Page 40 of Connor's Claim
“Would you?”
I drew a breath of river air, thick with a swampy odour tonight, but couldn’t find an answer. Convict had accepted the offer, eager to prove himself. But trust was a hard commodity. I’d been burned too many times to ever do it again. Instead, I braced myself on the railing and stared out at the water oozing by on its way out to sea.
It was a fucking shame we hadn’t had any clean-up work come in from the cops, any bodies to drop in the water. My knives were thirsty.
Arran joined me so we were side by side and looked me over, his brow still creased. “I’m worried about you, too.”
“Why?”
“When we were bratty kids, taking money from brawls with rich boys who wanted to slum it with us for an evening, you had a pre-fight ritual you’d do every night.”
I scowled, not liking where this was going.
Arran continued. “You dedicated each match to a girl. You never told me her name, but ever since we read Natasha’s post-mortem report and you ran out of my apartment like your ass was on fire, you’ve worn the same expression.”
“Quit examining at me so closely, ye fucking psycho.”
His gaze stayed on mine. “It was Everly you fought for, wasn’t it?”
Him attaching her name to that memory brought a bolt of pain that threatened to double me in two. I’d left the mayor’s house—left her behind—and spent years bloodying my knuckles to thoughts of her rejection. I’d hoped she’d come after me. I’d waited.
She broke my heart. I’d bled out endlessly, nothing calming the pain of first love being over and of losing the one person I felt safe with.
My dedications went from fightingforher to every hit reinforcing what she’d done. How it killed a part of me and continued breaking bones.
“What does it matter?”
“It matters because of us being in bed with her father,” Arran said.
I shuddered at the revolting metaphor and shoved away from the barrier, needing this conversation done. “Enough. I get it, you’re pissed off at the risk of two of your crew failing, but just stop, I have my head. Talk to me about preparations for the game. There’s a lot to cover.”
Friday night saw the next running of our chase-fuck game, where we opened our basement to five women and twenty men, and our screens around the warehouse to those who’d paid to watch the carnage.
Arran snorted. “Don’t dodge. I never said you were failing. I’m asking as a fucking friend. I knew you cared about her but I thought as a stepsister. I didn’t know how deep that went. Gen tells me I need to be more open, so this is me telling you I’ll listen.”
“Arran, Shade,” a shout came from the cobbled walkway that led to the warehouse.
One of our crew ran to reach us. His gaze landed on me.
“Mick needs you in the VIP bar. Some guy showed up to talk to your woman.” His gaze flicked to Arran. “Said his name was Riordan.”
I took off, driving my feet into the ground.
Just like when I’d first suspected Everly was in danger, I was again rushing to her side, no hesitation and no questions asked. Not even of myself. At my approach, the bouncers outside Divide unclipped the red rope barrier and ordered the crowd to step back. I burst past and dove into the dark and humid club, shoving aside bodies on my way through the corridor.
At the steps to the VIP bar, I thundered up, making out the side of Everly’s head.Still here.My heart thumped out of time.
Red mist followed at the sight of Riordan. I stormed the rest of the distance, moving around him then bouncing the fucker back with my chest and getting in his face.
“The fucking nerve ye have coming to my club.”
Riordan backed away, his hands up. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”
I pressed on until his spine hit the polished silver guard rail that overlooked the crowd below. Then I snapped up a hand to grip his throat, arching him over the drop.
“Shade!” Genevieve shrieked.
I barely heard it.