Page 115 of Connor's Claim

We hurried after.

Outside the door, Connor handed out skeleton masks from a waiting box. It felt a little pointless when we were far more recognisable, and Cassie rejected hers. Like him, she entered the room bare-faced and exuding menace.

I crept inside, nausea rising, and my focus flitting from one man to the next. All three were still tied to chairs in a row, shirtless, bloodied, and bruised, with their heads down and their mouths gagged. The scent of urine hung in the air where one of them must’ve soiled himself. All three were out cold.

What should’ve been horrifying somehow felt right.

The policeman I’d seen on the video earlier had gone, but Riordan leaned against a wall, his arms folded and his watchful gaze taking us in. He’d been put to work as the prisoners’ guard, I gathered.

Cassie stared at my new brother for a moment, and another series of thoughts crammed into my head.

When Connor had come to rescue me, Riordan had been at the other end of the live feed, listening in. Just like I’d heard my father state that he’d kept tabs on his son, Riordan would have heard that, too. I couldn’t imagine how he felt.

He’d been known about, watched to some extent, but rejected.

Later, I’d find him so we could chat. I had so much to share but most of all wanted to welcome him as a family member. Maybe he needed that. At a minimum, I intended for us to be friends.

Riordan tracked Genevieve and me as we took a position at the back of the room, out of the eyeline of the men, and then settled his focus on Cassie. He squinted at the knife in her hand, and his eyes flared.

Cassie commanded Connor’s attention. “Wake them up. One at a time.”

He collected a bottle from a shelf, drew fluid into a needle, then returned to stab it into Councillor Slaughter’s upper arm, tugging off his gag with it.

After a few moments, Slaughter woke with a jerk and his chest rising and falling. His gaze flew between the two people in front of him.

Cassie took a step forward, pulling his attention to her. “I’m going to ask some questions. If ye answer me quickly and truthfully, I won’t hurt ye. Much. Fuck me around, and I’ll count my level of pissed off in slices to your dick. Understand?”

He gave a jerky nod.

She tapped the knife on her thigh. “Ye knew Chelsea Gains, correct?”

He hesitated. “Who?”

“Her working name was Cherry.”

“Oh. Yes. Somewhat. I didn’t kill her, though.”

Cassie tilted her head. “Did I ask that?”

“No, sorry.”

“Did ye know she was pregnant with your bairn?”

Slaughter’s jaw dropped. From my view of him, I couldn’t see fear in his eyes, but I sensed it. We didn’t know who the father of Cherry’s baby had been either, but I got why Cassie phrased the question as such.

“I…I had no idea. None. She didn’t tell me.”

“Seems to me reason enough for ye to end her.”

“It isn’t! It wouldn’t be.” His chair squeaked under him, his jerk of protest dragging the rubber feet an inch across the floor. “Two of my kids’ mothers are sex workers. I take care of them.”

Behind my skeleton mask, I gaped. I hadn’t been able to tell that from the research I’d done, but it was something we could check.

“If I’d known,” he continued, talking fast, “I would’ve taken care of her, too. She never said a word about it, and I hated her working on the streets. I told her every time to join the brothel. You have to believe me.”

Cassie’s gaze connected with mine, and we traded disappointment. I reached for Genevieve’s fingers and held them. Her hand shook. Cherry had been her friend. To present a different future like that was awful.

It pared back any motive he had, too.

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