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)
“Who are these people?” I ducked around the train of a silver gown and smiled at a bushy moustached gentleman.
“People who run this country,” Arthur said, never breaking his stride.
Government officials?
My eyes focused, searching strangers with deeper clarity. I didn’t recognize anyone.
I couldn’t align the two worlds correctly in my head. Here we were brushing shoulders with liberals and democrats, yet back at home we were the law. We penned rules and carried out justice—we were our own government.
But here, Arthur straddled two existences effortlessly. Why?
Last night we’d been around a campfire eating pork ribs, dancing in leather, and being entertained by awful ghost stories and cheap booze. Now I tottered on exquisite stilettoes, mingled with fashionistas, and became invisible at an exclusive cocktail party.
It doesn’t make sense.
It was an eternity as we navigated the room and advanced on a small group of men by a bay window. The glint of a chandelier bounced off Arthur’s wrist, revealing cuff links designed with the tiny skulls and abacas of the Pure Corruption logo.
Every step I fretted about what I would say and what was expected of me.
I don’t remember.
Those three hated words from my past sat heavily on my tongue—just waiting for the questions to begin. My gut clenched. Cold sweat drenched. And I struggled to remind myself that I did remember. That I had nothing to fear. Nothing to forget.
The crowds parted, letting us cut through the masses of sequins and silk while they milled around like fattened carp. Bookshelves held treasured vacation artifacts, and the walls were adorned with family portraits of the man we were heading toward: the senator and his pretty wife with dark brown hair and two young boys who looked identical to their father.
I swallowed as the senator looked up. He paused mid-handshake with another gentleman and bent in to say something. A moment later, he excused himself and crossed the small distance to intercept us.
Without a word, he walked past, narrowing his eyes at Arthur.
Nodding at the unspoken instruction in the senator’s gaze, Arthur turned inconspicuously and followed.
We chased Mr. Samson from the congested party, down a short corridor, and into an office painted in maroons and dark greys. The ceiling had been decorated black so it pressed like a toiling storm—or a lid perhaps, a cap on all secrets and gossip shared.
The moment Arthur and I stepped inside, the senator locked the door, then made his way to the mirrored bar and topped up his goblet with amber liquor. Eyeing my half drunk champagne, he stole Arthur’s empty flute, replaced it with a tumbler filled with what I assumed was whiskey or cognac, then clinked his glass to ours and smiled. “Welcome to my home once again, Kill.” His hazel eyes landed on mine. “And you must be Cleo. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I froze, my glass half raised to my lips. “Very nice to meet you, Senator. Forgive me, but I’ve heard nothing about you.”
But I’m beginning to suspect I’ve been stupidly naïve where Arthur is concerned.
Who was I kidding? Arthur was too complicated to remain fixated on revenge for so long. He would’ve grown bored. He would’ve set his targets higher.
But just how high?
Samson laughed, revealing a gold cap on his lower incisor. “That sounds about right.” Cocking his head at Arthur, he grinned. “Secretive fellow, isn’t he?”
I glanced at Arthur who sipped his drink. “If I’m so secretive, how do you know so much about Cleo, then?”
Samson toasted Arthur again, ice tinkling in his tumbler. “Got me again. Too smart for your own good.”
I guessed the senator was in his late fifties. Trim body, stocky legs, haircut reminiscent of a soldier, hair flecked with grey.
Frowning, I asked, “Pardon my slowness, but if Arthur didn’t tell you about me … then who did?”
Beaming a pearly white smile, the senator laughed. “From Wallstreet, of course. He keeps me up to date on all the latest chin-wagging.” He tilted his thumb in Arthur’s direction. “Wallstreet told me Kill had found something he’d lost long ago. That the main reason for the start of this campaign had reincarnated and that we were to work doubly hard to ensure the future is wiped clean of evil.”
Is that supposed to make sense?
Patting my hand, Samson moved toward a cluster of chocolate-leather couches in the center of the room. “Besides, I’m trustworthy. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be told shit. And yet another reason why I do what I do.”
Drifting forward, caught up in his reticulation, I completely forgot about Arthur. “What is it that you do, Senator?”
Sitting heavily and almost disappearing in the supple leather of the couch, he smiled. “I like to think of myself as a fixer.”
“A fixer?”
Arthur’s body heat tingled my arms as he moved closer. “Samson has been a contact ever since I got out of Florida State.” He gave one of his rare trusting smiles. “He’s been crucial in getting our goal realized.”