Page 21 of Convict's Game

The guard shoved me inside, and the medic inclined his head at the chair I’d grasped the back of.

“Sit. This won’t take long.”

I didn’t move. There were needles. Tubes. Scissors. “To do what?”

“A simple blood test. If you don’t do it, you’ll have to leave.” He picked up a strap and gave me an impatient glance.

Esther hadn’t warned of this, but a fast check of his supplies reassured me a tiny amount. All the kit was packaged and appeared professional, the medical bag clean and new. I’d given blood once in the past, and being shown the door was out of the question.

Still, I thought of Annabelle. “What if I want to leave?”

He smiled, revealing stained teeth. “Too late for that. Are you going to do this voluntarily or do you need to be held down?”

Shaking, I sat and extended my arm.

The doctor took a vial of blood then withdrew his needle, giving me a piece of cotton wool to press to the tiny wound. Without another word to me, he called for the guard.

“Next. Have them form a queue. I have better places to be.”

The guard shoved me back into the bedroom and called the others out. It left me alone which offered a chance.

Diving for the bed, I found the phone Convict had left me and dialled a number. Not his, but one I’d memorised not all that long ago. My brother, there to play backup plan for if this all went wrong.

An answerphone played. I swore and switched to a message.

Mila: It’s me. There’s a girl here who shouldn’t be. She’s just a kid. Can you come and take her? I can maybe send her out the window if you can pick her up outside?

I was foolish to ask for this. Annabelle wasn’t my problem, except I couldn’t ignore her presence. She had no one to protect her, and the auction would break her in two.

I stuffed the phone back into its hiding place then crossed to the window to stare out at the dusk. The lack of light made it harder to see, but the club sign blinked to life, slicing purple through the glass, right as a figure landed on the air-conditioning unit.

I squeaked in shock. It was my lost boy. Without thinking, I leapt to unfasten the window, and he dropped into the room, tall, dark, and just as handsome as I’d remembered.

Backing up, I stared wide-eyed at him. “You can’t be here.”

Convict prowled towards me. “Then why let me in?”

“At least hide.”

Ignoring my gesture for him to duck into the corner where he’d be out of sight behind the dresser if the guard returned, the big man moved in on me and backed me to the wall.

My pulse sped, and I flattened myself to the cool plaster, momentarily lost on a surge of lust and something dangerously like happiness at seeing him again. Him being here flipped the balance in far too many ways. Just like our phone call had.

He dropped his lips to my ear. “I want you to tell me what’s happening tonight. Why are the other women here? What are you going to do?”

How did he know about them? He hadn’t been outside the window when they were in the room. I shook my head. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

“Your lips are saying the words, but every other part of you is screaming for me to stay.”

My breathing came harder. His, too.

The world closed in around us. He was a magnet, and I registered the pull, the strongest urge to cling to him and claim his hot mouth in the middle of this terrible place.

Why was it that this complete stranger had such an effect on me, as apparently I did to him? I couldn’t get the image of his body out of my head.

Another fact was just as clear, cooling my unwanted passion. The guard carried a weapon. I’d seen a holster on his belt. If he returned now, he’d kill Convict. Yet I didn’t push him away. Instead, I got hooked on the strangest detail.

He had on a grey shirt, open at the collar, and with sleeves rolled up to display the white bandage still wrapped around his left arm. Tattoos decorated the other. God, that was attractive.