Page 13 of Arran's Obsession

On the other side of the door, a guard took hold of Dixie’s arm, bending to hear Alisha’s order, possibly to see the woman off the premises or maybe to give her another chance if she promised to only chase the dick she was paid to. That wasn’t my territory.

I closed the door on them.

“There’s nothing wrong with my dick,” I said into the quiet of the office.

Shade burst out laughing. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it. Get your mind out of my jeans.”

“Sure thing, brother.” He went to a cabinet, sliding open the top metal drawer. From inside, he took two bandannas. Skeleton masks, the pattern a lower half of a skull like the tattoo on his hand. The mark of my crew.

Tossing one to me, he pulled on the other so it covered him nose to jaw, leaving only his piercing blue eyes under a thatchof dark hair. Automatically, I did the same. For anyone who already worked for us, we didn’t bother masking up, but the next on the list was a newcomer.

Outsiders needed to fear us.

At my father’s knee, I’d learned that terrorising the people around you guaranteed results. I hated everything he’d taught me, but that tactic had proved useful when it came to the world I lived in. The one I’d carved out for myself and bled for.

Alisha returned and took a seat at the side of the room, not bothering with a bandanna. The door opened again, and Convict entered, another member of my crew. He took a position behind me, face already covered.

Shade opened the door to admit a slender blonde woman.

For a split second, I froze up.

The applicant for the game appeared so much like Genevieve it gave me pause, but it was only the dim room. The shade of her hair. Another second and she was in the light, and the similarity was gone.

I was fucked up if I was seeing my little maniac in others.

Not-Genevieve peeked at each of us, gripping the back of the guest chair with obvious nerves.

“Sit,” I ordered.

Quickly, she dropped into the seat, then took a breath, regaining her composure.

Shade stepped forward and addressed her. “Natasha Reid, twenty-four, a New York debutante then a socialite. What’s a woman like ye doing entering our game?”

My mask hid my smile. Most of the women who entered were like her.

Natasha swallowed. “I… I want to be claimed.”

He gave a dark laugh. “Interesting choice of word, but accurate. Your paperwork is good, and you’ve signed the disclaimer and said ye understand, but are ye really prepared forwhat goes down there? Twenty men, five lasses. You’ll be chased, stripped, pinned down, fought over, then fucked. Ye don’t get to choose. Ye don’t get to say no once you’re in. There will be blood. Whichever man wins takes ye home, and you’ll have no say over that. From the second ye walk through that door, and the lock turns at your back, until the time is up, you’ll belong to him. Your owner. Is that clear?”

The woman’s chest rose and fell, her pulse at her throat thrumming. Natasha was picking up what Shade was laying down. It was the reason the game worked. The compelling nature of the contest.

It got the blood rushing like nothing else. It did exactly what the contestants wanted it to do. Or so I was told.

She gave a swift nod.

Alisha took over. “You understand the commitments the men make as well?”

Natasha jerked her head more readily now. “It’s what I want. A woman from my sorority was in it a year ago, and she’s so…satisfied. I want everything she’s got. I’m ready.”

“You understand the time constraint, too?” Alisha added.

“Yes. I don’t work and I’ve just finished my degree. It’s all in the forms I filled out. Please?”

Alisha clucked her tongue then took the waiting contract from my desk along with a pen. She tapped the pen, drawing out the moment, then passed it to Natasha who scribbled a signature with obvious relief.

Another one bit the dust. I wondered if she’d be so sunny when smashed to the cold stone floor by a pack of hungry men tomorrow night.

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