I don’t want it to be different.
I liked our life. I loved the quiet nights together. I adored the family I’d found in Pure Corruption. I even enjoyed the afternoons I spent with Molly and Melanie learning the books and diving deeper into the empire that the Pures ran.
My lips pursed as I rebelled against the thought of our life becoming public property. Of being shoved into the limelight and fighting a battle so big, it would take years to see results.
“Can’t you take a step back?” I scrunched up the paper, obscuring our printed faces. “Can’t Wallstreet take over now he’s free?”
Arthur leaned forward, his green eyes diving into mine. “You know the answer to that, Buttercup. I have to do this. And I need you by my side.”
I looked away. The thought of sharing him, of sharing myself with the world scared me to death.
He captured my chin. “Please, Cleo. I can’t do this without you.”
Despite my fear and hesitation, my heart melted. I had no choice. I wore his jacket. I shared his responsibilities. There was no other way, and I didn’t want there to be. “I’ll be beside you, Arthur. Every step of the way.”
The second thing happened that afternoon.
I received two calls—one I’d been looking forward to and another I’d been dreading.
The first was rather comical and to any other person wouldn’t have made sense. “Congratulations, Ms. Price. You’ve come back from the dead.”
I smiled, clutching the phone. “The paperwork is done?”
The past few weeks had been a lot of hoop jumping and proving my identity along with well-executed lies on what’d happened to me the night I disappeared. They didn’t need to know about Rubix’s death or the raging fire over at Night Crusaders’ compound. Justice had been served our way—without involving the police.
“Yes, ma’am. We’ve reversed the death certificate and reinstated your social security. You’ll receive new documentation and will need to apply for a new passport. Your case officer will be in touch once you’ve confirmed that Sarah Jones is no longer your alias.”
The moment the woman hung up, I received another call. The one I’d been dreading.
“Ms. Jones, we’d like to arrange a time for your case worker to come and see you. There are a lot of matters that need clarification, including your sudden arrival back into the United States, your rehabilitation, and memory gain.”
Corrine had managed to soothe my case worker after I ran so swiftly from England, but I still had to face the music and answer numerous questions in a debrief. Coming back from the dead wasn’t an easy thing. And remembering an entire lifetime from the one I’d lived for the past eight years caused a mass of paperwork.
The familiar flutter of fear that evil would find me once again rose. I couldn’t quite silence the terror that my memories would fade or that I’d wake up and forget everything all over again. But every day, I laughed more. Smiled more. I even had my own project in the works that I couldn’t wait to share with Arthur. I intended to do something special with the Dagger Rose land I’d inherited. Something that would align my two worlds: Sarah Jones and Cleo Price.
My life had come full circle and once the knots had been tied on the remaining loose ends, I would be free.
“Tell Detective Davidson he’s more than welcome to come and see me whenever he likes. I’ll look forward to telling him my tale.”
With all the illegal activities and murders expunged, of course.
I was now the partner of a public figure.
A biker princess and a soon-to-be politician’s first lady.
My, how life had changed.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Kill
Mathematics was my forte.
Trading was my calling. Ruling my vocation.
If I couldn’t do any of those things … what did that leave me?
Who would I become? —Kill, last night
Wallstreet.
I was so used to seeing him behind bars. So used to the faded cotton of prison uniforms and huddling together to speak in code whenever we had news.
All of that was in the past.
Today was the last day of my current world. Tomorrow, Cleo and I would live an entirely different existence. And I was nervous as well as excited.
My benefactor and mentor stepped out of Florida State. He wore the same pinstripe suit he’d worn the morning the police arrested him at his offices downtown. We were so similar in that respect: He wore his cut and ran with bikers most days, but other days he merged with businessmen and bankers, dressing like them, laughing like them.
Pity he hadn’t vetted the women he fucked as well as he did the men he did business with. He’d been sent to jail all thanks to a disgruntled Club bunny.
I waved, catching his eye.
His white teeth flashed in the sun and he followed the same path to freedom I did four years ago. I pushed off from the Mercedes that Grasshopper had paid a fucking fortune for the night we burned Dagger Rose and clasped hands with my friend.
He pulled me into a hug.
“Fuck, Kill. It’s good to see you.”
My heart raced. I hugged him back.
Breaking away, he raised his head to the sun and inhaled deeply. He looked ten years younger. With an open-necked cream shirt and slicked back white hair, he looked every bit the retired honcho of a Fortune 500 company.
Reaching into the Mercedes’ backseat, I pulled out a new jacket. The freshly embroidered cut had no ranking on the pocket—not yet. After all, it was up to him to decide his placement now.