Page 88 of Convict's Game
When we were back in the apartment, my phone dinged with another photo from Arran, along with an offer. The picture was of me and him, bloodied and shirtless, both grinning. We were in some kind of cellar, like we’d just come out of a fight.
I showed it to Mila. “As of tomorrow, we can spend more than two hours apart.”
Her gaze traced over the photo. “Suits me.”
Sadness hung over her like a grey cloud. I hated that I’d caused it.
“Arran offered to take me to the place we met, a fight club, to jog my memory and fill in some gaps. You can come, I’d like that, or he says Genevieve and Cassie would love to see you in Divide.”
“Option B. Don’t get lost on your trip.”
I watched her, my heart thumping. “Would it help if I said I’m sorry?”
Mila gave a sorrowful shake of her head and returned to the desk where she’d been putting in long hours for people I was increasingly sure weren’t worth it.
“If I thought you were doing it genuinely, then perhaps, and if you were honest about all you’d done. But you aren’t and you haven’t been. I can’t reward control dressed up as care. You said you’d do anything to keep me. An apology would fall into that category, no?”
It would. Except this time, I didn’t want to lie.
As the evening went on, an overwhelming panic rose in me about separating from her. Leaving her and being over an houraway scared the fuck out of me. She’d told me not to get lost, but how would I find her again if she did? If someone grabbed her when I wasn’t there to protect her?
Mila wanted honesty from me, and if I gave it, I only had one chance of gaining forgiveness. That meant any further fuck-ups had to happen now.
I locked myself away in the bedroom and made a quick call. “Manny, you know we track phones, is there a way to track people?”
The chief of security chuckled. “Shade’s your man for that.”
I hung up and dialled the tattooed enforcer, asking the same question.
“You’ve been together for a week. How has it taken this long to ask?” he griped. “I’ll have someone bring you a delivery.”
An hour later, a text alerted me to go fetch said delivery from downstairs. I jogged back up and used the code Mila had given me to bypass her door security, 2566, and had the benefit of her stubbornness in not asking what I was up to, even if curiosity ticked over in her gaze.
Later in the night, in our darkened bedroom, after I’d fucked my lass into a heavy sleep, spending all her points for the day, I slipped into the bathroom with the small case I’d been sent and texted Shade to talk me through the process.
Shade: It’s already set up. Put it against a fleshy part of her skin and pull the trigger.
Shade: Arse is good.
Convict: Thanks, bro.
Shade: She might not like it once you tell her. Not all lasses do.
Convict: Asking for forgiveness is better than asking for permission, no?
Shade: You’re in deep, my friend.
He wasn’t wrong. Back in the bedroom, I discarded the phone and readied the gun. Then I slowly inched down the blanket to reveal Mila’s perfect backside, her ugly pyjamas lost from when I’d fucked her earlier. Ignoring my dick’s eager rise, I held my nerve, pressed the device to her skin, and shot the tracker into her with a low click.
She flinched. I buried the device under my pillow and spread her legs, kneeling between them then rubbing my dick up and down her centre. She relaxed with a sigh that I took to be a welcome.
Thank fuck that even with how she felt about me, we still had this.
Slowly, I pushed inside, breathing hard at my victory then grinning when her internal walls clamped down tight. Perhaps I was wrong in what I did, but if it kept her safe, I’d take her hatred over her getting hurt every time.
She was mine. I’d never lose her again.
Chapter 30
