Looking back at the screens, he distractedly handed me a piece of meat lovers.
Arthur might’ve killed bare-handed, controlled a Club of anarchist bikers, earned millions trading countless stock markets, but he was still the boy I knew from all those years ago. Still fixated on math—to the point of unhealthy obsession.
I eyed him while taking a bite.
The temperature in his office seemed determined to rival an Amazon rain forest, yet Arthur wore low-slung black shorts and dark grey hoody. He looked like a young college professor on a sabbatical with messy hair, five o’clock shadow, and tomato sauce smearing his lips, whereas I wore a blue maxi dress and cursed the heat.
Why was he wearing a sweater? Was feeling the cold another symptom of his concussion?
He said he felt much better, but the shadows in his eyes hinted that he was lying.
Again.
Seemed my threat in the bath three days ago wasn’t working.
I almost wished I’d gone to medical school, rather than veterinary college—then I might be better equipped at healing him. Being in his office reminded me of stitching him up, leveling a gun at him, and suffering bone-deep knowledge that he was more than just a trafficker—I’d known.
And I hadn’t given up.
Just like I won’t give up now.
Taking a seat in the extra office chair, I chewed a mouthful of pepperoni. “Perhaps we should get the doctor back? Make sure you’re okay?”
Arthur swallowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You don’t trust me?”
The air sparkled with a sudden argument. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Oh, God. I don’t want to fight.
I put my pizza down. “I just mean I don’t want you pretending you’re better when you’re not.”
“And who says I’m not?”
I looked away, hiding the fire in my soul. “Whatever, Art. It’s your head. Your pain.” Snatching up my pizza, I waggled it in his face. “But if you suddenly pass out or drop dead, I’ll curse you forever.” My voice dropped with conviction. “Your life is now mine and it’s your responsibility to make sure you look after it, because if you don’t … I’ll be …”
“You’ll be what?” His voice was heavy and soft.
My heart did a little skip as he swallowed another mouthful.
“I’ll be pissed, all right? I love you far too much to let you leave me.”
Suddenly, the pizza slice went flying and he tackled me against my chair. His mouth smashed against mine. He swept me away with a consuming kiss tasting of passion and oregano until I forgot why I was mad and gave in to his command.
My legs parted, my nipples tightened, my core melted.
Then a little bell chimed, wrenching Arthur’s mouth from mine and stealing his attention.
I hated that little bell.
“Fuck!” He shoved away the pizza box, clicking his mouse furiously as a red dot on one of the screens swooped out of its little quadrant and shot past a blue line.
“What? What happened?”
“The fucking pair bombed. Ran straight through my stop loss in a matter of seconds. Christ, how I did I screw that up so badly?”
My heart raced at the rage and fear in Arthur’s tone.
“Perhaps it’s a bad day for that currency?”
He shook his head. “My system was foolproof.” His eyes met mine, full of panic. “I just lost a hundred grand. That’s the most I’ve ever lost since I began trading the fucking markets.” Fisting his hair, he tugged hard. “Damn brain injury. Damn fucking Rubix!”
“Hey, it will be okay.”
“Will it?” he roared. “Because I’m at the end of my fucking rope, Cleo. I can’t … I can’t stay here anymore. I need to be doing something. I can’t keep letting Mo and Hopper run my last plan for vengeance.”
Standing, he hit a key that blanked out the screens and stormed to the door.
“Wait! Where are you going?”
Spinning around, he snapped, “I’m done wasting time. We’re going to Pure Corruption.”
Grasshopper looked up from a ledger as Arthur barged into the common room with my hand clasped in his, dragging me in his wake. The main space at Pure Corruption was quiet and welcoming, its polished floorboards and spotlessly clean surfaces so different to Dagger Rose’s filth.
Grasshopper beamed. “If it isn’t the prez and his old lady.”
Arthur threw him a look.
The coolness of the room was welcome after the heat of the late afternoon sunshine. My retinas still had imprints of tire scuffs and slick oil stains from the bright concrete outside Pure Corruption.
Brushing down my jeans and white T-shirt, I gave up trying to hide the dampness of my skin or the sheen of sweat. I missed my maxi dress, but it wasn’t exactly the most practical thing to wear on a motorbike.
I tried to untangle my fingers from Arthur’s calloused ones. The bike ride here and the bristling tension between us was enough for me to need some space.