Page 11 of Arran's Obsession

Arran

Fists clenched, I strode through the club’s busy corridors, managing an acknowledgement for the people who greeted me.

In my office, Shade already waited, reclining against the red-brick wall. My friend frowned at his phone, his fingers curled around the tattoos that crawled up his throat. On the back of his hand was the lower half of a skull. The other had a Scottish flag, a homage to his heritage.

“Problem?” I dropped into my leather chair, the manager’s seat for both Divine and Divide.

He lifted his gaze to me. “Intense police activity in North Town. A murder, rumour has it. Naw us, for once.”

I stiffened. North Town was the part of the city I’d visited earlier this evening. The place Genevieve lived. It wasn’t all that nice but it was outside of the gang territories and above the worst of the city’s dangers.

Yet someone had driven by her house and scared her. Targeted her, perhaps. The memory chilled me.

“Anything known about the dead person?”

Shade gave a single headshakeno. “Hit up your contact?”

I grunted and texted a query out into the ether, a bad feeling taking host in my gut. There was no way it could be her. I’d been at her flat just an hour ago. Then again, only the night before that, the woman had nearly killed herself by walking out in front of my car.

The reply took fucking forever.

DetD: A hooker. Not one of yours.

DetD was Detective Dickhead, the name I’d once heard for my police contact and which had stuck in my head. He was Chief Constable Kenney to everyone else and a callous bastard. I didn’t share his disregard for the dead woman.

Disgust warred with my instant regret for the loss of life.

Arran: Description?

DetD: Pink hair, roll of condoms, a lot of blood on her naked body. You getting off on this?

Shade listened as I relayed the details, his gaze distancing for a beat. I knew his mind had gone to another place, of dark streets, the competition and the chase, of red blood spilled in our shared pastime of cleaning up after shite like this.

“We need to find out who did it,” he snapped.

“Agreed. How the fuck did that woman skip our radar?”

Shade’s expression shifted, his focus returning from the pull of the night to settle on me. “No fucking clue. We’ll work this out, aye? We’ll work out who, and he’ll pay.”

We would, but it was too late for the deceased.

“Ye can’t save everyone,” my friend added.

I didn’t accept that.

As a minimum, I could try. Tonight, I’d failed.

I also couldn’t leave the office right now, as much as I wanted to. The clubs were busy, a line outside of both. The women working the tables, poles, and beds would be happy. I would have to make do with the fact the cops would be all over North Town for at least a day, therefore keeping the residents safer than average in a city of sin.

Didn’t stop me from wanting to drive back over. Nor could I explain the urge to stop in on the maniac jaywalker again. At least she still had her life intact.

My brain abruptly took me back to her flat. To the shape of her thigh when I’d knelt to check her over. The dip and curve of her waist. When she’d touched me, it sent shockwaves.

The fuck was up with that?

“What’s on my table tonight?” I grouched.

Shade pocketed his phone. “An employee wants to see ye then we’ve got an applicant for the game.”

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