Page 94 of Convict's Game

Arran’s shoulders rose and fell on a sigh. “No, though your mother was still alive at that point.”

“She’s dead?”

He winced.

I did, too. “I don’t remember her, so don’t apologise. I just…hoped. Did you ever meet her?”

“Once. You did as the probation officer suggested and fought your way into a pocketful of cash for the night, then came back for more. I was made of anger and resentment, but you took pity on me and made a point of talking to me when most others turned their backs. After a while, we became friends, and one day, you asked me to go somewhere with you. You didn’t say why, but it was to see your mother.”

I shoved my icy hands into my pockets. There was no good reason for me needing moral support to visit the one person who should’ve loved me.

“On the way, you told me how you were an only child, born to a mother who’d never had the help she needed, and coped by relying on abusing various substances.”

Another recollection battered me. Of opening a bedroom door and finding a woman sprawled on the carpet with blood on her arm and a crust of saliva and vomit around her mouth. Of relief that she wasn’t dead.

“She was unhappy, so whatever you’re remembering, bear in mind you were never the cause. Just another victim, like she was.”

“Do you know her name?”

“Dorothea.”

RIP, Ma. Dead before I even knew her name. “What happened to her?”

“Earlier in life? I’m not sure. If you knew, you never said. But she overdosed when you were away on another stint in jail. You found out on release, and it sent you spiralling for a while. Landed you back in jail three weeks later.”

I hadn’t been with her in the end. I turned my face to the sea breeze and started walking, if only to have movement to calm my brain.

Arran kept pace.

He let me process my thoughts without interruption. When my heart stopped thumping so hard, I braced myself against an iron railing that overlooked the docks, waves rippling on the harbour wall below. Boats were moored next to warehouses and industrial sites, lorry parking, and a rail connection waiting to take the goods inland.

Then I yelled. Loud, once, and done.

I hung my head until I was ready to move on. “So we met here and beat up people for cash and feelings management. How did we get to you running the skeleton crew and owning a warehouse?”

“Do you remember much of my history?”

I shook my head.

Arran shoved the hair from his eyes and watched the water. “My father was Lord Kendrick and a police chief here in Scotland. A corrupt son of a bitch who murdered my mother in front of me. Many people hated me for being his son and didn’t give a fuck about the life I’d led or how much I’d despised and suffered under him as well. Along with you and Shade, I practically lived at the fight club and developed a reputation for talking with my fists, wearing that like a protective shield. I was targeted, not only for who I was, but for what I started to realise I needed to be. My mother was a sex worker, too. She wasmurdered in cold blood by the bastard who thought himself so much better than her when the opposite was true.”

My jaw unhinged. “We used to beat up kerb crawlers. We’d wait and lay into them after they’d paid their money.”

Arran’s lips curved almost to a smile. “I was out of control, but you were right there, supporting me regardless. It became my vow to bring terror to men who hurt women. But then the sex workers got angry at us for driving away their trade. It made me realise they needed a safe place and I could provide that. My father left me an inheritance. Forming a crew was a natural step, and we had to get out of Leith, so Deadwater felt like a good solution. Right on the border. The tidal river to wash away the bodies we handled along the way. You weren’t around when I found the warehouse, but you spent months helping with the renovations before being recalled to prison for yet another bullshit reason.”

“Sounds like I’ve spent more time in jail than out.”

“Want to know the strangest thing? Until the warehouse was established, you didn’t seem to care. You told me that jail was not that different to the foster care homes you’d mostly been raised in, except you were guaranteed your own bed and three meals a day. I’d argue that you were institutionalised.”

I didn’t know the word, but I got the gist.

“Guess I didn’t have much to live for.”

“That’s different now. This time, you’ll stay out. You’re on parole. Did you know that?”

I nodded, not bothering to ask how he knew.

Arran’s gaze held mine. “I’ve spent time working on the cops so every fucker knows your name and won’t touch you if they find you. I can’t promise that it’s enough, but it’s a start.”