Page 88 of Connor's Claim
The message we’d been waiting for arrived with interesting timing.
Convict: Talk now?
In thirty minutes, cameras would be rolling, Arran would address the masses assembled in the warehouse, then a fuck fest would be going down. Not ideal for us to be distracted with whatever Convict had discovered about the Four Milers.
Across the office, Arran read the screen I held up and palmed his jaw. “I should be with Gen.”
“I’ve got this.”
He exhaled. “Fine, but if it’s anything I need to know immediately…”
“I’ll find ye. Go.”
He left the office, closing me in alone. For a beat, I sat in the darkened space, the spotlight shining on the visitor’s seat,not that there was anyone there. Then I put my phone on loudspeaker and dialled our spy.
Convict answered immediately. “Shade, thanks, brother. I don’t have long.”
“You’re in?”
“They came to me the next day.”
I exhaled in relief, at him being alive, at the bait taken. Our plan was working. Our rivals had done exactly what we wanted them to do, making a move on our disgraced crewmember. Satisfaction curled inside me. “How did they make their approach?”
“Not going to lie, it was rough, but I’ll spare you the details. It took a while to see Red. They had me do a few jobs first.”
“What kind of work?”
“Deliveries, mostly. Drug drop-offs from the smell of the packets. Then cash.” He paused, the sounds of the evening behind him. “Tonight was different. I got given an address to pick up a woman. Had to take her to a building on the east side of town. Looks like the Four Milers own it.”
I drummed my fingers on the desk, not liking the image.
Convict continued. “We know the woman. She works for us. Or she used to. She wouldn’t speak to me, though, and I kept it light so I didn’t raise any suspicions.”
“Who?”
“Bonnie,” he named one of our dancers.
A lass in her twenties who had previously been trafficked to the UK from Europe. Our outreach crew had rescued her after she’d spent six years on her back as a prisoner. Under Alisha’s care, Bonnie had undergone therapy, and we’d housed her for free while she decided what she wanted to do with her life. She’d chosen to stay and work at the warehouse, but only to dance, never to fuck for money.
The thought of her defecting to a drugs gang haunted me.
“Did ye go inside the building?” I asked.
“Couldn’t get beyond the entrance. I’ll work on that.”
“What about the mayor? Anyone talking about him?”
The door to the office cracked open, and I snatched up my phone. Alisha slipped inside. Usually, she’d knock. Even as a core part of the management team, she’d never accepted that she was equal to me and Arran.
I relaxed back down into my seat. “Anything to add on that?” I added pointedly to my phone.
Alisha eyed it then perched on a seat.
“No,” Convict replied. “Not yet. Shit. Got to go.”
He hung up, and I settled back, taking a second to piece over the intelligence he’d gathered. One of our dancers working for the Four Milers sickened me. Red treated women like shite. I hated that Bonnie had made that choice, and I needed to know if it was voluntarily. Convict would find that out. Red was slowly giving him his trust, first handling drugs, then cash, and finally women, for whatever purpose he intended. Our boy was doing exactly what we needed.
The chair opposite creaked, and in the spotlight, Alisha leaned forward. She was dressed for the night in her typical uniform of a glossy wig and a floaty, see-through dressing gown over lingerie, but it was her expression that struck me as strange.