All three men laughed in perfect dark sync. “What didn’t they do,” Grasshopper said. “Seriously, if you remembered half the shit that went down, you’d be the one with the fucking gun.”
I willed another flashback to come. To remember that place—to recall which house had been ours, what it looked like inside.
Nothing.
No voices, no smells, not even sensations of knowing something. It was a big black secretive void.
My eyes flared wide as a horrible thought came to mind. “If I was born there… Are my parents still there?”
The men looked anywhere but at me. Arthur glanced out the window, the same tortured terror hiding unsuccessfully in his gaze.
My stomach sank into my toes.
No, it can’t be.
No matter how I avoided the answer hiding inside my head, it only grew stronger and stronger.
They’re dead.
No!
I gritted my teeth, hexing any flashbacks that might choose to come and show me the horrible truth. The last time I’d seen them… they’d been alive. Hadn’t they?
Hadn’t they?
Arthur’s green gaze glowed with love and sympathy, sending percolating fear down my back.
A waitress appeared. “Hi, all. Here are your menus. Can I interest you in the specials?”
Everyone froze, almost as if we were guilty of talking about things that should never be discussed in public.
Arthur withdrew into himself.
I hated her interruption.
Another moment—that was all I needed. One moment to turn the tension into a knife and slice through the lies. Arthur would’ve told me.
I need to know about my parents!
“No specials and no menus,” Grasshopper said. “Just bring us all a round of burgers and fries.”
The cavern between Arthur and I yawned wider with every passing second. Our eyes locked, never once looking away.
A tear trickled silently down my cheek as my heart broke. I didn’t need words to know. His gaze spoke too loudly to be ignored.
They’re dead.
It’s true.
The blonde waitress nodded, her pen scratching over a notepad. “Coming right up. Burgers all around.”
The thought of food repulsed me.
How could I eat when I’d just found out I was an orphan?
Arthur growled, “We’re on a deadline. Speed is paramount.”
The waitress nodded again. “Sure thing, dear.” Tucking the unread menus under her arm, she bustled away in her white-and-yellow uniform.
“ ‘Dear’? Don’t think you’ve been called that before,” Grasshopper said, trying to lighten the mood. Problem was the atmosphere would never lighten until the lies were aired—permitted to rain from a cloud of history and revenge.
“Art… how could you keep that from me?” I whispered, cutting straight to the crux of my pain.
“Aw, shit,” Mo muttered, scooting closer to the wall and avoiding Arthur’s seething bulk.
Arthur tensed. “I would’ve told you tonight. When we were alone and I knew how much you remembered.”
“Why do you have to know what I remember? What’s locked inside my head that you’re so afraid of?”
He dropped his eyes to the table.
He’s still keeping something from me!
My temper snapped. Rage hijacked my muscles until I trembled with a potent mix of grief and ferocity. “Now. Tell me everything. Now!” Running hands through my red hair, I hissed, “Everything, Art. I won’t ask again.”
Silence reigned for one second. I tore at his jacket, wishing I could take it off. I felt as if he consumed me—keeping me from dissolving into madness.
That’s why he gave it to me. To remind me that whatever happened in the past, good or bad, he wasn’t letting me go.
Anger replaced his anxiousness. “Fine. You want the truth? I’ll give you the fucking truth.”
“Oh, boy. Here we go,” Grasshopper muttered.
Arthur threw him a vicious look.
“Your parents are dead. The house fire you were in was lit to cover up their bodies and destroy evidence.” Breathing hard, he dragged both hands through his long hair. “They were shot to take over the Club.”
Knowing it was real and hearing it were two totally different things. My mind rebelled against the truth. I couldn’t stop shaking. “Who—who shot them?”
For a second everything paused, the world ceased to spin, and even the dust motes in the air refused to move. Arthur battled with the answer, his face contorting then smoothing into acceptance. He had to tell the truth—as much as it hurt.
“Your family home was burned by Scott ‘Rubix’ Killian.”
Green eyes.
Licorice allsorts.
My unrelated uncle.
Arthur’s… “Your father killed my parents and tried to murder me?” My voice barely carried across the table. My heart ached and I rubbed my chest, trying to ease the jagged agony. “But why? I remember him always being there. They were best friends.”
Grasshopper inched closer, granting me comfort but not touching.
Arthur bowed his head. “He wanted what your father had. He wanted it all.”
“Who are you, Daddy?” I asked, tracing the embroidery on his black leather jacket. The words of his rank were in a font I couldn’t quite make out.
He plucked me from the carpet, cuddling me close. “I’m the head honcho, Buttercup. The law.”
“You’re the boss?” I crinkled my nose. “You’re not the boss of me.”