“Who are you?” I whispered. He didn’t talk or act like a criminal. He sounded like a psychologist, a dreamer.
The longer I sat in his presence, the stronger I sensed him. I suspected a hidden agenda, an ulterior motive lurking beneath the fatherly pride he felt toward Arthur.
Wallstreet ran a hand through his white hair. “I’m nobody, Ms. Price. No one of relevance, anyway. Only a man with an eye for numbers and coincidences, just like your lover.”
Arthur gritted his teeth. “They broke in last night.”
The swift change of topic threw me for a moment; I struggled to catch up.
“Did they take it?”
“No. They didn’t find what they were looking for.”
Wallstreet stiffened. “Are you sure about that?”
Arthur growled, “I’m sure. What else could it be?”
Wallstreet’s eyes fell on me. I shifted in my seat as a cold gust of ice shot down my spine. “Forget it,” he said softly.
Looking back to Arthur, he added, “You don’t want to rush this. Years you’ve been planning. Don’t fuck it up when you’re so close.”
Planning? Planning what? I needed to know!
Arthur leaned over the table, lowering his voice. “I have no intention of fucking anything up. It’s time for them to pay. I gave them years. I did as you asked. It’s my turn—”
“You did what I asked so you could reap what is owed to you. Don’t forget I taught you the art of patience as well as trading, my son.”
Arthur pulled back, chastised. “I only meant that I have more than enough wealth. More than enough standing and goodwill in the local community. I have the politicians you wanted all on our side. I control the strings of everyone you ordered me to pull into our power. It’s time. I need to move before they try anything else. It’s war, and I want it on my terms.”
The energy he gave off singed my body—prickling with ominous foreboding. Something told me that the minor rebellion I’d interrupted when I first arrived would be nothing compared to whatever Arthur had planned.
Politicians? Power? He spoke of controlling men like puppets. I didn’t like this grim, cutthroat side of Arthur. I didn’t like that it had formed without me.
Unthinkingly, I rubbed the mostly healed burn on my arm as Lighter Boy popped into my head.
Wallstreet followed my fingers. His eyes narrowed. “That looks like it was painful. What happened, my dear?”
If I weren’t wearing jeans and a long-sleeved top, he would’ve seen just how painful my past had been—my scars never failed to paint a picture of horror.
I tensed.
His question held so much more than an innocuous enquiry.
What does he know?
My gaze locked with the older man, forcing past his perception. He stared right back, temper swirling below the surface.
Arthur answered for me. “It happened the night she came to me. We haven’t figured out the how or why yet.”
Wallstreet went deathly still. “How did you find each other again, after all this time?”
Wallstreet and I never looked away from each other; the more I stared, the more my apprehension grew.
I recognize you. But how?
Arthur shot me a look. “One of my crew picked her up. I was fed a bullshit story about where she’d been and who she was.”
Ah yes. The story that I was another one of his father’s mistresses—destined to pay for the sins of the man they chose to sleep with. Even though I understood Arthur’s reasoning on a personal level, it still didn’t make it right.
Wallstreet finally broke gazes with me, looking at his prodigal son. “So why did they deliver six instead of five?”
Arthur shrugged.
I wanted to wave. Me… sitting right here. Number six.
I glanced at the guard standing by the exit. It felt so wrong to be talking about trafficking in front of a man who had the law on his side.
I wasn’t a criminal or a bad person. Yet I’d fallen in love with a boy who did bad things and loved a man who seemed absolutely deadly.
And now I knew how he’d formed the hard exterior—the cold-blooded drive—it’d been taught by Cyrus “Wallstreet” Connors.
Wallstreet frowned. “Why?” Frowning, he added, “What was there to gain?”
Arthur’s muscles locked down. “They know.”
Wallstreet scooted closer, energy crackling even louder. “How would they know? How would they have found her after all this time?”
“Who the fuck knows, but they do. It explains everything.”
Wallstreet rubbed a hand over his face. “It is incredibly convenient that the sixth just happened to be from your past.”
Arthur froze, his hands curling on the table.
Wallstreet dropped his voice. “I hope this isn’t true, but you have a leak.” Looking my way, he muttered, “She’s from your past—the same past you’re trying to—”
“Motherfucker,” Arthur hissed.
Wallstreet nodded sanguinely. “Exactly.”
My mind spun, trapped in a cyclone of never making sense.
“Can someone please explain what the hell is going on?” I asked, not that I expected to get a response.
Wallstreet ignored me. “The original Corrupt members I vouched for are trustworthy—I have absolute faith in that. Have you welcomed any new members since?”
Arthur nodded. “A couple, but only after heavy screening and a long time as a Prospect.” His back bunched beneath his shirt. He’d had to leave his leather jacket in the coat check—no gang-related memorabilia allowed in the building.