he lowered his voice. “The only person we came across was one of the bitches we stole and gave to the Crusaders. Her throat was cut from ear to ear …” He trailed off.
My eyes widened, looking at the war paint of someone else’s blood covering Buttercup.
That’s how she became so covered.
She’d been made to watch as another woman was viciously murdered in front of her.
My heart lurched.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“The men have explored the place. It’s worthless, Kill. We should—”
“Dagger Rose isn’t worthless.”
In fact, it had great value. But that value would only increase if the compound was destroyed. “Torch it,” I growled. It was time to purge the place where evil resided. Cleo would understand.
“You sure?” Mo moved to stand beside me as we faced the compound that’d been my home for so many years. Instead of happy memories, all I could think about was the day when I’d been so terribly betrayed.
Clutching Cleo harder, I nodded. “Yes, I’m sure.” My voice was cold, merciless. “Burn it to the fucking ground.”
Chapter Seven
Cleo
He hated me.
I didn’t know what I was doing wrong, but he did.
My dad told me that Art was dealing with issues with his father. It hurt, because the moment Dad mentioned it, I knew. I just knew what those issues were. I was so selfish and stupid not to see. How did I miss the bruises on his arms? The puffy lip the other day? His father hurt him. And it was my job to protect him. That was what love was, right? Protecting those you cared for? Well … tomorrow, I was going to tell Rubix to leave Arthur the hell alone. —Cleo, diary entry, age thirteen
I’m cold.
Why am I so cold?
Before, I’d been too hot—far too hot. But now, all that heat had gone, leaving the sweat on my skin to chill and the warmth in my blood to freeze.
Curling into myself, I snuggled into the hardness surrounding me and tried to make sense of this strange new world.
It was dark.
It was painful.
Slowly, in the tiniest of increments, my body awoke and took stock of what’d happened. I couldn’t open my eyes—I was so tired. My mind seemed disconnected from my limbs and organs, floating freely, but the throbbing pain growing deeper with every heartbeat shackled me to the mortal world.
I flinched as horrible dreams bombarded me. Images of throats erupting and blood waterfalling. Fire consuming and ash raining.
I didn’t want to remember but this time there was no amnesia, no blankness to protect me.
I recalled everything. In vivid, perfect detail. The girl dying at my feet. Rubix touching me. Cobra and Sycamore holding me.
Then … pain.
I didn’t know what’d struck me, but it’d sent me hurtling into darkness.
I squirmed, no longer finding comfort in sleepiness but a sinister syrup housing monsters and nightmares.
Wake up!
The more I forced myself, the more pain exhausted me. The thick throbbing haze was absolute. A sickening roll reminded me all too keenly of the Seahorse ship where Arthur almost sold me.
Something jiggled me, pressing me harder against firm muscles. “Open your eyes.”
The demand sounded familiar—as if it’d been repeated over and over again.
I strained toward it—reaching with eager hands to latch on to the kindness in their tone.
“Buttercup, open your eyes. P
lease … for me.”
Arthur!
The sinking sensation disappeared.
The anchor snipped free and I soared buoyantly to the surface.
I opened my eyes.
“Oh, thank God.” The jostling sensation came again. “Can you see me?”
I hooked on to his deep baritone, willing my body to fall back under my control. Slowly, shadows and shapes came into play.
And then … there he was.
Tangled jaw-length black hair, strained green eyes, and kissable full lips. High cheekbones made him exquisite, while two-or three-day growth made him human. He was the perfect contraction of fantasy and fate.
The most heartbreaking love glowed in his gaze, undoing me with besotted pain.
“You came,” I croaked.
“You can see me?” His question was an urgent demand.
“Yes.” I swallowed, lubricating my throat. “I can see you.”
He deflated before my very eyes. “Thank God.”
He crushed me close, forging us together into one statue of bleeding souls.
I moaned a little as my body complained at being hugged.
Along with my vision, feeling in my limbs returned. The flurry of my heartbeat hammered against my ribs, joined by a steady drumbeat of grumbling hunger in my stomach. The abnormal strangeness of not feeling tethered to my body disappeared as I wriggled my toes and clenched my fists. The tips of my extremities tingled as if reacquainting themselves after being separated and free.
“What happened?” I swallowed again, trying to wash away the taste of soot and metal.
“It’s over. That’s all you need to know.” Arthur’s arms tightened around me.
The softness of relief and sparkle of love wiped away the past few horrors. Being in his embrace again, seeing him alive—I couldn’t ask for a better gift.
I thought I’d lost you.
I burrowed closer to him, seeking confirmation that this wasn’t a dream—that he was real and safe and here. “I knew you would. I never doubted.”
His muscles bunched. “Knew I would what?” Fear burned in his eyes. Panic made him shake.
I frowned. What could he be so afraid of?
My stomach clenched with the need to absolve him, to assure both of us that we were all right. “That you’d come. I never stopped believing.”
Never stopped hoping you were alive.
“The only way you wouldn’t have come for me is …” I trailed off.
Arthur cleared his throat. “Is if I’d died.” His exhale layered with grief and torment. His lips kissed my forehead. “Of course I came. How could I not? Even if I was dead, I would’ve found a way.” He closed his eyes, cutting me off from his persecution. “I’m just so fucking sorry it took so long.”
I moaned again as he tucked me protectively close. Nuzzling into his warmth, I did my best to eradicate the ice still living in my blood. “How long?”
Arthur shook his head, the tips of his hair tickling my forehead. “We’ll talk about it when you’re better and we’re home.”
Home.
I liked the sound of that.
“Can we do that, Buttercup? Can you forgive me for everything and stay with me? Can you give me the chance to explain when we’ve dealt with this mess and we’re alone?”
You don’t need to be afraid of me.
My heart perished. “Arthur, I need to tell you something.”
“Don’t,” he growled. His eyes turned glassy. “Don’t. Please. I can’t do this here.”
I hated to see him in pain—especially when I could grant him relief—but I nodded and respected his request. “Okay.”
Arthur kissed my cheekbone, his muscles twitching to lift me higher. “I was so afraid. When you wouldn’t open your eyes … fuck, it killed me.”
I stroked his rough cheek. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
He pursed his lips, anger mixing violently with heartbreak. “Don’t you dare apologize. This was all my fault. I’m the one who should beg for forgiveness.” His face shadowed, filling with thoughts I couldn’t chase. “Just … I hope you can forgive me—for so many things.”
Once again the underlying message played on my soul-strings. I ran my thumb over his dry lips. “You’re already forgiven.” Narrowing my eyes, hoping he would understand, I added, “For everything.”
He sighed, but his suffering didn’t ease. Looking away from me, his body stiffened with duty. “I need to get you away from here.”
“As long as I’m with you, I’m happy.” I curled tighter in his arms, giving in to a bone-wracking shiver.
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew,” he barely whispered.
“You’re wrong.” I shook my head. “There’s nothing you could do to make me stop loving you.”
He flinched. The moonlight cast a silver glow on the side of his head where a small patch of hair had been shorn. What—
Reaching for it, I found a large bump—similar to the one gracing my own skull. Any remaining fogginess disappeared as nervousness slammed into me. “Are you okay?”
His brow fell as he snorted. “Forget me. What about you?”
Not letting him change the subject, I tried again. “When they took me … when you were left lying there, bleeding …” My blood flowed faster. “How badly did they—”
“They should never have been able to get inside and take you.” His face twisted. “I swear on my life, I’ll make it right.”
“That wasn’t what I meant. I need to know if you’re okay.”
Tell me!
My heart picked up its pace with a worried staccato.
Something happened. Something he’s not telling me.
“Arthur, if you’re not well, we need to—”
A hand landed on my head gently, breaking the moment and tearing me away from the lies Arthur was about to sprout.
Grasshopper came into focus, a soft smile on his lips. “Glad to see you’re awake. You don’t want to miss the best part.” He glanced at Arthur. “By the way, got the car. It’s ready to go.”
Arthur grunted; the sound threaded from his chest to mine. “Good.” He turned and Dagger Rose sprawled before me. The houses, the Clubhouse, the scuffed and blackened circle with a singed mattress and dirt.
What on earth happened here?
I tried to remember, but this time I had no memories being blocked by a stubborn wall. I’d been out cold and never witnessed a thing.
Arthur said, “We’ll wait to see the first spark, then we’ll go.”
I didn’t know if he was talking to me or Grasshopper.
Gingerly, I inspected the bruise on the side of my temple. It was more like an egg-shaped bump than a bruise. And it hurt—a lot. I flinched, sucking air between my teeth as I prodded it. “What exactly are we waiting for?”
As much as I appreciated Arthur holding me, I wanted to get down—to test my legs and hurry along my recovery.
“You’ll see.” Arthur cocked his chin at Dagger Rose. A few lights had been turned on in houses with broken doors and smashed windows, but that was the only illumination in the dark. Pure Corruption members dashed around, pouring rivers of gasoline from one house to another.
My heart panged to think of my childhood once again going up in flames.
Arthur hugged me harder. “Tonight, we take back what was stolen from us. Tonight, we begin our true vengeance.”
I didn’t say a word as men continued to tip any combustible liquid they could find into small trenches kicked into the mud, all leading to a center point where a small beehive of jerry cans, turpentine bottles, and half-empty spirits rested. The reek of chemicals and petrol swirled around us on the intermittent breeze.
Arthur didn’t move or put me down as we watched the commotion before us. It didn’t take long—the men worked efficiently, rigging the entire place to disintegrate.
A biker I didn’t know with greying hair and a large belly came toward Arthur and presented a tequila bottle with a rag already dre
nched hanging from the mouth. With the pomp of ceremony, the biker lit the dripping rag and held it away as the flames gusted into being.
He made eye contact first with me, then Arthur. “All yours, Kill.”
Arthur shifted me in his arms, somehow balancing me to take the bottle all while protecting me. He held the flaming Molotov cocktail reverently, almost as if he were about to give last rights to something sacred.
The glisten of rainbow oil on the dirt a couple of meters away beckoned for someone to start the catastrophe waiting to happen. The houses poised—as if they knew their existence was at an end.
“Ready to say goodbye?” Arthur murmured.
A twist of emotions filled me. This place had held so much love and family. So many happy memories. But all that happiness had vanished the night Rubix tried to destroy me.
Anger boiled in my stomach. “Fire already ended my world once. Let it burn this one, too.”
Arthur smiled, then … he handed me the bottle. “Burn it, Cleo. Put an end to this place.”
I gasped, accepting the volatile torch uncomfortably. “I don’t think …” Stretching out my arm, I did my best to keep the fiery rag from getting too close. “This is your closure, your triumph.”
With a soft but dangerous look, he said, “It’s both of ours. I want you to be the one to do it.”
I held eye contact for a long moment. This was his retribution—not mine. He needed this to find an ending.
Arthur held me firm. “Do it.”
The fervor in his voice forced me to obey. My blood flowed faster.
With a pathetic swing and an arm that didn’t completely remember how to throw, I tossed the tequila bottle toward the liquid fuse.
I jumped in Arthur’s embrace as the bottle bounced. It didn’t shatter against the soft dirt, but the fire didn’t care.
We held our breath as it rolled the remaining distance, spitting out liquor and flames until it hopped straight from the rag to the path laid before it. It took a second … one second and that was it. Almost as if the universe held its breath with us, waiting to see what would happen.
In a blink, an electrifying yellow and blue whip tore up the center of the compound, devouring the road set before it and branching off seamlessly into each abode.
Sin & Suffer Page 8
