Page 31 of Arran's Obsession

Arran

Jamieson and his brother, Camden, waited in the entry hall.

“Christ, man. Long time no see.” Camden dealt out the same hard hug his brother had, the low light not concealing the deep scar that scored one side of his face.

In most ways, the brothers were very similar, black hair, blue eyes, and all brought up on the streets of Scotland. Their home gave zero clue to them as people. None of them had grown up here.

That violence in them? Exactly what I needed right now, alongside sanctuary.

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I shouldn’t have stayed away so long.”

“Aye, that’s a fact,” Jamieson griped. “It’s been…what, two years? If we didnae drive south, your face would be a fucking mystery.”

Other than Shade, Alisha, and Convict, I trusted and cared about few. This family of four brothers, their lasses, and their increasing number of kids was my exception. We’d lived through a nightmare situation together, and it’d forged a bond that could never be broken, even if I kept my distance at times.

The fact was, after the shitshow of our past, they’d got on with rebuilding their lives and making a future. Babies, marriage, jobs. It was all working out. My pain was unending. It would never be over. I wouldn’t fall in love and settle down. As much as they were my family, coming here hurt as much as it healed. I was better off staying away.

Footsteps came from the stairs, and Summer carefully descended, a child now on her hip and items clutched in her other hand. Jamieson jogged up to meet her, taking the baby, their youngest.

Summer came to me and gave me a quick hug, handing me the bundle. “I fetched you some clothes, and this one woke up. Here, take this. Also, you’re an asshole for staying away.”

Muttering an apology, I took the plain t-shirt, socks, and trainers. Once, years ago, she and I had been roles reversed, and I’d helped her flee.

A lump lodged in my throat. I ducked to dress, hiding my face. Only this evening, when I’d heard the update on the murdered woman, I’d thought about coming here. They’d know why it mattered to me. They’d help work out if I was imagining ghosts or if my concerns were real.

Then the situation with Genevieve had taken over, and that was a clusterfuck on top of everything else. Another piece of advice required.

Over all of it, I just wanted a family.

Jamieson curled an arm around my shoulders. “Something tells me we’re going to need a drink. Into the bar with ye.”

Summer took the fussing baby back, and Jamieson kissed her, murmuring a quiet word, then the woman headed back upstairs. With the two brothers, I moved through a big pair of double doors and into the great hall. A decade ago, this had been a broken, part-burned wreck. Jamieson’s work, the pyromaniac. They’d rebuilt and made it into a family space with groups of sofas and chairs, a kids’ soft play area, and a bar in one corner. A chill-out zone with high stained-glass windows that was perfect for indoor hanging out when the Scottish weather came in. Which was often.

At the bar, Jamieson poured us all two fingers of brandy and brought the drinks to our table.

I downed mine then pressed the glass to my forehead. “I might need the bottle.”

“That bad, aye?” Camden leapt up and claimed the brandy, giving me a refill. “Talk to us. If we need it, I can get Sin and Struan back by morning.”

The two older brothers were off site, then.

“A woman was killed a couple of days ago, and I think it was a message to me. I also might be going insane. Help me judge.”

“Walk us through it,” Camden requested.

I shared the details. Visiting Genevieve, the sex worker murdered on her road not long after I left, the particulars of the killing. A haunted expression came over both of them.

I knew all of us were picturing the first dead body we’d seen that fitted that description. That look shifted to sympathy, and I hated it.

“Ye think it’s to do with your ma,” Jamieson breathed.

I downed the second glass. “Tell me it isn’t.”

“Yeah, I don’t believe in coincidences,” he went on. “That’s a loud and clear pattern. The woman they chose, the method, thefact you’d been right fucking there. When was the last sex worker killed in your town? When has one ever had her throat cut and her body stripped? Handcuffs, a gag. Fucking hell.”

Camden rested his forearms on his knees, his forehead lined in thought. “How many people know about Audrey?”

I pictured blood. A body on the floor that was Audrey, my mother. A showdown with the man who’d tried to break me over and over and who’d finally succeeded. “Everyone in that damn room ten years ago.”

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