Chapter 14
C onnor
The red taillights of Convict’s car cruised out of sight, and at the car park exit, Arran swore then spun a kick at the street sign for Harbour Parade. Again and again, he railed against it until it flew off the stand and went clattering down the cobbled street. A cheer rose from the queue of people outside Divide. I didn’t share their amusement.
Neither did my friend.
“Walk with me.” He strode down to the water’s edge, the light from the overhead lamps not reaching the railing so we were more comfortably in darkness.
“That was shite,” I muttered.
Arran paced away then turned back, hands on his hips, and his expression tortured. As displays to onlookers went, he was doing a stellar job of convincing them a deadly rift had occurred between us and our ex-crew member.
It was mostly true. Hurting Convict, though the guy couldn’t feel pain, had fucked both of us up, even with his instruction of where and how hard to hit. He’d go home to lick his wounds and wait for the Four Milers to come to him.
They would. They’d leap on the chance to take him in, even if they suspected him. Problem was whether he was a good enough actor not to get his head blown off in the process.
“I just kept remembering when we met him,” Arran said. “You and I were maybe nineteen, and he was dropped off outside that dive we used to hang out at by his probation officer. Their sole idea for him to ever make any money. At a fucking fight club.”
“The Glass House, though the only windows it had were broken and the steps down to the cellar were crumbling and stank of piss.” I pictured the club like it was yesterday. The place where Arran and I had learned to fight. “He’d served eight months for burglary, and it was his third stretch since he’d turned fifteen.”
“Did he tell you that for the final two months, they’d moved him from a young offenders’ institute to an adult prison? He said it was to shock him, but for him, prison was safer than the bullshit life he’d suffered in care homes.” He linked his hands behind his blond head and gazed up at the sky. “I used to think that being taken into foster care would be the best thing I could ever wish for. Convict cured me of that claim.”
Arran had had a shite childhood with a vicious father. My neglectful mother and her bad choices in men were nothing to his suffering.
I’d sometimes wanted the same as him. Being pulled out of that situation by an adult who gave a damn. Until Everly lied to me about how there could be love within relationships, too.
Despite even that, I couldn’t bring myself to regret the time I’d spent playing family with her. What the fuck was wrong with me?
“I hope he survives this,” Arran added.
I tilted my head. “Will ye forgive him if he does?”
“Would you?”
I drew a breath of river air, thick with a swampy odour tonight, but couldn’t find an answer. Convict had accepted the offer, eager to prove himself. But trust was a hard commodity. I’d been burned too many times to ever do it again. Instead, I braced myself on the railing and stared out at the water oozing by on its way out to sea.
It was a fucking shame we hadn’t had any clean-up work come in from the cops, any bodies to drop in the water. My knives were thirsty.
Arran joined me so we were side by side and looked me over, his brow still creased. “I’m worried about you, too.”
“Why?”
“When we were bratty kids, taking money from brawls with rich boys who wanted to slum it with us for an evening, you had a pre-fight ritual you’d do every night.”
I scowled, not liking where this was going.
Arran continued. “You dedicated each match to a girl. You never told me her name, but ever since we read Natasha’s post-mortem report and you ran out of my apartment like your ass was on fire, you’ve worn the same expression.”
“Quit examining at me so closely, ye fucking psycho.”
His gaze stayed on mine. “It was Everly you fought for, wasn’t it?”
Him attaching her name to that memory brought a bolt of pain that threatened to double me in two. I’d left the mayor’s house—left her behind—and spent years bloodying my knuckles to thoughts of her rejection. I’d hoped she’d come after me. I’d waited.
She broke my heart. I’d bled out endlessly, nothing calming the pain of first love being over and of losing the one person I felt safe with.
My dedications went from fighting for her to every hit reinforcing what she’d done. How it killed a part of me and continued breaking bones.
“What does it matter?”
“It matters because of us being in bed with her father,” Arran said.
I shuddered at the revolting metaphor and shoved away from the barrier, needing this conversation done. “Enough. I get it, you’re pissed off at the risk of two of your crew failing, but just stop, I have my head. Talk to me about preparations for the game. There’s a lot to cover.”
Friday night saw the next running of our chase-fuck game, where we opened our basement to five women and twenty men, and our screens around the warehouse to those who’d paid to watch the carnage.
Arran snorted. “Don’t dodge. I never said you were failing. I’m asking as a fucking friend. I knew you cared about her but I thought as a stepsister. I didn’t know how deep that went. Gen tells me I need to be more open, so this is me telling you I’ll listen.”
“Arran, Shade,” a shout came from the cobbled walkway that led to the warehouse.
One of our crew ran to reach us. His gaze landed on me.
“Mick needs you in the VIP bar. Some guy showed up to talk to your woman.” His gaze flicked to Arran. “Said his name was Riordan.”
I took off, driving my feet into the ground.
Just like when I’d first suspected Everly was in danger, I was again rushing to her side, no hesitation and no questions asked. Not even of myself. At my approach, the bouncers outside Divide unclipped the red rope barrier and ordered the crowd to step back. I burst past and dove into the dark and humid club, shoving aside bodies on my way through the corridor.
At the steps to the VIP bar, I thundered up, making out the side of Everly’s head. Still here. My heart thumped out of time.
Red mist followed at the sight of Riordan. I stormed the rest of the distance, moving around him then bouncing the fucker back with my chest and getting in his face.
“The fucking nerve ye have coming to my club.”
Riordan backed away, his hands up. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”
I pressed on until his spine hit the polished silver guard rail that overlooked the crowd below. Then I snapped up a hand to grip his throat, arching him over the drop.
“Shade!” Genevieve shrieked.
I barely heard it.
Riordan gripped my arm. “You’re fucking insane.”
“Cry to the pathologist who stitches up your dead body.”
He wrenched me off him so he could stand upright, his mouth a slash of anger and his eyes dangerously dark. “I needed to come to check she was all right. With a man like you around?—”
“You’re the one who broke into her house yet ye think I’d hurt her?” An incredulous laugh left me. I clenched my fists, ready to lay into him like he deserved.
Then a hand landed on my chest. At the touch, my energy left me, and Everly pushed between Riordan and me.
“Stop.” She linked her gaze to mine. “You don’t need to fight. He only wanted to make sure I was okay.”
“Why?” I tore my gaze back to his. “Why are ye so interested in Everly? Why follow her around like some kind of stalker?”
“I’m not stalking her.” He swore. Scrubbed his hands into his brown hair. “There’s a reason why I care.”
“Give it to us, then,” I said, deadly low but audible over the music that made the backdrop of our standoff. “What possible reason could ye have if it isn’t wanting to fuck her or being paid to make a second attempt at delivering her to your boss?”
“It’s neither of those things.”
“Then what?”
Riordan worked his jaw but remained silent.
“Then what?” I repeated, louder.
“We’re related,” he finally released.
Related? I knew all her family, the aunt, her father’s sister who sent cards twice a year for birthdays and Christmas but never visited and had no kids, and her mother’s father, Everly’s grandfather, who was in a care home in the Midlands, so affected by dementia he barely remembered he’d once had a daughter, let alone the fact the woman had died.
“Liar,” I snarled.
Shifting to stand alongside him, and with Arran bracketing her, Genevieve stared at the man I was still facing off with. “Not that I doubt you, but how is Everly part of our family?”
Riordan sucked in a breath and eyed Genevieve. “She isn’t. I’m related to her, not you.”
For a messed-up, heart-wrenching moment, I braced myself against a confession of them being somehow married. It made no sense, but what other explanation was there?
A secret wedding, a love affair that had come after me. A tiny green shoot in my heart withered and died.
“I don’t understand,” Genevieve said.
“Because he’s full of it,” I added.
“Because, asshole, she’s my sister,” he finally spat out.
At my side, Everly froze.
I replayed the word, stunned and unable to accept it. Sister . Not a bride. Not his.
Riordan passed his hand over his face. “Fuck. This isn’t how I meant to do any of this. Everly, I’m sorry you had to hear it like that. Gen, can the three of us talk somewhere we don’t have an audience?”
He sent a pointed look my way.
Arran curled an arm around Genevieve’s shoulders. He’d followed me inside but stood back to let me handle the scene. “My office.”
She nodded, her gaze flicking from her brother to Everly and back, then made for the stairs. Riordan followed. Everly paused, took a breath, and trotted after them.
Like a whipped pup, I trailed her, guarded her, even though inside, I was still dying over her. I had been for years. Somehow, I hadn’t been able to make it stop, and a few days in her company had me fucking caring about her.
The thought of her being someone else’s had hurt . So much, I still felt the burn even after the wrong conclusion had been lifted.
But she’d never be mine. Never had been either.
I had to cut her off. With Convict out the door, I had a way into her enemies, and she had people at home. She’d be fine on her own. I needed to stop the insanity in me before it consumed my whole life again.
Once Everly returned to her father, I’d leave her the hell alone.