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)
I screamed as an intense orgasm sliced through my body. My core clenched with devastating pressure. The ship I’d become destroyed itself over and over again, splintering against the battering of his storm.
It was staggering. It was paralyzing.
I turned into a puddle of delirium.
Arthur groaned, “Goddammit!” His rhythm lost its perfection and he slipped from making love to fucking me ruthlessly.
My orgasm only strengthened and continued. I crashed harder knowing that even as he used me, he worshipped me. His violence and craving blazed with truth.
“Fuck, yes.” His release erupted deep inside me. His pleasure resounding in my ears.
On and on, he spilled inside and I took every drop. I was no longer a ship floating on his tide, but drowned and consumed in his wake.
By the time we opened our eyes, we were both sticky with sweat and overheating in the patch of sunlight streaming through the window.
Slowly, we uncramped our toes and fell apart with a boneless sigh.
“I believe you,” I mumbled. “Ten thousand times, I believe you.”
He chuckled, tucking me into his side. His warmth spooned me and I’d never been so safe or contented. “Finally.” He nuzzled behind my ear. “Things are going to be wonderful. You’ll see. Once I’ve taken vengeance and things are dealt with, it will all be over.”
A shadow fell over my heart that no amount of sunshine or love could diminish. Would it, though? Would we find a happy balance? Would his headaches fade and leave him unharmed?
My eyes fell on the silver thread of PROPERTY OF KILL on my jacket tossed on the floor. It glittered in the sunlight. I stroked his forearm still wrapped around my chest. “I hope so, Art. I truly do.”
“This is our fresh start, Buttercup. You’ll see.”
My mind darted back to the night I’d arrived. The battle, the trafficking. Our reunion hadn’t been ideal but we’d made it work. We would make whatever the future delivered work, too.
“I’m so in love with you, Art.”
He sucked in a breath, pressing a kiss on my temple. “The same for me, Cleo. I’ve always loved you and I always will.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Kill
What was I supposed to do?
I’d finally come of age to be inducted into the Club. I’d sworn my oath, wore my cut, and promised to obey Thorn Price as my president. A party had been thrown in my honor. Yet later, once the men had passed out from drunkenness, my father had reminded me of one important clause. The Club came first. The Club was my life. But I was the loophole because my father was blood and demanded ultimate fealty—even over my president. —Kill, age sixteen
“Are they here?”
Grasshopper looked up as I strode into the Clubhouse. I’d had a hell of a time getting Cleo to stay behind, but I’d finally been able to reassure her enough that I needed to complete some business and it would be boring as fuck.
I’d lied to keep her behind.
Having her in my life was personified ecstasy but I couldn’t have her knowing everything.
Even though you promised you would tell her.
Scowling, I shoved those thoughts away. She’d begged to come with me, but tough luck.
I knew she wanted to keep an eye on me with my headaches, but this was a part of my life where I didn’t want her.
Revenge.
It was a lonely obsession. And should remain a lonely obsession.
She didn’t understand, couldn’t contemplate the overwhelming drive to make my father pay. She seemed content to let fate or karma deal with him—even after everything he’d done.
She didn’t believe in retribution or taking payment for past sins.
But I do.
Wholeheartedly, and luckily, so did Wallstreet and Pure Corruption.
“Yep, all the men you requested. Ten in total.” Cocking his head toward the door leading to the meeting room, Grasshopper added, “We’ve got your back on this, Kill. Everything’s in place.”
Nodding, I ran a hand through my hair. It hadn’t been easy and we still had much to do, but it was almost over. Once my father was dealt with, all I had to focus on was becoming the poster boy for world revolution. My eyes shot to the blown-up magazine covers. For years, Wallstreet had built my “brand.” Through TV and newspaper interviews, he’d ensured people with money and influence knew my name. So when the time came to call on their network, our message would spread far and wide.
I’m one of them through careful scripts and fabrication.
I snorted. To some, waging war on another Club would seem more than enough to stay occupied. But to me—it was nothing compared to our main strategy.
Only once it was executed could I relax and focus on getting rid of this motherfucking headache.
“Good. Let’s go.”
With a smirk, Grasshopper saved an email on his phone and shoved it into his pocket. “You’re the boss.”
Together, we strode across the common room. Grasshopper reached the door before me, twisting the knob and ushering me into the meeting.