Page 4 of Connor's Claim

Chapter 2

Everly

My fingertips grazed soft sheets, and I battled to open my eyes, awash with the drug that had stolen my consciousness. My eyelids fluttered apart a few millimetres, and I glimpsed midnight-blue bedding. A dark wood frame. A brick wall beyond.

Connor’s bedroom?

Had to be. If I wasn’t furious at him, or as much as I could be of that negative emotion, I’d be thrilled at my location. After all I’d done to get to him, this was an opportunity I’d sought out.

My thoughts moved lazily though my body was flickering to life. I took a deep inhale, filling my lungs with the clean masculine scent that clung to the sheets. Heavenly. It took me back to teenage nights like a spectre stealing the past decade of pain neatly away.

I must have passed out again because the next time I woke, it was from a dream. I’d been in the hallway of my father’s home, the front door open and sunlight spilling in. My father showed awoman into the house, her suitcase in his hand, and her bright chatter filling the space.

I stood in a white-and-blue flower dress, with my shoulders back and a dutiful smile installed, maybe a little rigid, bouncing my gaze from the newlyweds to the person behind her. The son, taller than his mother, and more man than boy, though he was only a year older than me at sixteen, entered my home. He had a thatch of messy brown hair that fell into his blue eyes and a scowl that was the polar opposite to my welcoming expression.

After his handsome face, I took in his broad shoulders. Biceps under a band t-shirt. The beat of music from the headphones discarded at his neck.

Startled at my very first bolt of lust, I darted a glance at the adults, but they were wrapped up in themselves. My father squeezing his new love’s bottom and ushering her straight upstairs with no regard for me or even an introduction. If I’d had any faith, I would’ve prayed that his happiness be long-lasting. That it might change him for the better. But no god had ever answered me before, and I didn’t bother asking now.

Instead, I fixed my smile on my new stepbrother. “You’re Connor, right?”

Those eyes slashed to me. Skirted over me in a way I wasn’t expecting, and with interest piercing his obvious misery. My pulse sped up.

My father had associates who looked at me with a male assessment I’d learned to hate and fear. They’d done so from the minute I’d grown breasts I couldn’t conceal.

Their stares creeped me out.

Connor’s warmed my blood.

In a heartbeat, the awkward moment of meeting new family members, who to this point had been complete strangers, changed into something far nicer. I’d been fifteen and feeling things I never had before.

Or since.

The dream lifted, wakefulness returning. I flexed my fingers and then my toes, stretching out a leg so touch could inform me before sight did if I was alone. The bed was empty, and no sounds reached me bar the distant thud of music and an even fainter siren. Business as usual in Deadwater.

For a few minutes, I waited, breathing in the air of Connor’s apartment, and let the drug leave my brain.

I wasn’t sure how many hours had passed, but I’d gone to bed at ten, then had woken to a sound which had led me downstairs, investigating. That had probably been about midnight. There, the man had grabbed me, swiftly followed by Connor appearing as if by magic and rescuing me by means I couldn’t remember as he’d knocked me out. I racked my brain. What had the stranger said? A gang had ordered my kidnap? I couldn’t believe it. I wasn’t that valuable.

Taking another cleansing breath, I sat up with my fingertips to my forehead for a moment as my brain spun in dizzy circles. When my vision settled, I took in my surroundings. Those red-brick walls met the spacious bedroom’s oak floors, and the room was comfortable with no clutter, but it was the window that pulled my attention. From floor height, it rose almost to the ceiling and was arched with the same bricks.

A dead giveaway to my location.

I was in the riverside warehouse where Connor worked, a huge red-brick-and-steel building previously used for shipping and at least eight storeys high. The ground floor was split between a vibrant nightclub on one side and an exclusive strip club on the other. Above that, a brothel operated, unadvertised but renowned and popular with the men of the city, including my father.

It was how I knew about the place. Father saw no reason to shelter me from his activities. I managed his membership andarranged bookings with his favourite sex workers, even ordering the women to his office or our home on occasion. I didn’t like it, but it was him I judged, not them. They were just earning a living.

Shuffling to the edge of the bed, I placed my feet on the soft cream rug below, wiggled my toes, then spotted the light bandage on my foot. I’d cut myself? Yes, on glass. He’d patched me up. I couldn’t even feel a sting.

I was still in the camisole and French knickers I’d worn to bed, though my silk dressing gown was missing and nowhere in sight. Connor must have taken it off me at some point.

I ran my hands down my thighs, regretting what he would’ve seen.

If only it had been one of my better weeks, when I’d been to the gym and eaten well. Then again, he’d always told me he loved my body exactly how it was. It was his words I played over in my mind when hearing my father’s jibes, or if I went into a boutique to enquire about a cute dress only to be told they didn’t stock my size.

Connor had liked me, then. Made me feel better about myself. I didn’t want to know his judgement now.

Easing to my feet, I crossed the room to peer from the window, my palms to the cool panes of glass. The city sparkled, and Deadwater River gleamed from the lights along the cobbled walkway that led to the centre of town in the distance ahead. Below, people were leaving the clubs, in groups or staggering along solo, and the lack of queues outside told me it was late. Or early, rather, on Sunday morning.

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