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)
Arthur breathed out heavily. “Thank you.”
“I’m just glad you’ve found peace after all these years.”
Taking my hand, Arthur smiled—a true smile—with no residue of past pain or suffering. My heart skipped as he kissed the back of my knuckles, gathering me close. “Life is going to be so much happier from now on, Cleo.”
I smiled, melting into his embrace. “As long as we’re together, life couldn’t be better.”
A few minutes passed with only the beeps and humming as conversation. Finally, Arthur murmured, “The past is dealt with. And soon the future will be, too.” He kissed my head, muscles relaxing as he drifted with painkillers and sleep. “Stay with me …”
I nodded. “Always.”
It didn’t take long for him to stray into slumber. I didn’t chase him into dreams. I lay awake for ages, hoping, fearing, praying that our future would be better than our past.
Last night had been one of the longest nights of my life. But it was finally over. Arthur was back where he belonged. He’d finally found peace instead of revenge.
We’d paid our toll.
Lived through sacrifice.
Life could be great again.
After everything we’d lived through, we deserved to be happy.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Kill
I couldn’t remember the last time I smiled.
Death surrounded me in the form of rapists and murderers and thieves.
Life inside prison didn’t reform me; it just made me more determined to find justice. Every day inside the festering cesspool reminded me that when I got out, something had to change.
And I would be the one to do it. —Kill, age nineteen
Life changed.
Not only was the world no longer polluted with my kin, but I also had to take a step back from the Club.
For twelve days, I remained chained to a bed inside a motherfucking hospital. Every hour, I badgered doctors to give me honest to God statistics on how damaged I truly was. Every day, Cleo would spend as much time with me as possible, keeping my mind distracted from the awful thought of losing who I’d been. And every other day, I submitted to rehabilitation therapy—making sure my basic accomplishments were still intact.
While I was healing, Grasshopper became more than just my friend and VP; he stepped into his upcoming role with ease. We’d both known this day would happen … I just hoped I wouldn’t be a fucking invalid to celebrate it. He became a valuable second in command, and with me out of action, he postponed the interviews I’d had planned, kept Samson in the loop, and ferried funds where they needed to go. He kept Pure Corruption in order, ensured the books tallied and our turf remained protected.
Most of the day-to-day running he already knew, but occasionally I’d get a phone call asking my input on certain disputes or queries. He was no longer my helper but my equal and did his best to provide leadership as well as companionship for those who’d lost Beetle and Mo.
Wallstreet was almost out. It was time.
On the tenth night of being locked in an uncomfortable bed, Hopper came to visit.
I looked up from the So You Think You’re a Genius book, fuming and fucking pissed that simple equations that’d been so easy once upon a time were still giving me grief.
Beneath my fear, I did acknowledge that every day the sludge inside my brain crystalized. I was getting better. But I didn’t want to jinx myself. I wouldn’t admit it out loud—I couldn’t—not until I was back to full speed.
“You all good, dude?” Hopper came forward, his cut slung over his arm out of respect for terrified patients.
We shook hands. “Better.”
“Sweet. That’s great news.” Patrolling my box of a room, he rubbed the back of his nape. “So … I did what you asked. Clubhouse is sorted, funerals ready to go, and paperwork in order.”
I sat higher in my pillows. “We always knew this would happen. I’m still fine with it. You?”
He didn’t meet my eyes. “Honestly, not really.”
The past few years, I’d wondered how I’d react when it came time to honor my final vow to Wallstreet. I loved my Club. I’d devoted every waking moment turning it into a family. The men and women who served beneath me had given me something to fight for while I thought I’d lost Cleo.
They’d been my home.
But now I had another home and it didn’t hurt me to move.
I growled under my breath. “This was always the deal. Wallstreet made me promise.”
And I’d made Wallstreet promise in return. I’d had my own conditions when agreeing to his terms. This conclusion was a joint agreement—something benefiting both of us.
Pointing at him, I narrowed my eyes. “He made you promise. You, me, and Mo knew from day one that this was the plan.”
Hopper stomped forward, his mohawk catching the spotlights around my bed. “Just ’cause it was planned, doesn’t mean it’s any easier.”