Only, I got as far as the garage before I was intercepted like some criminal.

Grasshopper had been put on babysitting duty.

And as much as I liked him—I wanted to tear him apart when he confiscated my pilfered car keys and threw me on the back of his Triumph with some halfhearted excuse of overseeing a few things.

The first half of the morning had been spent popping into the small businesses that Arthur, Mo, and Grasshopper ran—collecting income and records from the previous week.

But now it was late afternoon and I knew this rigmarole was intentional.

I was being kept away for a reason.

I could barely breathe with worry. Everything inside me screamed that something was seriously wrong.

Every time I sneaked into a bathroom and dialed Arthur’s number, it went straight to voice mail. Every time I asked Grasshopper to elaborate on why Arthur had gone to the compound without me, he replied with the same annoying noncommittal response.

Once again I was in the dark and I hated it. More than hated it. Crushed by it. “Butterbean … earth to Cleo.” Grasshopper snapped his fingers in front of my face, forcing me to focus. Another salon came into view. The third one today.

I scowled for the hundredth time.

The outside was pretty and cotton candy sweet. Decorated with golds and pinks, it enticed women—judging by the four clients currently in different stages of styling in the window—but set my teeth on edge.

I’d get a damn cavity just looking at the place.

I shifted on the back of the Triumph. The Florida sunshine hadn’t let up and my jacket was stifling. All I wanted was a cold glass of water and some shade.

And the truth.

A cold dish of honesty.

Any other afternoon, I would’ve loved this. I would’ve jumped at the chance to get to know Hopper more—exploring all the avenues of Pure Corruption. But this wasn’t any other afternoon.

Crossing my arms, I said for the twentieth time, “Give it up, Hopper. I want to go back.”

Hopper twisted the accelerator; the bike rumbled between our legs. Avoiding eye contact, he glanced not-so-subtly at his phone. “Fine. I guess we can go back.”

I tried to glimpse at whatever existed on his screen, but he cleared it and stuffed it back into his pocket.

“Take me to where Kill is.”

He shook his head. “Nuh-uh. I’ll take you back to his place.”

My blood boiled. “I don’t want to go back to his place—not unless he’s there.”

His back tensed, knuckles fisting around the handles. “Can’t.”

My blood turned to ice.

“Why not?”

Go on. Admit it.

The apprehension of a lie hovered between us.

“He told me to take you back, that’s all. Meeting’s almost over. He’ll be back soon.”

The fib threw sticky tar over my insides. It was so obvious.

Through his deception, he’d shown me the truth.

I know.

Hanging my head, I squeezed my eyes. “You just lied to me.”

His leather jacket creaked as he turned to face the road, giving me his back. “I didn’t fucking lie …” Sighing, he admitted, “I’m sorry.”

My heart sank into the oily mess inside me. I knew why I’d been made to hop around town for no reason. I knew why Grasshopper had kept me distracted. “It’s tonight, isn’t it?”

Grasshopper froze, his strong muscles forming an unforgiving wall before me.

He didn’t reply.

I sank into despair. “You don’t have to tell me. I already know.” The way Arthur had made love to me last night. The intensity in which he never let me go. He was saying goodbye—just in case he didn’t survive.

No!

He can’t leave like this.

He can’t be so heartless to leave without saying goodbye.

Damn him! Damn his revenge. Damn his drive to avenge me.

Didn’t he get that all I wanted was him to be safe? To live a life together?

What if he got hurt? Everything we’d been through would be pointless!

Tonight wasn’t about business meetings or interviews. He was no longer a man in a suit but a biker in a cut. Last night had been the beginning of something. But today was the end of someone.

Today was war.

He hadn’t even had the decency to tell me!

My heart fissured with a soul-destroying earthquake.

Grasshopper gunned the bike, taking his frustration out on the engine. “Don’t hate the dude. He’s doing the best he can.”

No, he’s doing what he’s always done: not letting me share his problems.

Suddenly, it was all too much. I didn’t want to be around anyone. I didn’t want to be there. “Take me back, Hopper. I’m done.”

Grasshopper stiffened and for the longest moment, I waited for him to crack and admit what he seemed too afraid to say. When he didn’t, I squeezed his middle. “Take me wherever he is. Do it.”

Grasshopper inhaled, his chest expanding beneath my touch. “I would if I could, but I can’t.”

“Why is that just a common phrase these days?”

He shook his head. “I can’t because he’s already gone.”

No, no. No!

Everything inside became a fossil.

“What do you mean … already gone?”

He cringed. “I was supposed to keep you distracted. You weren’t supposed to worry. I’m sorry, Cleo, but he’s already there.”