Page 21 of Arran's Obsession

No, tonight was all me, the drive in me to resolve the problems in my life and the small yet burning hurt at what had happened with the gang leader. He’d shown his true colours, and it cut deep.

How the heck did I give him that power? That smallest start of a crush had died a death now.

I took a shaky breath then swallowed back the last of the heavily caffeinated mango energy drink I’d snagged from the fridge. What Arran hadn’t realised in his attempt to make merun was my stubbornness. I was going back to that club, and this time, I was going to explore the other floors. I knew the layout better. I had energy to burn from my pain over Cherry and an axe to bury in the god-awful gangs.

On the horizon, purple night claimed the sky.

It was time.

Thirty minutes later, I hopped from my cab two streets over from the warehouse then slunk down the river to the back of Divine and Divide. A car park spread out, well-lit and packed with vehicles but with enough patches of darkness for me to make it close to the building.

A doorman waited by a much less fancy entrance.

That was it. The way into the staircase that led to where I needed to go. As I watched, a group of men approached and spoke to the doorman. He admitted them with a few words. Damn, that was easy. Just had to fake the same confidence.

Another group approached and were shown in without a problem.

The words of the woman who’d led me back to the office returned. She said there was a game running tonight and an expectation that they’d be busy. I’d been so occupied trying to read the rota that I hadn’t paid attention beyond that. Maybe it was a sport of some kind they could watch while the women entertained them in other ways.

There was nothing left to do but find out.

Like last night, I was dressed for the occasion in my same little black dress, but I’d gone heavier in my makeup. Prettier in my lingerie, just in case.

With my shoulders back, I crossed the distance and presented myself to the man. “I’m here for the game.”

The huge man with a thick neck that bulged over his collar raised his eyebrows then he checked something on his phone. It looked like a photo. “You Natasha?”

I was whoever I needed to be. Faking brightness, I smiled. “That’s me. Natasha. Nice to meet you.”

He huffed in apparent relief and hauled on the door, the effect causing his suit jacket to open. It revealed a leather holster. For a knife? A gun? The movement was too fast for me to be sure, and I snapped my gaze away.

The doorman propelled me inside. “You’re late. You’ve got a few minutes to prepare, that’s it.”

“Traffic was bad,” I lied.

He directed me past the stairs I’d wanted to climb and to another door, plain and sturdy, no window to see in or out. He tapped in a code, and it popped open. “Hurry.”

Inside, another corridor fell away, grey and unadorned. But it was a route in. I’d take it. “Thanks,” I breathed.

“Good luck. You’re the last to arrive. Door’s locking now.”

He closed me in with a thud and a click of metal. Something about his words felt final, and a slither of unease curled around my determination. Yesterday, I’d been able to walk in and walk out unbothered. Even on the floor of the club, I hadn’t felt in any kind of danger despite the clientele the women were there to serve.

Getting locked in the basement felt very different. I turned and stared at the door. No handle. Not even a keyhole. Above, a camera trained on me. I hadn’t noticed them elsewhere in the club but I hadn’t been checking either.

The urge filled me to thump on the door and call the man back, but I’d come too far for retreating. Stifling the panic, I forced myself down the hall, grateful for my dose of caffeine that kept me going.

Around the corner, the corridor opened to a vast expanse. A concrete floor stretched the width of the huge building, pillars supporting a gantry to an upper level, and huge warehouse doors along one of the walls. The kind that lorries could pass in and outto offload goods, or whatever used to happen a century or two ago when this place was built.

Cameras overlooked the space in its shades of grey and industrial white, and bright lights left nothing hidden.

From behind me, a figure skittered out across the floor, a woman in a bandage dress, her feet bare. Carefully, she climbed the metal steps to the gantry then entered a room, not sparing a glance at me.

“Are you the last?” another voice followed, an American, from her accent.

I turned. A woman my age exited a room behind, my glimpse into the space showing sinks and lockers. A bench with towels on.

“I think so,” I answered. My voice came out weak, so I cleared my throat and tried again. “The doorman said he was locking the door. Why would he do that?”

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