The silence was long and deafening.
When Corrine didn’t respond, I said, “You still there?”
Corrine said, “That’s a lot to dump on a girl.”
We didn’t speak for a while, finally Corrine whispered, “So my sister’s name is Cleo and she’s a ghost.”
Smoke and soot and sausages.
The scents shot up my nose, igniting hunger and welcoming me outside.
Corrine had understood when I said I truly had to go. She’d assured me she would let her parents know I was safe and I promised I’d call again soon. I meant what I said about taking Arthur to visit them. My foster family could never replace my real parents but they’d been so good to me and I loved them.
The door behind me swung closed as I crossed the threshold from Clubhouse to backyard. I hadn’t explored the expansive grassy lawn leading to a fence cutting off the everglades. The grass was thick and lusciously green.
The sun had put itself to bed, and the stars had decided to break all bedtime rules and pepper-sprayed the rich velvet of the sky. Constellations twinkled brightly, the perfect backdrop for the gathered members and the relaxing embrace of an evening of laughter, good food, and great friends.
“Holy shit, it’s alive!” someone yelled. Followed by, “Didn’t know we had a damn dragon!” Men abandoned their beers on strewn tables or on the ground by chair legs as they raced toward billowing black smoke.
Three men with vests marking them as prospects fanned tea towels and dueled the morphing blackness with cooking tongs.
“Christ’s sake.” Mo jogged across the grass and slammed the lid down on the flaming barbeque. Coughing and wafting at the smoke cloud hovering over his head, he growled, “What the fuck are you doing to our steaks?”
Grasshopper stomped over, snatched the tongs from the closest prospect, whose eyes ran red with soot, and shoved the other two aside. “What kind of man can’t barbeque without setting the fucking place on fire?”
A prospect with a large gauge in his ear shrugged. He looked completely happy to give up control. “You told me to get the chow ready. I tried to tell ya that I’ve never cooked in my life. Not my fault you didn’t listen.”
“How hard is it to work a fucking grill?” Mo asked, hoisting up the cover of the barbeque and assessing the damage now the flames were out. The smoke lazily dispersed like spirits summoned back to the underworld.
The two other prospects, one with long ratty blond hair in a ponytail and another freshly shaven, snickered. “Yeah, Mo. You should know not to trust Beetle with anything.”
Shaking my head, I ignored the instruction on how to cook a perfect steak and focused on the rest of the gathering. A chain-link fence barricaded us in and kept trespassers out, while a few sparse trees had been layered with fairy lights by some overzealous old lady.
The ground vibrated with footfalls beneath my ballet flats and I spun to face him. Somehow, I knew it was him. The hum of my skin, the glow of my heart. His cells spoke to mine in a way I would never understand. “Hi.”
Arthur stepped closer, an imposing statue of muscle and authority. He shook his head, his lips twisted in wry amusement watching his dinner go up in smoke. “Can’t trust anyone these days.”
I swayed into him as his arm brushed mine. “Who names the members here? Matchstick, Beetle? They’re hardly scary.”
His green eyes smoldered in the gloom. “I was the one who gave Beetle his name, actually.” He smirked. “I found him shoplifting at one of my businesses.” His eyes clouded, recalling the past while I’d been curing puppies and dreaming of him. “His getaway car was a dinged up Beetle. Needless to say, I outran him on my bike and put an end to that fucking nonsense. After a bit of a rough-up—so he would remember the lesson of ‘thou shalt not steal’—I gave him a choice.”
“A choice?”
He nodded. “Stop stealing and make money my way or I’d report him to the law and see how he liked jail.” His gaze glinted. “I might also have provided insider knowledge on just how much he wouldn’t enjoy captivity.”
My mind reeled. There was so much to unscramble, but the most important slapped me in the face. “I heard Molly mention other businesses in Church. What do you mean?”
Arthur smiled, his teeth white and perfect in the night. “Oh, didn’t I tell you?”
I scowled, not appreciating his obtuse merriment at hiding yet another thing about himself. “No, you didn’t tell me.” Putting my hands on my hips, I looked him up and down.