Page 15 of Arran's Obsession

“Last one, then we can get out of here,” Convict announced. “Shade, did you know that girl?”

Shade didn’t reply, slinking back into the shadows of the office. He clearly had, but he was entitled to his secrets.

Alisha beckoned in the last person of the evening.

I adjusted my skeleton mask, ready to leave. Sitting behind a desk wasn’t my style. I was down to patrol the building, watching for trouble with the punters. Hit up the police for more details on the murdered woman.

After that, Shade and I were free to take on the city and let loose the darkness inside us. Start a hunt of our own.

But my thoughts ground to a halt.

Under the bright spotlight we shone on visitors, Genevieve walked into my space.

Chapter 5

Genevieve

My plan was working. I’d got past the bouncer by saying I was applying for a job, falling into a short line of people waiting to be admitted to an office. But now, it was my turn, and I was facing off with a room of men in goddamned skeleton masks.

I hated masks.

It scared me that I couldn’t see their expressions. Or recognise them again if we ever met. Anyone could be behind them.

Across the ultra-masculine dark-wood desk, the men watched me silently. The office was wide with an industrial feel, the walls of the red-brick warehouse left uncovered. Nothing soft. No pictures, no couch.

Not much light either. The men were half in darkness while I was bathed in a spotlight. My skin prickled in awareness, and my stomach tightened in trepidation.

Then a woman to the side asked a question. I’d barely noticed her, so freaked out was I by the masked men.

“You’re looking for work. What exactly do you want to do?” she said.

I swallowed. “I’m open to anything. I need the money and I work hard.”

“Go to the bar next door. They have vacancies,” she commented.

“What about the strip show?”

The four of them stared. Only a few hours ago, I’d snapped at Arran, the stranger in my home who I’d somehow seen half-naked, about women who took their clothes off for money. I wasn’t a prostitute, and I wasn’t a stripper either. I didn’t have the skills.

All I needed was to walk through the building and find the woman my dad was hanging out with.

He might even be here, somewhere, though I didn’t think that likely. It was over a week since he’d last been home, and the money would’ve run out, surely.

The man at the desk leaned back, one of the others stooping for a short exchange of conversation I couldn’t hear. He was the boss, I took it, the one in the chair. Big, and muscular. All of them were, the two supporting guys heavily tattooed as well.

The one he’d spoken to lifted his chin to me. “Ever stripped before?” he said in a Scottish accent

I winced. “No. At least not for money.”

None of them laughed.

The boss man steepled his hands. “Yet here you are in a strip club. What makes you think you’d be any good?”

His voice was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I didn’t have an answer for him. I could hardly say I’d only come here to find someone. They’d throw me out faster than if I’d yelled cop. “Surely there’s a place I could start out.”

The one who’d addressed me first replied. “Perhaps. Everyone who works this side of the warehouse has to audition. Are ye prepared for that?”

Audition? Shit.

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