Page 3 of Convict’s Game (Skeleton Crew #1)

C onvict

A wailing moan of pleasure pierced my consciousness, dragging me from sleep, and I sat up, blinking in the low light of my room.

There was no cast on my leg. No IV in my arm. No hospital beeps or the scent of antiseptic. Just the thudding bass of music and sex moans through the wall. Deadwater’s version of a wellness retreat.

Fuck, I was free.

Swinging out of bed, I touched my booted foot to the floor then stood, testing my balance.

Not bad. On the bedside table waited a white pharmacy bag, and I pulled out the only meds I’d be taking from now—the last of my antibiotics—swallowing them down with a gulp of water.

My head hadn’t felt this clear in forever, and I wasn’t about to cloud it with drugs for pain I couldn’t feel.

Someone tapped at my door. I stumbled over to open it.

With a bundle in her arms, Dixie gave me a once-over.

“I brought you clean clothes from the wardrobe next to the strip club downstairs. Feel free to raid it if you don’t like what I picked.

Got to say, you’re looking stronger already.

I checked on you a few times throughout last night and today. You slept hard.”

The clothes smelled clean and not of hospital. “If I’m a saint, you’re an angel. What time is it?”

“Nine in the evening. Almost twenty-four hours after we brought you in. You ate?”

At some point in my rest, I’d spotted a packet of sandwiches left for me and had devoured them. “That was you?”

“No, Shade. Arran’s going to call again soon, if you’re fit to head downstairs? He tried once already, but we thought it better not to wake you.” Something ticked over in her gaze. “Do you know who I’m talking about?”

I grabbed my crutch and threw a glance around the room to check I had all I needed. Except I didn’t own anything. At least not here. No keys or phone to take.

“Yeah, I remember Arran.” Just about. “Where is he anyway?”

“Honeymoon. Somewhere hot. I’m a little jelly over it so I’m choosing to space on the details.”

Arran was married?

Dixie noticed. Tsked. “His wife is Genevieve. She’s lovely.”

The name summoned a face, though no other details. They’d come back. Piece by piece, the blanks were being filled in. “Fuck, right. I know her.”

“That memory still troubling you?”

I purposefully eyed her throat bandage and returned her words from yesterday. “Nothing I want to talk about, hun.”

She smirked in amusement, and we left my room and made our way down the hall.

Giving me a ten-minute warning, Dixie waited while I used the bathroom then cleaned myself up as best I could, changing my clothes for the replacement t-shirt and sweats, slicing them open for my boot, and the single shoe I needed to match.

I needed a shower, which I could do now I had the leg cast off, but that meant removing the bandage covering the burns on my arm. I grimaced at it. In the hospital, the nurse had said it should be good, but I didn’t want to stare down at that mess. Not yet. One demon at a time.

Back in the cloakroom, I called Dixie in.

“Can I use this?” I waved the razor I’d found in a row of toiletries baskets on the counter.

“Everything here is for the staff to use. Knock yourself out.”

I fronted up to the sink, lathered up, and tackled weeks’ worth of scruffy beard.

As I worked—fucking hell, did that feel good—Dixie hopped onto the counter and crossed her legs at the ankles, watching me as she continued her crew update.

“Shade’s girlfriend is Everly, and she’s pregnant.

Cassie and Riot are paired off, but I don’t think you’ve met him.

He’s a newer crew member, real name Riordan.

” She peered at me. “You saved Cassie from the fire that almost killed you. She came upstairs with me earlier to check on you. She’s my boss now. ”

I scowled at my reflection, hating my broken memory. “Tell me about the fire.”

Dixie launched into a story of how I’d been in the basement of a rival gang’s brothel when someone torched the place. Cassie had been held prisoner and would’ve died if I hadn’t boosted her out of a cellar door while the building burned around us.

“Several people burned to death that night. It’s why everyone thought you were dead. But Arran kept the faith. No body, no mourning. They pulled out any number of charred corpses, but none were yours.”

In the mirror, I finished my shave then ruffled my dark hair to cover the scar slicing back from my hairline. My brush with death was written right there on my face, but I was still the same guy from the wrong side of the tracks. Just one of my nine lives lost.

Out of the bathroom, we made for the lift, and I leaned on the wall while Dixie pressed the button.

“Why was I there? In the place that burned down.”

“Beats me.”

“Do the cops know I’m skeleton crew?”

“Everyone knows, hun. Why?”

Frustration twisted in my gut. I’d been a stranger to myself for weeks, but maybe I hadn’t needed to be.

The lift arrived, and we descended to the ground floor, opening onto a busy corridor.

Music thumped through the wall to the left that opened onto the nightclub, the scent of dry ice and beer battling perfume and aftershave.

On the other side, two women lingered in the open doorway of the dressing room.

It was for the strip club, my mind supplied.

In skimpy outfits, one a cowgirl and the other a bunny complete with fluffy round tail, both women snuck glances at me.

I checked them out in return, again, testing myself. I was reasonably certain I was hetero, but what the fuck was wrong with me if it didn’t have even a flicker of interest? Not in them, not in last night’s sex show, and not in Dixie who was clearly a friend but also knock-out hot.

“Am I gay?” I said in a rush.

Dixie blinked. “Don’t think so.”

“Do I have a girlfriend?”

Her shoulders sank. “Not that I know of, but you did have a thing with Alisha before she got killed.” She winced. “Shit. Did you know that? She was a victim of the murderer haunting Deadwater. That case got solved, but it won’t bring anyone back.”

I stumbled, catching my step with my crutch.

I had known about Alisha. I’d heard about her when I was, where?

A flash of recollection hit me. My first real one that wasn’t putting a name to a face.

A dank room with a crowd of people watching a gangster holding court.

The smell of smoke had ghosted through the air.

I’d been sad at Alisha’s death, but not broken like a boyfriend would’ve been.

Dixie directed me to an office, the door opening on our approach and revealing Shade plus a second man I recognised as another of the skeleton crew’s inner circle, a bear of a man with a thatch of dark-blond hair.

“Tyler,” Dixie whispered.

I gave her a small smile of thanks.

Shade hugged me like he had yesterday, or maybe the day before, I’d lost track of time. Tyler carefully palmed my shoulder, murmuring a greeting with his serious gaze taking me in. For a beat, he lifted it to look over my shoulder.

Dixie peeked back at him, flushed pink, then closed herself out.

I was messed up, but I knew attraction when I saw it.

At the polished black desk, Shade collected a tablet and placed a call.

While it connected, I took my fill of the room.

I’d spent a lot of time in here, but on the other side of the desk.

We had a bright spotlight that we’d shine on visitors to intimidate them.

Against the red-brick wall at the back of the room was a filing cabinet with a stash of skeleton bandannas we’d use to cover our faces.

There were knives concealed under the desk. A gun or two.

Fresh relief had me standing a little easier. Home sweet home.

“Arran, can ye hear me? He’s awake.” Shade held up the tablet, and on the screen, another familiar face resolved.

Fuck, my hard shell crumbled.

I hadn’t dreamt last night. No hint of memory had returned over what I’d done to Arran. I knew it was bad. He had every reason to throw me out of the crew when I’d only just discovered it again.

But if I was shaken, he was, too.

Arran stared at me in amazement, his face white. He dug his fingers into his blond hair then swore. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

My heart thumped like it wanted out of my chest. “Good to be back.”

He leaned in more, his gaze roaming over my features and lingering on my scar. “Shade tells me you were at death’s door. What do you remember?”

I cobbled together the bits of the story Dixie had supplied. “Being in a cellar among people I didn’t trust. Smelling smoke. Getting Cassie out. Then the hospital. I was out of it for weeks.”

Arran inclined his head. “It was the Four Milers’ cellar in an old church they’d converted to a brothel. You were undercover.”

My mouth fell open. Not a betrayal, not if I had been working for my crew.

Arran continued, stress tightening his tone. “It was my fault you got hurt. I sent you in to spy on that gang and you nearly wound up dead. I could’ve got you out. You asked me if you could come home, and I said not yet. Your injuries, that scar, it’s all on me. I’m so fucking sorry.”

A rush of emotion threatened me again. I shoved my hands into my pockets. “Fuck off with that.”

Arran laughed. It sounded like grief. “You should know the bastards who broke you are dead. Shade ended Bronson, then the fire killed Red. If it hadn’t, I would’ve.”

They were the Four Milers leadership, or had been. Every time I heard a name, it woke up a sleeping part of my mind.

“Good to know. The cop in the hospital mentioned a turf war.”

Shade stiffened. “Ye spoke to the police?”

“One visited me. I gave him nothing.”

Both he and Arran stared.

Tyler leaned in. “Did you get a name, or can you describe the guy?”

I feature-listed the fifty-something cop, the big fucker who’d lurked at my bedside wearing a smug grin. Now I knew why.

Tyler twisted his lips and queried, “Kenney?”

“Got to be.” Arran scowled.

The name jogged my thoughts. “Yeah, that was him.”