Until Arthur found salvation in himself, there was nothing I could do to make his guilt go away.

Arthur nodded. “Good.”

“Also Wallstreet called. Told me about the other thing.” Grasshopper’s eyes told a complete story that I couldn’t follow. But Arthur did.

“Great. Tell him the journalist who covered the last leak can have the scoop on this, too. Tell him to set up a meet next week and it’s all his.”

“You got it.”

I looked between the two men, chewing my lip. “Care to share?”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know I promised to tell you everything, but this is complicated.”

“You’ll find out soon enough, Butterbean.” Grasshopper winked. “You’ll be freaking proud of him when you do.”

I frowned. “Why? What are you planning?”

Arthur kissed the top of my head, clearing his throat. “Something huge. Now, change the subject ’cause we don’t have time to get into it.”

Grasshopper shifted. The silence became awkward.

Dammit, why can’t he just spit out everything and let me decide what’s important or not?

Needing to dispel the festering quietness, I asked, “Do you trade, Grasshopper?”

Hopper shook his head, his body unyielding as a brick wall but somehow warm and friendly. “Nope. Too much risk for me. However, I trust Kill to manage a few investments on my behalf.”

Arthur chuckled. “A few investments? That’s what we’re calling it these days?”

“Hush, dude. I like having cash but I don’t like people knowing where the decimal point falls.” His blue eyes flickered to mine. “No offense. Still not used to never having to worry about money.”

The entrance slammed as men trickled in, summoned by Grasshopper. They didn’t stay, making their way briskly to the meeting room and disappearing.

My forehead furrowed. “But Wallstreet was rich—wasn’t he?” I’d wanted to check online and research Arthur’s mentor but hadn’t found the time what with being stolen and used as a pawn in a decade-old game. But I listened to my gut and my gut said he was rich—some people just wore money as if their clothing glittered with newly minted dollars.

“You’re asking if my father gave me any of that wealth he ‘lost’?” Grasshopper highlighted the word with air quotes.

Arthur didn’t move, just kept his eyes on the magazine covers.

More men entered the Clubhouse, stomping in boots and leather, being respectful not to interrupt our conversation.

“The answer,” Grasshopper said, “is nope. Not a dime. I wasn’t exactly Mr. Responsible when I was younger. I don’t begrudge him keeping away temptation.”

“And you don’t hate Arthur for being the chosen one, as it were?”

Art and Hopper sucked in a harsh breath.

What are you doing, Cleo?

“Sorry.” I dropped my head. “I didn’t mean it like—”

“No, I understand.” Grasshopper leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. A relaxed smirk decorated his lips. “Without Kill, the Corrupts would’ve murdered each other and brought an end to our Club. I always knew what my role would be.”

Arthur stiffened, his hard stomach flexing against my back. “Oh really? And what was that?”

Grasshopper’s mohawk swayed as his head whipped to face his president. “Wallstreet told me to be by your side at all times. To give you support. Make sure you weren’t hurt.”

Arthur made a noise in the back of his throat. “Did that include spying on me and reporting back to him?”

Whoa. Where did that come from?

Grasshopper froze. His eyes were the only thing that changed from narrowed to wide. “Wow. Can’t believe after all this time, we’re finally having this conversation.”

More bikers arrived. Somehow, they recognized the tense atmosphere and beelined for the meeting room. Only once they’d disappeared did Arthur let me go. “I’ve wanted to ask for a while. Now’s a good time as any.”

I stood adrift, waiting for one of two things: a fight or acceptance. Testosterone thickened the air. It could go either way.

“Yes, I reported to my father, but only on how he’d chosen the right man. He picked you out of everyone, Kill. You’re like another son to him and I would never betray you by speaking behind your back.”

Arthur didn’t make a sound.

Hopper added, “With what you’d lived through you deserved a lot more than suspicion and control. Wallstreet saw that and left you completely in charge. I was nothing more than a friend to you.”

Never-ending moments ticked past before Arthur finally nodded. “You’ve been a good friend, Jared.”

Hopper beamed. “And you’ve been a good leader.” Swiping his thumb across his phone, he looked at the time. “Some of the brothers are here. We ought to head to Church, see who’s gathered. The rest can join us.” Turning to leave, he rubbed his forehead. “Minus the four men on patrol duty and the two shadowing Night Crusaders’ every move, of course. They’ll have to be updated later.”

Arthur grunted in thanks. Yanking me close, he kissed the top of my head. “Ready for your first Pure Corruption meeting, Buttercup?”

Wait. Church is men only …

“Yeah, Butterbean. Top-secret stuff.” Grasshopper shoved his hands into his pockets, grinning. “What is said can never be revealed—just like that movie with those rules.”