He shrugged. “Prison. Revenge. That’s all there is to know about me.” His words were simple but his eyes were complicated.
Shaking my head, I smiled sadly. “Not true. Where did you learn to cook like this? Did someone teach you?” My heart fisted as I asked. I knew he hadn’t slept with other women for affection but there might’ve been someone—a friend—someone who’d replaced me in some capacity, if not all.
Arthur took another bite, taking his time to chew. The longer he made me wait, the worse my suspicion grew. Oh, God, he does have someone close to him.
His eyes darkened. “You’re asking if a woman taught me this, right?”
I flinched. Yes. “No. I just—there’s so much about you that I missed out on. Tell me something—anything.” Tell me that no one else mattered but me.
He ran a hand through his hair, wincing as his fingers found the bump of his concussion. “Okay … I’ll put your mind at ease.” His lips curled, deliberately leaving me hanging.
“And …” I leaned forward, panting for his next word.
“I took a Thai cooking class.” He popped a bean sprout into his mouth.
“You took a class?” Huh. Not quite what I expected. Tilting my head, I waited for him to carry on. “When?”
“A few years ago.” Shifting under my reproachful stare, he continued. “When Pure Corruption was operating smoothly and my trades were finally paying dividends, I had this insatiable need to run. Everything was moving forward, life was getting better, and I fucking hated it because I felt like I was betraying your memory.” His voice thickened. “I often found myself at the airport, staring at the flight departures, wondering if I just switched off my thoughts I could somehow chase your ghost around different continents.”
My heart demolished into dust. “Arthur.”
He didn’t hear me. Throwing me a self-abasing smile, he said, “That day, I couldn’t return to Pure Corruption or the brand-new mansion I’d bought with cash. I felt like a fraud—like my life wasn’t my own anymore. So, I jumped on the next departing plane.”
My tongue was a brick.
His gaze met mine, his face heavy with the past. “I didn’t even know where I was headed until we touched down in Bangkok, Thailand. I had nothing packed and only a newly minted passport in my pocket …” His voice dwindled off, reliving those moments of exploration. “I’d wanted to feel excitement, freedom. But all I felt was loneliness.” His head dropped, his long hair curtaining his eyes. “I was so fucking lonely, Cleo.”
The sudden torture in his voice froze my blood and every inch of me needed to hug him. He sounded as if he believed that loneliness could come again. That what we had would disappear, leaving him destitute.
Nothing could be more wrong.
“I ended up staying for three weeks. I did the usual stuff. Traveled around, faded into one of the world’s busiest cities, but no matter what I did or saw, I was still alone with no one to enjoy it with. I finally had to accept that no matter where I was, how much wealth I had, or who I associated with, I would never stop the one thing I couldn’t change.”
“And what was that?” I asked quietly.
He took a sip of his water, a lone droplet sliding from his lips and over his chin. “That you were the only one with the power to fix me and because you were dead I had to come to terms with always being broken.”
This time I couldn’t stop myself.
Screw Pad Thai. Screw food.
Slipping from my seat, I moved like a river, slinking around chair legs and melting into his lap. The moment I sat on his knee, his large arms laced around me. He shuddered, holding me eternally close.
We both sighed hard.
“Take me there. Show me,” I murmured. “I want to put our life in a suitcase and never look back.”
He sucked in a breath. “I’d love that. So much.” A long hiatus lasted, before he buried his face in my hair. “I sound like a fucking sap. Shitty headache is making me admit things you don’t need to know.”
I struggled in his arms. “Never feel like you can’t tell me anything.”
He kept me imprisoned. “What you do need to know is I’m no longer broken, Buttercup. Don’t feel like you have to mend me or that I’m going to be a burden. Because it’s my fucking responsibility to look after you and I’ll do a damn better job than I have in the past. I promise.”
“I’m not your responsibility,” I said. “I’m your equal.”
The air switched from past pains to current agonies and Arthur’s arms twitched harder around me. “We need to talk about what happened that night.”
Somehow, the time between our argument at Dagger Rose and our current dinner vanished, leaving us exactly where we’d been—tense, frustrated, and confused.
My pulse thickened, feeding my cells with adrenaline in preparation.
“Why didn’t you believe him?”
His question was so quiet it was almost nonexistent. And it made no sense.
“What?”
He flinched, forcing himself to continue. “My father. He must’ve told you why I was in prison. He must’ve shown you the police report.” He glanced at me. “You would’ve seen it with your own eyes.”
“You still think I’ll hate you, don’t you?” Taking courage from his body heat, I said firmly, “I told you. I know everything. I saw everything.”
His shoulders hunched. “Then how can you honestly forgive me? No matter how I look at the situation, there is still me and my unforgivable crime.” His jaw clenched. “Your conviction that I didn’t do it—that you can absolve me—is bullshit. It makes me fear for your state of mind even more than when you were amnesiac.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“None of this makes sense anymore.”
My mind charged over the memories that were still so raw. How did we have such different versions of that night? And what would I have to do to make him see the truth? “There’s nothing to forgive. But obviously you need to forgive yourself.”
“Goddammit, I want so badly to believe you.” Arthur squeezed me tighter. His eyes were wild as if he couldn’t stomach the strained silence that followed whenever we stopped talking.
“You don’t have to believe. It’s the truth.”
When he didn’t say anything, I whispered, “Are you going to listen this time?”
Are you going to believe me unlike when you ignored my every proof that I was Cleo?
Arthur nodded slowly. “Yes. I’ll listen.” The entire day had been leading toward this conversation. “I need to know. Why do you think I’m innocent? Why aren’t you threatening to kill me for what I’ve done?”
Looking into his green eyes, I brushed unruly hair off his forehead. “I’ll tell you why.” Taking a deep breath, prickling with the ghosts of my slain parents, I did my best to offer absolution. “You did kill them, but it wasn’t your fault.”
Arthur stiffened—trading flesh and bone for steel and rebar. His large hands clamped around my hips. “What do you mean?”
“I mean exactly that. It’s not a riddle.”
His eyes turned brittle, disbelieving. His face filled with guilt, consumed with self-hatred. He had it all wrong.
For him to understand, I had to take him back further than just that night. I had to prove to him why everything he recalled was wrong. “Do you remember the first time I walked in on you and your father? That night after the Club meeting when Thorn disciplined Rubix in front of the brothers for leading an unauthorized raid on a bank?”
His face scrunched in irritation. “What does that have to do with—”
Pressing my finger against his lips, I shook my head. “Answer the question. I’ll make you understand.”
With his forehead deeply lined, Arthur’s gaze turned inward. Colors and shadows of the past clouded over his face. He nodded as the night solidified. “Yes.” Then his features fell as if plummeting off a high-rise building. “Shit, I hated you seeing that.”
My heart beat faster�
��just like it had the evening I’d witnessed domestic violence for the first time.
Oh, God. What was going on?
Arthur was curled up and bloody on the carpet in the middle of the lounge. Diane wailed from the kitchen as I dry heaved and clung to the windowsill outside with all my strength. I wanted to call Arthur’s name, to let him know I was there. I wanted to scream for help.
This wasn’t okay. Abuse was never okay.
But I couldn’t move from my secret spot as Rubix and Asus delivered kick after kick into Arthur’s stomach.
“Family doesn’t snitch, boy. I know it was you. You told Thorn about the raid.”
Coughing up blood, Arthur moaned, “It wasn’t me. I swear.”
“As if I’d listen to you.” Another vicious kick as if Arthur were a football and the goal net was miles away. “Do it again and this will seem like a fucking picnic.”
Goose bumps sprang up over my arms. “You were telling the truth. You never told my father. Thorn found out some other way but it made no difference to Rubix.”
Arthur laughed coldly. “Believe me. By that point, he didn’t need a reason.” His gaze was flint and hardness, but his tone slipped into tender. “You made it better, though. You patched me up and made me so fucking embarrassed.”
I shook the memories free of wiping away his blood and listening to his excuses for his father’s wicked temper. “It wasn’t the last time, either.”
Arthur shook his head. “No, not the last.”
“Now you remember how they punished you for doing nothing wrong, do you also remember how good they were at getting you to give in?” This was the part I feared bringing up. Arthur had a heart of pure gold, but like any precious metal it had impurities—imperfections that could be exploited and twisted to condemn its own molecular structure.
He sighed heavily. “Which downfall are you talking about? There were many.”
I traced the ropes of muscles in his forearm, not making eye contact. In a way, by not looking at him, I gave him an element of privacy. “Not that many. And I’m talking about the night they got you so drunk, you almost single-handedly exterminated the smaller MC just out of our boundaries—just because they lied that I’d been hurt by one of the prospects. You didn’t kill anyone, Art … but you were close.”
Do you see what I’m saying?
He froze. “I always wondered why I woke up to being reprimanded in the Club meeting and having dried blood on my fists.”
Shock turned me cold. “You mean … you don’t remember that, either?”
He smiled, but it wasn’t jovial or free. It was a trap, a cage—a self-inflicted sentence he couldn’t unlock. “No. It’s a blur. I know what I did. I felt their noses crack beneath my fists and I remember the taste of wretched bourbon as my father held my head back, making me drink.” He strained for more, but gave up. “That’s about it.”
“Well, my point is made, then.” I sat back, studying his face with anxious eyes.
He frowned. “What point?”
“You wanted so much to fit in with your family that you were at their mercy. You were manipulated first with kicks and harsh discipline and then encouraged by promises and kindness. They got you drunk, told you lies. They drugged you, told you more lies. They scrambled you up so much inside, Art. You had no idea what you were doing half the time.”
His mouth hung open. A beacon lit behind his eyes as a shred of hope ignited. “What … what do you mean?”
Taking a deep breath, I held my bleeding heart. “I mean you were drunk the night you shot my parents. Beyond drunk. You slurred and stumbled. You had a terrible black eye, blood on your lip, and could barely move. You were probably drugged, too. You couldn’t walk unassisted—let alone aim and shoot.”
Arthur scrambled to his feet, shoving me away from him. Pacing away, his fingers dived into his hair. “I don’t understand. That doesn’t make any sense. I remember everything so clearly.”
I stood. “Do you, though? What do you remember?” When he didn’t stop patrolling or chewing on his lip, I tensed. “You remember what they told you. You recall what they said happened. Believe me—you weren’t in any state to recall anything but a raging hangover.”
“But—I shot them. I remember that.” Spinning around, his words spewed forth in a confession-torrent. “I’d pumped myself up to do it. I had no choice. My father threatened you. He said he’d rape you in front of me, then kill you in front of Thorn. He said if I didn’t do it, he’d make me wish I was dead but never give me that freedom.”
My heart stopped beating. “You’re saying you went along with it to save me? You would’ve killed my parents all because of something your father said—even after a lifetime of lies?”
I couldn’t believe it. How could he have been so gullible?
“Yes. Of course I would. I loved your parents, Cleo. So damn much. They were so nice to me. Accepted me into their family. But by loving me, they ruined me. My father would never have permitted us to be happy because then I would’ve ruled and never him. Just like he took you from me the second time—he didn’t do it to rape or kill you, even though he had every opportunity. He did it because he could. Because once again he’s shown that he’s better than me.”
He kicked a cupboard. “He was teaching me another fucking lesson!”
My knees locked in place. “What lesson?”
“That he can still take whatever he damn well likes! My happiness. My goodness. My freedom. He can screw me over and there’s nothing I can fucking do about it.”
“But don’t you see—let him try! He’ll never succeed now that you understand how he controlled you. He’s worthless, Arthur.” Moving around the breakfast bar, I went to him.
He darted out of my reach.
“For once and for all, you need to forgive yourself.” I braced myself. “Yes, you killed my parents. Yes, you pulled the trigger. But, Art, you were dead on your feet. You were bleeding, you didn’t aim—Rubix did. You didn’t squeeze the trigger with your lifeless, drunken fingers—Asus did.”
My mind cartwheeled back to that night.
My heart was lead and wings, sinking and fluttering all at once.
His footfalls were so familiar but for every stagger of his, there were two other sets that sent terror to my bones.
I crawled from beneath my covers, blinking away sleep. Something urged me to follow, to hide, to see.
Moving from one puddle-shadow to another, I swallowed my gasp as I saw Rubix and Asus carrying a mumbling Arthur between them. I trailed behind, unable to leave as Rubix whispered atrocities in his ear.
“You have to do this, Art. Thorn raped her as a little girl.”
“They deserve to die, Art. Her mother sells her to other men for pleasure.”
“They must be destroyed, Art. Her soul is doomed unless you free her from them.”
When Arthur groaned and didn’t believe his lies, other monstrous things fell from Rubix’s lips.
“Kill them or I’ll rape her.”
“Kill them or your brother will rape her.”
“Kill them or the entire Club will rape her.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks as Arthur stumbled and stuttered, finally positioned at the foot of my parents’ bed.
I couldn’t watch.
I couldn’t look away.
Rubix laughed as my father woke up. In slow motion, Asus raised Arthur’s arm, even as Arthur screamed and fought.
But it was too late.
Bang!
Tears escaped unbidden as I sniffed back the past. “You were just the pawn they used so their hands weren’t dirty. They made sure the gunpowder was on your skin. Your fingerprints were on the murder weapon. They killed them and framed you. They destroyed both of us.”
Our breathing acted as knives, smashing the stagnant silence into smithereens.
That night replayed over and over again, but I remained in the present. I didn’t need to relive how the fire began or how I screamed as the fla
mes found me.
Arthur moved toward the marble-topped island, gripping the ledge with his fingers and bowing as if the weight of the past was too much.
Seconds ticked endlessly loud. We didn’t move or speak.
Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer.
I went to him.
Lashing my arms around his middle, I squashed my cheek against his spine and willed him to feel my heart beat. To understand the forgiveness in its rhythm, to finally come to terms with the only crime he was guilty of: of being a puppet for his heinous father and brother.
Slowly, Arthur linked his fingers with mine. My skin sparked where he touched me and my knees trembled as he unlocked my iron-fast grip and spun around to face me.
His emerald eyes were pools of despair and desire.
With hitching hesitation, his body swayed into mine and his mouth hovered a whisper away from taking. “Can this be true? Not only can you absolve my sins, but also give me even more justice when I end his fucking tyranny?”
I nodded, standing on tiptoes to finish what he’d started.
I kissed him.
I expected a sweet surrender, a gentle sweep into bliss. Instead, something that’d been brewing in Arthur since that night unleashed.
He shed the pain of his concussion.
He shed the agony of being incarcerated unfairly.
And he shed the unhappiness of being betrayed.
His lips claimed mine; his loud groan entered my lungs. His tongue wrenched past my lips and the kiss I’d envisioned wisped into smoke as he drove us from lust into mania.
His hands clutched my backside, lifting me up and swinging me around to land on the countertop. My panties weren’t enough material to slip and slide and my naked thighs glued me to the cool surface, wedging me at the perfect height for Arthur’s questing hands.
Imprisoning my knees, he opened me wide and settled his large bulk between them. His lips nipped and caressed their way down my neck. The small tank top I wore didn’t stand a chance against his teeth and a vicious tug. The white cotton shredded like a flag of surrender, baring my breasts and throbbing nipples.
Sin & Suffer Page 14
