Page 32 of Convict’s Game (Skeleton Crew #1)

C onvict

Pink neon lights strobed across the entrance to my crew’s warehouse, filtering through Mila’s blonde hair.

Music thudded in time with my heartbeat.

I fell back a few steps, running my gaze up her long legs from her high heels to the line of her short, sparkling dress.

Outlined against the dark night, she was a fucking vision. An angel.

She twisted back to me and tilted her head, her fingers extending for me to take. Tight dress, pink lips, all mine.

For now.

I swallowed, and time caught up with me.

Catching her hand, I tugged her closer and ran an arm around her waist. The sound of the crowd rushed back in. From the line outside of Divide, people catcalled us. Men entering Divine’s strip club on the other side of the rope watched her with lust in their eyes.

I glowered back until they dropped the gazes to the ground. Mila giggled and palmed my chest. At the front of the queue, one of the security team waved us inside, murmuring his congratulations, the sentiment echoed by those nearby.

“Good game. Way to fight for her. She knew she was yours,” some suited arsehole commented.

The girl on his arm curved her lips into a knowing grin. “We re-enacted your claim. She got away then you found her again. It’s our favourite.”

Mila hid her face in my shirt and gave them a shy wave. Fucking sex tourists, though despite my annoyance at them seeing her naked, something about it was hot, too.

Inside the building, we passed through the dark nightclub, the music vibrating through the floor and stealing any chance of conversation.

The DJ mixed a dance version of ‘i’m yours’ by Isabel LaRosa.

Mila peered at the heaving dance floor where strobe lights flickered over the crowd. Her shoulders moved to the beat.

I wanted to hit up the VIP area and dance with her there. I wanted to do a lot of things with her. But I was here for one reason, and it wasn’t good.

At the back of the lower floor, I tapped a code into the staff exit, and we entered the central corridor that ran between the two clubs.

As always, it was buzzing with skeleton crew, dancers, and other employees, everyone busy on a Saturday night.

Men shook my shoulder or slapped my hand.

Women complimented Mila’s hair, her fit, and her choice.

Forcing a smile took more energy than I had. At the office, I stuck my head inside, finding Shade behind the desk. “Arran around?”

The tattooed enforcer jumped his gaze between us, tension in his frame. “Upstairs in his apartment. He said for ye to go up. Hit the eight. Your pass has access.”

In the lift, my pulse kept up the same thudding beat. A metronome of my impending doom.

Mila checked her makeup then watched me in the mirror. “Did I do okay as the bashful new bride?”

“You’re perfect.”

If Arran kicked me out, she’d have no reason to be with me. I stuck my hands into my pockets and tried to stop myself from spiralling.

The lift arrived on the eighth floor, and we stepped out into the hall. Other than the stairs and the lift, there were two doors, one ahead and one to the right. I hesitated, not knowing which apartment to choose. Knocking on the wrong door would be a dead giveaway.

Shade’s words came back to me. He’d told me which floor to come to. Why would he do that? As far as he was concerned, my memory was fine.

The stairwell exit opened, and Cassie appeared. Her attention fell on us, all bright eyes and knowing smirk, like she already had gossip to collect. “Ohmigod. Hey, players. I’m surprised ye have the energy to walk around.”

At the same moment, the apartment door ahead opened, and Arran appeared with the woman we’d seen in his office, Lovelyn, I recalled, plus another crew member who took to the stairs, leaving them behind.

There was no give in Arran’s expression when he centred on Lovelyn. “I appreciate you coming in, but I don’t like your father using you as his mouthpiece.”

Lovelyn tucked her hair behind her ear with floral nails. “I’m grateful for your time all the same. Thank you for hearing me out.”

Arran’s attention fell on us like a dead weight. “Convict. You’re here.”

For better or worse, I was.

Lovelyn swung her gaze to us, her eyes widening. “Convict? That’s wonderful timing. I came tonight with hope of seeing you as well as Arran. On my father’s behalf, I’m truly sorry that he concealed your hospital stay from your friends.”

Who the fuck was her father? My mind was slow to make the connection, though I was vaguely aware of Shade or Tyler saying something about it.

Cassie got there first. Her eyes bugged out. “Hold the phone. You’re Detective Dickhead’s daughter? Shite. I mean Chief Constable Kenney? No offence intended. Well, maybe some, but only to him.”

Lovelyn grinned. “None taken. At least not personally. I’ve called him worse in my time.” She turned back to me. “He offers no excuse. I believe it was done as a joke, though I can’t see the funny side. I’m very glad to see you’re back on your feet.”

Right . Her father was the police officer who had known I was in hospital yet chose to tell my crew I was dead. “He sent you to do his dirty work?”

Lovelyn’s smile slipped. “I think he knows he took it too far. Seems to me he had a personal beef with Arran or Shade and you were the victim. Again, I apologise.”

“Rest assured he and I will be having words.” Arran’s sober tones drove away my wondering.

I laced my fingers with Mila’s and drew her with me until we were in front of him. “Mila, this is Arran, the leader of the skeleton crew. Arran, this is Mila. She’s…mine.”

Arran’s shrewd gaze took in my lass. “It’s a pleasure.”

When his attention came back to me, I wasn’t sure what I could see in it. Shock. Some other high emotion. It cut through me.

He was so familiar. His dark-blond hair was swept back, his normally pale skin tanned from wherever he and Genevieve had been.

He was in a black suit, looking every inch the mob boss, but my memory sparked other images.

A younger version of him in a torn t-shirt with a bruised cheek.

Him laughing with me as we entered a run-down building in another city.

My breathing stuttered. Remembering Arran was giving me parts of myself back. Something that had barely happened since I’d left the hospital.

Mila squeezed my hand. “If it’s okay, I’ll let the two of you catch up, and I’ll go explore the nightclub. Maybe get a drink.”

She’d picked up on the tension. It would be impossible not to.

Cassie arched a dark brow. “I’d step right out of that crossfire, too.

Come with me. I’ll bag us a table in the VIP suite so we skeleton girls can get to know each other.

Lovelyn, you too. I want to hear all about how a nice girl like you is the progeny of your father.

” She shot a chin lift my way. “Don’t worry.

Riordan is working tonight. If he isn’t watching over us, no doubt a dozen other skeleton crew will. ”

Mila waited on my word.

“Two hours maximum,” I murmured.

She smiled. “Don’t be late.”

The three women entered the lift, and Mila kept my gaze right until the final second.

She didn’t know it yet, but I was far from done fighting. Just because the battlefield could change didn’t mean the war was over.

Their exit left me alone with Arran. He gestured for me to enter the apartment and closed the door after us.

Once inside, I knew the space. The red-brick walls, the engineered oak floorboards, and fancy fucking kitchen I was certain he never cooked in.

There were new additions. Signs that a woman lived here and it wasn’t just a bachelor pad.

A cosy blanket on the back of the couch and a desk I didn’t remember from before, presumably for Genevieve’s use as the laptop case boasted a sticker declaring ‘Won’t work without caffeine’.

More telling was the fluffy brown cat with a pink collar that padded over to me and wound around my legs.

I stooped to stroke its soft head, near certain it hadn’t lived here when I’d been on the scene. “Who’s this?”

“Gen’s cat, Rosie. Drink?”

“I’m good.”

I wasn’t. I was so far from good it was insane. I didn’t know how to talk to Arran, whether to launch into an apology or just take the verbal beating I was due. He was so familiar. I loved this man. I knew him almost as well as I did myself, even if I couldn’t recall exactly how.

He dropped heavily into a leather armchair and rested his elbows on his knees, waiting for me to settle on the opposite sofa. “I have no fucking clue how to start this conversation.”

A laugh fell from my lips. “I was just thinking the same thing. I was debating grovelling?—”

“Fuck. Don’t do that. Just give me a second.” He watched me for a long minute, his gaze soaking in every detail and lingering on the scar at my hairline.

The cat leapt on my lap and turned twice before sprawling on me and headbutting my belly for attention.

Arran’s focus didn’t flicker. He’d asked for a moment, and I understood why. He was looking at a ghost.

“After the fire at the Four Milers’ chapel, you were declared dead. Not by us, but by the cop who was too cowardly to face us so sent his daughter instead. I never believed it. You’re the hardiest motherfucker I’ve ever known. What right would a fire have to take you from this world?”

I couldn’t smile. My stomach had compressed to a tight knot, and I balled my fists so my hands didn’t shake.

“I’m not dead, but I am a fucking idiot.

I let you down. You gave me a second chance, and I’m very aware of how I’m back at the point of asking your forgiveness again.

I don’t expect you to give it. I don’t expect anything.

All I ask is the space to explain myself.

Whatever you decide after that is good with me. ”

Arran tilted his head. “I’ll hear you out, though you don’t need to explain. Tyler and Shade told me exactly what happened with your woman. I have a question first, though.”

“Ask it.”