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Not because of the money.
Not because of screwing up.
But because it symbolized something so fucking scary.
I should never have fucked up something so simple.
How could I hope to create world anarchy and put things into place when I couldn’t even handle a basic trade?
The answer was simple: I couldn’t.
And I had to.
This was what I was born to do.
I’d lost the affinity with numbers. I missed thinking in algorithms. I felt lazy and dumb and unhinged.
I needed to find a way back. And if it meant retraining, then so be it.
“I’ll be up in ten.” Catching her shoulders, I spun her to face the stairs and tapped her ass. “Go up to the bedroom and wait for me. I want you naked with just your cut on.” Gathering her masses of hair, I kissed the back of her neck. “Understand?”
She shivered. “I understand.”
“Good.” I pushed her gently, and she didn’t look back as she scurried up the stairs.
I watched as the last flick of red hair vanished around the corner.
The minute she’d disappeared, I sighed.
I’d do anything to protect her. I’d become anyone to ensure she had the life she deserved.
But the more I thought about what I had to do in order to formulate the future I wanted, the deeper the fog of ennui I lived in became.
My limbs were listless. My brain lethargic.
Pain made everything so fucking hard.
Turning, I marched into my office. Closing the door—something I never bothered doing—I made my way to the four screens and powered them up.
The moment the glare from the screens glowed blue, I squinted and popped two painkillers from the bottle in my desk drawer.
From mastermind to defunct has-been.
I had to find a way to reboot myself before it was too late.
My heart stuttered as the failed trade flashed in red, determined to never let me forget the fuckup this afternoon.
Stop focusing on the past. Just fix it.
I corralled my remaining wits and concentrated. Gritting my teeth, I closed the charted history and opened a fresh window.
With a barely there tremble, I selected a new foreign currency pair, checked to see if there was any news in order to go bearish or bullish, and entered the trade into the software.
Cross-referencing the pair with my trusted candlesticks and technical indicators, I wiped away my nervous sweat and committed.
My mouse clicked.
The computer chimed.
And I hoped to fucking God I could remember how to do this.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cleo
He’d been mean again today.
Honestly, he was like a bloody yo-yo. One minute he’d let me touch him, laugh with him, let me get close. The next, he treated me as if I had a disease. He belittled me in front of his father; he ignored me in front of his brother. I wasn’t stupid. I knew Dax was a liability waiting to happen. But I just wished … I just wished everyone would butt out. Why couldn’t things be simple? Why couldn’t the world be safe? —Cleo, diary entry, age twelve
My nipples tingled beneath the supple leather. The hair on my arms stood up as the sleeves cocooned my naked skin. And my belly tightened as I inhaled the tanning chemicals and newness.
I’d never worn something so sensual or so strict. Sensual because it heralded me as taken, belonging … loved. And strict because it meant I was one of them. I had responsibilities to uphold, people to answer to, duties to honor.
Lucky for me, Arthur had always held that hierarchy in my life. Yes, we were equals, but I was happy for him to protect and cherish me because I did the same in subtler ways. He was brawn and brash brutality while I was the soft drizzle after a harsh summer’s day.
Stroking the patch over my breast, my heart squeezed.
I’d done exactly as Arthur told me.
After scurrying up the stairs like an eager church mouse, I’d had a quick shower. Afterward, I’d moisturized, pampered, and padded naked across the room. I’d made sure the bedside lights were on romantic glow rather than interrogation brightness, and curled up in the middle of the bed wearing nothing but my new jacket.
And there I’d waited … growing wet with anticipation and breathless with desire.
Every rustle I made, the new jacket sent another wave of need through my blood. The silver thread glittered, reminding me time and time again who I loved.
The small jacket fit me perfectly.
Riding on the back of Arthur’s bike from the gathering had filled me with a mix of joy and justice. Any motorist who saw us growling past knew I wasn’t one of them—I wasn’t from a normal nine-to-five society—I was a member of something bigger. A sister, wife, and friend to people who understood the meaning of togetherness.
The skull and abacas logo teased fear into some people, believing we were lawlessness and terror. What they didn’t see was an extended family, and I’d just been handed the keys to their home.
I sighed, staring at the ceiling.
How much longer will he be?
My ears strained for any noise of his boots on the stairs. My instincts fanned out for any prickle that he might be close.
I was tempted to go down to find him—it’d been forty minutes, not the ten that he promised—but something inside me hesitated.
I didn’t want to interfere.
Losing the trade this afternoon did something to him I couldn’t understand. And unfortunately, this was one time I couldn’t help. He had to fix it. He had to come to terms with whatever injury shadowed him. All I could do was be there for him when he healed.
