Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 134654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Grasshopper followed, pointing at the magazine picture of Arthur sitting behind his desk, glaring at the camera. “That one was taken the morning he surpassed five million—all earned from trading the FX market.”
My eyes snapped to Arthur. “Five million?”
Arthur frowned, glowering at the collage of triumphs and downfalls decorating his Clubhouse. “It was the beginning of everything. With money came power and with power came freedom.” Forgetting where he was—or perhaps not caring—he hesitantly wrapped his arms around my waist, hugging me close. The tension of our mini-fight finally dispersed like raindrops on a hot road. “I’m sorry.”
Grasshopper kindly gave us some space, drifting away and texting furiously on his phone.
I leaned into Arthur, hugging his forearm around my middle. “Me too.”
“I don’t want you to worry, Cleo. Whatever is going on inside me will get better. I just need to know you won’t hate me while waiting for me to heal.”
I flinched. “You think I could do that?”
He shook his head. “The way I’m feeling right now, I keep fearing you’ll be gone when I wake, or realize what a liability I am and break my heart.” His voice dropped to a tortured strangle. “No matter what you say, I live with the memory of what I did to your parents every goddamn day. I’m worthless and selfish and so damn thoughtless.”
My chest throbbed.
“I’ve sent the message. The Club will rally. Told them to get their asses here in thirty minutes,” Grasshopper announced, dimming his phone and returning with his gaze pensive and full of planning. He looked between us, sensing unfinished business but in a way, I was glad he’d interrupted.
Until Arthur found salvation in himself, there was nothing I could do to make his guilt go away.
Arthur nodded. “Good.”
“Also Wallstreet called. Told me about the other thing.” Grasshopper’s eyes told a complete story that I couldn’t follow. But Arthur did.
“Great. Tell him the journalist who covered the last leak can have the scoop on this, too. Tell him to set up a meet next week and it’s all his.”
“You got it.”
I looked between the two men, chewing my lip. “Care to share?”
Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know I promised to tell you everything, but this is complicated.”
“You’ll find out soon enough, Butterbean.” Grasshopper winked. “You’ll be freaking proud of him when you do.”
I frowned. “Why? What are you planning?”
Arthur kissed the top of my head, clearing his throat. “Something huge. Now, change the subject ’cause we don’t have time to get into it.”
Grasshopper shifted. The silence became awkward.
Dammit, why can’t he just spit out everything and let me decide what’s important or not?
Needing to dispel the festering quietness, I asked, “Do you trade, Grasshopper?”
Hopper shook his head, his body unyielding as a brick wall but somehow warm and friendly. “Nope. Too much risk for me. However, I trust Kill to manage a few investments on my behalf.”
Arthur chuckled. “A few investments? That’s what we’re calling it these days?”
“Hush, dude. I like having cash but I don’t like people knowing where the decimal point falls.” His blue eyes flickered to mine. “No offense. Still not used to never having to worry about money.”
The entrance slammed as men trickled in, summoned by Grasshopper. They didn’t stay, making their way briskly to the meeting room and disappearing.
My forehead furrowed. “But Wallstreet was rich—wasn’t he?” I’d wanted to check online and research Arthur’s mentor but hadn’t found the time what with being stolen and used as a pawn in a decade-old game. But I listened to my gut and my gut said he was rich—some people just wore money as if their clothing glittered with newly minted dollars.
“You’re asking if my father gave me any of that wealth he ‘lost’?” Grasshopper highlighted the word with air quotes.
Arthur didn’t move, just kept his eyes on the magazine covers.
More men entered the Clubhouse, stomping in boots and leather, being respectful not to interrupt our conversation.
“The answer,” Grasshopper said, “is nope. Not a dime. I wasn’t exactly Mr. Responsible when I was younger. I don’t begrudge him keeping away temptation.”
“And you don’t hate Arthur for being the chosen one, as it were?”
Art and Hopper sucked in a harsh breath.
What are you doing, Cleo?
“Sorry.” I dropped my head. “I didn’t mean it like—”
“No, I understand.” Grasshopper leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. A relaxed smirk decorated his lips. “Without Kill, the Corrupts would’ve murdered each other and brought an end to our Club. I always knew what my role would be.”
Arthur stiffened, his hard stomach flexing against my back. “Oh really? And what was that?”
Grasshopper’s mohawk swayed as his head whipped to face his president. “Wallstreet told me to be by your side at all times. To give you support. Make sure you weren’t hurt.”
Arthur made a noise in the back of his throat. “Did that include spying on me and reporting back to him?”