I ignored the voice that said it was stupid to chase after something that should remain buried.
I hadn’t dared tell her why I was going—just in case she told the officers handling my file. I’d left her a cowardly note, given notice at my job at Precious Pets, withdrew my meager savings, and booked a one-way ticket to America.
But of course she’d somehow found out my plan and tracked me down at the airport.
She hadn’t tried to stop me, though.
Out of everyone, she understood the most why I had to leave. Why I had to search for the green-eyed boy I’d never gotten over.
I’d jumped headfirst into danger.
“You ready?” Arthur snapped into my musing.
The residual emotions of being so alone and afraid refused to unclaw themselves from my heart. I ached with lonely emptiness that I’d lived with for eight long years. No matter how many new memories I made, no matter how many experiences I lived, I’d never shed the desolation of not having a past.
My stomach rolled at the thought of living a life without him. Eight years had been interminable—forever would’ve destroyed me.
His eyes blazed into mine, focused on solving the break-in and delivering justice. He was my protector, lover, and best friend. As long as I was with him, everything would work out.
“Yes, I’m ready.” Smoothing down my black blouse and skinny dark jeans, I followed him to the garage and his awaiting motorcycle.
I blinked up at Florida Penitentiary for the second time.
Nerves skittered down my spine. “What are we doing back here?”
Arthur grabbed my hand. Striding toward the imposing correctional facility, he replied, “Going to see him.”
“Him who?”
“You know who. The man who gave me everything when others took it all away.”
My heart skipped a beat at the hatred and guilt in his tone.
I jerked on his hand, pulling him to a stop. “Tell me. Here and now. Tell me what happened to you. Why were you in prison? The truth this time.”
I wished I’d had time and access to the Internet. I would’ve done a search—I would’ve looked up his criminal record to find out just what he continued to hide.
His brow tightened, shadowing his eyes. The soft pads of his fingertips kissed my cheek as he smiled sadly. “Do you trust me?”
I frowned. “As much as I can while I’m blind from things you won’t tell me.”
His shoulders sagged. “Do you love me?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”
“Then let that love be enough for now. Be glad that we’ve found each other, because there’s still so much you don’t understand and I don’t—I can’t ruin it yet.”
“Why would it ruin what we have?” I looked deep into his eyes. “Tell me. You’re starting to scare me, Art.”
Cupping my cheek, he kissed me softly. I would’ve loved to see the action from an outsider’s perspective. A scary-looking biker dressed in boots and leather, kissing a girl half his size outside a prison.
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.”