Page 7 of Convict's Game
“Do the cops know I’m skeleton crew?”
“Everyone knows, hun. Why?”
Frustration twisted in my gut. I’d been a stranger to myself for weeks, but maybe I hadn’t needed to be.
The lift arrived, and we descended to the ground floor, opening onto a busy corridor. Music thumped through the wall to the left that opened onto the nightclub, the scent of dry ice and beer battling perfume and aftershave. On the other side, two women lingered in the open doorway of the dressing room. It was for the strip club, my mind supplied.
In skimpy outfits, one a cowgirl and the other a bunny complete with fluffy round tail, both women snuck glances at me.
I checked them out in return, again, testing myself. I was reasonably certain I was hetero, but what the fuck was wrong with me if it didn’t have even a flicker of interest? Not in them, not in last night’s sex show, and not in Dixie who was clearly a friend but also knock-out hot.
“Am I gay?” I said in a rush.
Dixie blinked. “Don’t think so.”
“Do I have a girlfriend?”
Her shoulders sank. “Not that I know of, but you did have a thing with Alisha before she got killed.” She winced. “Shit. Did you know that? She was a victim of the murderer haunting Deadwater. That case got solved, but it won’t bring anyone back.”
I stumbled, catching my step with my crutch. I had known about Alisha. I’d heard about her when I was, where? A flash of recollection hit me. My first real one that wasn’t putting aname to a face. A dank room with a crowd of people watching a gangster holding court. The smell of smoke had ghosted through the air. I’d been sad at Alisha’s death, but not broken like a boyfriend would’ve been.
Dixie directed me to an office, the door opening on our approach and revealing Shade plus a second man I recognised as another of the skeleton crew’s inner circle, a bear of a man with a thatch of dark-blond hair.
“Tyler,” Dixie whispered.
I gave her a small smile of thanks.
Shade hugged me like he had yesterday, or maybe the day before, I’d lost track of time. Tyler carefully palmed my shoulder, murmuring a greeting with his serious gaze taking me in. For a beat, he lifted it to look over my shoulder.
Dixie peeked back at him, flushed pink, then closed herself out.
I was messed up, but I knew attraction when I saw it.
At the polished black desk, Shade collected a tablet and placed a call. While it connected, I took my fill of the room. I’d spent a lot of time in here, but on the other side of the desk. We had a bright spotlight that we’d shine on visitors to intimidate them. Against the red-brick wall at the back of the room was a filing cabinet with a stash of skeleton bandannas we’d use to cover our faces. There were knives concealed under the desk. A gun or two.
Fresh relief had me standing a little easier. Home sweet home.
“Arran, can ye hear me? He’s awake.” Shade held up the tablet, and on the screen, another familiar face resolved.
Fuck, my hard shell crumbled.
I hadn’t dreamt last night. No hint of memory had returned over what I’d done to Arran. I knew it was bad. He had everyreason to throw me out of the crew when I’d only just discovered it again.
But if I was shaken, he was, too.
Arran stared at me in amazement, his face white. He dug his fingers into his blond hair then swore. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
My heart thumped like it wanted out of my chest. “Good to be back.”
He leaned in more, his gaze roaming over my features and lingering on my scar. “Shade tells me you were at death’s door. What do you remember?”
I cobbled together the bits of the story Dixie had supplied. “Being in a cellar among people I didn’t trust. Smelling smoke. Getting Cassie out. Then the hospital. I was out of it for weeks.”
Arran inclined his head. “It was the Four Milers’ cellar in an old church they’d converted to a brothel. You were undercover.”
My mouth fell open. Not a betrayal, not if I had been working for my crew.
Arran continued, stress tightening his tone. “It was my fault you got hurt. I sent you in to spy on that gang and you nearly wound up dead. I could’ve got you out. You asked me if you could come home, and I said not yet. Your injuries, that scar, it’s all on me. I’m so fucking sorry.”
