Page 39 of Convict's Game
A thrill buzzed through me. “Bold assumption.”
Convict gave me an infuriating smirk. “Up on the gantry, you could’ve chosen any other of those assholes. They were fighting for you, Emilia. You turned and ran to me.”
I had. And why did my insides liquify when he used my full first name?
I swallowed. Given another minute, I would’ve constructed this offer myself. I was dying for him. If he put me on my back now, I’d probably pull him closer.
But one rule of business my grandparents had taught me was never to follow emotion. Only facts.
“Be specific about what I give and what I get in return.”
“The rules are that we’re together for thirty days. We can’t be apart for more than a couple of hours at a time. Yes, we fuck a lot, but we also eat, and talk, and enjoy each other’s lives. I’m yours as much as you are mine, so whatever you need me to do, it’s done.”
“How sweet.”
He arched a dark brow. “You get me and my terrifyingly competent criminal crew. It’s a really aggressive honeymoon.”
I fought an entirely unwarranted smile. “Why would your crew help me?”
“Because you’re mine. The skeleton crew would show up for me, assuming I get to stay in it. My crew owns the night in this city. The police, politicians, all in our pocket. You get the same protection.”
That…was appealing. Almost as much as getting to touch him.
His confidence faltered. “We’re supposed to leave work behind and lock ourselves away. That’s the only thing I can’t do.”
“Why?”
Convict’s obvious hunger and determination dialled back to something more vulnerable. He made a circle around his head.“I’ve no fucking clue if I have a home anywhere. Whole amnesia thing.”
“I have an apartment.” I stopped my words and the offer that was about to fall from my lips, because the thought of hiding away with him in my lonely flat was disturbingly compelling. “When you get my… When you get Kane back, I’ll give you an answer.”
Something flared in his eyes. “I want more than that. I want everything.”
“For thirty days only,” I amended.
Convict watched me then jumped up, and I braced myself against a surge of something powerful that ordered me to reach for him. To throw off the shirt he’d given me.
He went for the door instead. “Hungry? Thirsty?”
I shook my head. I had no appetite. Salter’s men had kept me fed over the past few days, but tonight, adrenaline had shrunk my stomach to a tight knot.
Convict left me with a promise to return soon. I curled up in a bed that smelled of him, and I must’ve fallen asleep, because I woke to the light dimmed low and one other reality I had to face.
The locked door I couldn’t leave.
Chapter 15
Convict
Emilia Marchant, twenty-four, granddaughter of Austin and Primrose Marchant, owners of quite the enterprise, according to my research. Mila worked for their business, a shipping and haulage company that operated out of major ports in Northern England and Scotland.
She was all over their social media after graduating university then officially joining the company a year or two ago. Even before that, she was photographed at every award ceremony or company event. There she was—champagne in one hand, granny on the other. Definitely not the kind of woman who’d shack up with a skeleton-masked maniac in a bloodstained basement. Yet here we were.
“Quite the golden child,” I muttered to myself.
Except all wasn’t well in Marchant Haulage.
Four weeks ago, Austin had died of a heart attack. Not a shocker for a man in his seventies with ruddy cheeks and the purple-veined nose of a heavy drinker, but the photographs of the funeral struck me in the chest.
