Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 148238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Breaking the kiss, he murmured, “Let’s go see Wallstreet. And then… I’ll do my best to explain.”
Getting through security wasn’t fun.
Arthur moved through the metal detectors and body checks easily enough—used to entering on a regular basis.
I didn’t enjoy being touched or made to feel like I was a criminal just for visiting one. My name was triple-checked on the approved list of visitors that Art must’ve called ahead for and the smiles were laced with suspicion. The grudging approval for us to move forward when they found no contraband was almost comical.
“A place like this jades you,” Arthur said as we were marched down the cold, nondescript corridor. Windows with mesh and locked doors were the only décor as we moved forward into the bowels of the jail.
A guard noticed Arthur and gave him a salute. “Hey, Kill. You good, bro?”
Arthur grinned, nodding. “As good as could be expected. You?”
“Can’t complain. Your buddy’s well and prisoners are behaving, so all good in the hood, as it were.”
Arthur waved and we kept moving.
We were led into a private room with high windows, rings bolted to the floor for chains and bindings, and a metal table in the center.
The guard who’d been our guide said, “Wait here. He won’t be long.”
Arthur sat down, slouching in one of the metal chairs as if he was completely at home here. I supposed he was. How many years had they said he’d lived inside these walls?
The urge to know why he’d been locked up ate at my soul. I had to know. It worried me. Worried me because it was somehow intrinsically linked to my past and all the things I was trying to remember.
The clanking heavy door opened again, spewing forth a man in an orange jumpsuit. He looked like a friendly grandfather, with shrewd intelligence but a kindness in his eyes that immediately made me gravitate toward him.
His white hair glistened neatly beneath the fluorescents and his skin glowed a healthy pink.
For a prisoner, he was meticulously clean, with clipped nails, ironed collar, and pristine shoes.
Arthur stood, smiling as the old man glided forward, unbound by shackles to sit primly on the other side of the table.
“Kill, my boy. Lovely to see you.” His blue eyes landed on mine. “And who do we have here?”
I froze. Those eyes… Why were they so familiar?
Arthur linked his fingers together on the tabletop, smiling in my direction. Pride and love glowed on his face. “This is Cleo Price.”
The room crackled as energy swirled from the old man. “Ah… is it now?” His eyes drifted from the top of my head to my clenched hands before me. “Now I understand.” His skin crinkled as he smiled. “It all suddenly makes sense.”
And you don’t.
I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something about him…
Arthur locked eyes with his friend and mentor, transmitting so many things that I didn’t know. These men had history, a bond that went deep—deeper than anything I’d seen in any other relationship Arthur had.
Jealousy was an odd thing to feel, but I did. I was jealous that this man knew more about Arthur than I did. I was jealous that Arthur trusted him more than he did me. And I was insanely jealous of the loyalty Arthur had toward him—even over his loyalty to me.
Eight years apart had put me second place in his life. And I hated it.
The old man stretched his arm across the table, bearing a welcoming hand. “I’m Wallstreet. Real name is Cyrus Connors, but it’s best you call me what everyone else does.”
Slowly, I placed my hand in his. My eyes widened as he squeezed back with genuine pleasure and warmth. Untangling my fingers from his, I reclined in my seat, never taking my attention off him. “Nice to meet you.”
It would be nicer if I understood you.
Flicking a glance at Arthur, I tried to read the dynamic between our odd little trio. Wallstreet cared for Arthur—there was no question about that. But something deep inside me screamed that the perfectly poised older gentleman was a front. A carefully designed persona to hide the true depth of his deception.
Wallstreet mimicked me, leaning back with a grin on his lips. “I must say, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Price. Killian didn’t speak of you often, but I feel as I’ve known you for many years. And to see you alive—well, it’s rather intriguing after believing you were dead. I want to hear everything—I’ve always been a lover of mysteries.”
My heart picked up its tempo. “What do you mean by that?”
Did he have something to do with my demise?
He laughed, a dimple showing in his cheek. “I meant nothing. Only that you were a large part of Kill’s life. You molded him into the man he became—the boy I met all those years ago. Without you, he might never have escaped the violence of such a world and focused on his raw talents.”