Page 17 of Connor's Claim

She used to enjoy cooking, I remembered. More complicated things than this, but it was one of her methods of de-stressing. My stomach rumbled. My fucking mouth watered. I wanted them. Fuck, I had a hard-on for her, as well.

Neither was happening.

As quickly as I’d sat down, I climbed up. Turned my back. In my bedroom, I yanked on clothes, needing to get the fuck out of here. When I was ready, I returned to the living area.

“I’m going out.”

Her smile dimmed. “Business on a Sunday? No rest for the wicked.”

“Ye don’t know the half of it. What time do ye need to be at work in the morning?”

Any remaining happiness fled her. “Seven-thirty. I’m setting up a conference in the town hall. Will you really be gone that long?”

“I’ll be back in time to take ye.”

Then I snatched up my keys and left her to her domestic toil. Ignoring the lift, I descended the stairs, the thud of my boots echoing in my haste to get out of the warehouse.

Everly being in my apartment was driving me to distraction. Yet I couldn’t let her go without knowing she’d be safe. I needed to solve this problem.

On the ground floor, I exited, glowering at two staff members rolling a delivery cage for the bar through the front corridor. The huge cage, taller than them, rattled and clanked.

“Don’t bring those in this way. Send the driver around the back and take the service entrance,” I snapped.

They knew this. It was the same every week. Wheeling deliveries across the nightclub’s floor was a pain in the arse because of the steps. It meant unloading halfway to the bar, tearing into the packaging, and carrying the crates the rest of the way. A waste of fucking time.

“It’s a new driver,” the guy at the front of the cage said, darting his gaze at me then down. “We just wanted to get it done quickly because he was late.”

He kept his head down, his shoulders bunched.

For fuck’s sake. I was scaring people with my bad mood. With effort, I tempered my scowl. “Make sure he knows the drill for next time.”

“Yes, boss. So sorry.”

They trundled the cage through the nightclub’s double doors, the rattling going through my head. I eyed the exit but sighed. Clearly there was no management around or the driver would’ve been redirected.

I changed course for Arran’s office. It was empty, and there was no answer when I called his number, so I paced into the strip club instead. Up on the stage, Alisha directed the cleaning staff.

“Leesh,” I called. “Have ye seen Arran?”

Her gaze leapt to mine. Clung to it. At the edge of the stage, she placed a hand to hop down, the length of today’s wig, a thick blonde coil, bobbing with her action. “Where have you been? You never replied to my texts. What’s going on? Arran said to just leave you alone.”

Alisha ran the operations side of the strip club and the brothel, managing the staff and sometimes taking to the poles herself. Occasionally, she still sold her body to men, though she was choosy with her list. We’d been friends for years, except recently, Alisha had made some poor choices, rattling Arran’s trust, and mine.

I had no tolerance for anyone acting underhanded, or keeping dangerous secrets and supporting the wrong person. Alisha had veered close to all three.

I shrugged. “I kidnapped a woman and am keeping her locked up for a while. Ye know, business as normal.”

She snorted. “Right, and I’m taking up a new career as an accountant.” Her gaze gentled. “I missed seeing you around.”

A beat passed, but I didn’t take the bait. “I’m heading out. Can ye keep an eye on Divide? There doesn’t seem to be any supervisors around.”

“Oh, sure.”

Her smile diminished, and I turned away before it could affect me. Two women disappointed in the space of ten minutes. I was on a roll.

Outside the back of the warehouse, rain spattered the spacious car park, and I ducked my head and jogged to my car. But as I unlocked it, Arran pulled into the space alongside.

I gestured, and he wound down the window.

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