Page 97 of Connor's Claim

“I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t be, this is awesome. Stay right there. I’ll be back.”

Ten minutes later, and wearing a long skeleton crew t-shirt Cassie had found for me, I wrestled Connor’s jeans back onto him.

Someone thumped at the door. “Everly, open up.”

It was Arran. I let him in.

He burst inside, his dark-blond hair a mess I imagined at Genevieve’s hands, and his expression fraught where he looked his friend over. “Is he sick?”

I touched my forehead in embarrassment then gestured to the sedative case. “Nope. I knocked him out and now I can’t get him back to our apartment. I messed up.”

Arran stilled then pressed his fist to his mouth. Incredulity warred with amusement in his expression, but he fought to neutralise it.

“Can he hear me?” At my nod, he addressed the prone man on the bed. “Listen up, brother. I’m going to carry you upstairs, then we are never speaking of this again.”

His gaze took in the room, me, then Connor. All Connor’s distinctive tattoos were on display.

“There’s a problem in how recognisable he is. He can’t be seen like this. Aside from reputation’s sake, he’ll fucking murder me.”

“I know!” I squeaked.

“Then we’ll cover him as best we can and move fast.” Arran stripped his shirt, cradling Connor’s head to dress him. I fastened the bandanna I’d worn earlier over his face and hair.

We stepped back to admire our handiwork.

Arran jerked his chin. “You go first. Get to the lift then hold it. Don’t talk to anyone.”

I ran, my wobbly parts jiggling in my flight back through the brothel to the exit that led to the penthouse apartments. A spying Cassie gave me a slick high five, but otherwise, I ignored every other face. In the lift, I breathed hard, then almost sagged in relief when Arran swept inside a minute later with Connor over his shoulder.

He leaned against the wall, sweat on his brow, and his only comment was a quiet, “Heavy fucker.”

Upstairs, I used the code to get us inside, and Arran hefted Connor to our bed, then the two of us retreated to the living room.

“Is there an antidote?” I whispered.

Arran rolled his neck. “Outside my wheelhouse. He’s the specialist, and you took him out of commission.” He waved off my sorrowful apology. “He no doubt deserved it. Watch over him.”

He left us, and I returned to the bed to do exactly that.

Brushing Connor’s hair back from his head, I pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I won’t leave you. I’ll never leave you. If you forgive me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it all up to you.”

To the tune of the club almost bursting with patrons and raucous shouts reaching us from below, I took his pulse, as if that could tell me anything other than his heartbeat in a steady rhythm.

More, I told him I loved him. That I was sorry for choosing wrong.

I stripped my borrowed shirt to show him I obeyed his rules.

But I just as quickly put it back on when someone thumped at the door.

“Everly,” Arran called through the apartment.

There was a tone in his voice I didn’t like at all.

Stumbling from the bed, I squeezed Connor’s hand. “It’s just Arran. I’ll be right back.”

I could almost feel his anger at me walking away. At the apartment’s entrance, I paused and spoke through the door. “Is everything okay?”