Page 5 of Connor's Claim

If anything else had happened at my house, if the security team I hadn’t called had somehow shown up, or if my father had been alerted, I had no way of knowing. I’d left my phone upstairs, and there it would’ve stayed.

A strange sense of peace filled me. I was in the eye of a storm, unable to see the surrounding danger, but also unable to move on. Not until I’d spoken to Connor.

It hurt a little that he wasn’t here watching over me while I slept, but at the same point, why would he? After what I’d done to him, he hated me.

I turned from the stunning view and moved back to the bed. A piece of paper on a bedside table caught my eye. I hadn’t noticed it when I woke but picked it up now from where it waited next to a tall glass of water, condensation beading on the outside.

DRINK ME, was written in capital letters.

My heart thumped. An instruction, left for me. Come to mention it, my mouth was as dry as a bone. The cold water slid down my throat, waking me further.

I took another drink and turned the paper over, but there was nothing on the other side. Folding it, I strolled around the bed, curious about the home my ex-stepbrother had created for himself. The reason I’d wanted to see him was out of worry over him, but his home was nice. Decent quality sheets. Heavy furniture. It was masculine but tasteful and tidy. There was no art on the wall aside from a collection of knives, some of which I remembered him having years ago in his bedroom in the mansion.

I drifted over to them, taking in the blades, some revealed, others sheathed, the weapons held on supports drilled into the brick and the sharp edges facing down. On the blunt side of one, something perched, out of place. I squinted. Another piece of paper.

I carefully pinched it free.

DON’T TOUCH, he’d written.

An unladylike snort of amusement left me. He’d always been obsessed with knives, as long as I’d known him, but had never let me near them. Clearly that hadn’t changed.

Turning, I glimpsed a bathroom through an open door, the exit to the hall beside it. I stepped inside and used the facilities, checking out the single grey bottle of bodywash/shampoo inside the powerful-looking shower, a solitary toothbrush and paste in a holder on the sink, and a complete lack of bottles and packets in the cabinet.

No regular girlfriend staying over, then. Disquiet passed over me along with relief. I’d wondered about that, too. Worried about who he loved. How often.

On the back of the bathroom door hung a hoodie. A third piece of folded paper waited in the hood.

WEAR ME.

This was in danger of being cute—something that didn’t go with Connor at all. At least not the version of him he presented to the world. It didn’t strike me as some routine he put on for all the women he had stay over, though perhaps I’d find more that directed me to the door and kicked me out.

The hoodie’s fuzzy interior made me shiver as I suddenly felt the cold. It was September, and though the days were still warm, the nights were long and damp. I exited into the hall and passed closed doors to enter a big, open-plan living room and kitchen. Only the pendant lights over the counters were on, the rest of the space in deep shadows.

Another wall of knives gleamed.

I hesitated at the edge of the room, nervous but determined.

“Hello?” I called.

No answer came. Fine. I’d find him.

I’d wanted to be here. I had good reason to go hunting for him in the warehouse.

A couple of weeks ago, I’d overheard my father mention Connor’s name on the phone. Not his real name, but the gang name he used.Shade. Because he was a man of the shadowy night, apparently.

Father had some kind of deal with Shade, I’d gathered, and that knowledge had driven me to distraction. After all I’d sacrificed. After I’dlosthim for the purpose of keeping him safe and earned his hatred in reply. After everything I’d done to set him free, he’d still wound up in my father’s clutches, and that was unbearable.

My mind spiralled.

Why had he come to my house? He didn’t know about the supposed gang threat to me until I did. If he hated me so much, why come in with all guns blazing?

Or perhaps all knives glinting.

Indignant, I moved to the front door. Connor might have kidnapped me, but I was the one who’d demand answers.

But another piece of paper waited on the latch.

DON’T EVEN TRY.

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