Arran’s Obsession (Body Count, #1)

“Did you hit your head?” the stranger asked.

“N-no.”

“Get up.” He offered a hand, taking my elbow when I ignored it. With minimal effort, he righted me, a deal taller than me and much broader, biceps stretching his black t-shirt.

“What the hell happened?”

I opened and closed my mouth, no answer forming.

The man exhaled annoyance. “That scratch on your leg needs looking at. Come with me.”

“It’s fine.” I should apologise but I just couldn’t.

He didn’t listen either, propelling me along with a grip around my arm so I had no choice but to go with him. He’d stopped his huge black car on the side of the road, parking it outside a pawnshop so the traffic could pass.

Sliding open the back door, he made as if to put me inside.

“I won’t get in your car,” I managed.

“I’m just going to sit you on the back seat so I can clean up that injury.”

I snorted, still reeling from the shock. “And get kidnapped? No, thanks.”

The man’s features twisted into incredulity. He was pretty. Grey or green eyes under the shop’s neon sign and that blond hair darker at the roots. At a guess, I’d put him at mid to late twenties, so a few years older than me, but pretty people had even less reason to be trusted than anyone else.

He planted his hand on his hips, then he reached to extract his wallet from his back pocket. He handed it over. “Hold on to that, if you need reassurance. I’m not in the habit of abducting women who throw themselves under my wheels. Now sit on the fucking seat while I find my first-aid kit.”

Stunned, I turned the wallet over in my hands. Brown leather. Cards or something inside by the ridges. Mr First Aid and Fancy Car pointed at the seat. Like an idiot, I perched on it, and he circled to the boot.

My thigh pulsed with a deep ache, bright-red scratches across my pale skin and road dirt studding it in dark patches under the streetlamp. I winced, suddenly feeling the hit of the accident. My arm hurt, too, my awareness of my body returning.

I’d never once in my life done anything that foolish before. Let my distraction lead me to walking straight into the path of a car. I puzzled at my actions.

The driver returned with a small, green, zipped bag with a white cross on it, plus a bottle of water.

“Hold on to those, too.” He handed over my headphones.

I hadn’t even noticed him pick them up.

In efficient moves, he took a packet from the kit and opened the bottle, tipping the powder inside and shaking it to mix it.

“This is to cleanse that wound and get the grit out. After, I’ll spray antiseptic over it and tape on a bandage.”

“You a doctor?” I asked.

Without looking at my face, he curled his lip and gave a short laugh like I’d said something funny. “No. Take a breath. This will sting.”

He tipped the liquid over my graze. Pink water trickled down to my knee, and I winced then tried to angle so it pooled on the road, not the expensive car’s interior. The man didn’t seem to care, instead opening packets of sterile wipes. He linked his gaze to mine for permission, then took hold of my thigh.

My world melted.

His fingertips indenting my skin knocked me off my axis. A rush of good feeling, addictive and sweet, woke an inactive part of my brain. I was hot and sweaty, barely dressed under the leathers, and my body warmed all the more.

What the heck was that?

As if he’d felt it, too, the man paused, his focus still on my thigh. Then he shook his head and scrubbed at the wound.

I yelped, the sting he’d promised delivered.

“It needs cleaning or you’ll get an infection. The streets are fucking grimy,” he muttered.

Giving a sharp nod, I closed my eyes and let him do his thing, concentrating on breathing, and only peeking again when he taped down a white bandage.

“Where else did you hurt yourself?” he asked.

“Nowhere. I’m fine.” I shuffled to the seat’s edge, embarrassment mixing in with the pain, the odd attraction, and every other emotion from the night. I’d delayed here too long and needed to move.

But he caught my wrist.

“Your arm’s dripping blood.”

It was the one I’d slid on, that Riordan’s jacket hadn’t fully protected. Sitting back down, I unzipped the leathers and pulled my arm from the sleeve so it was half off me. An inch-long cut slashed my upper arm, something presumably having pierced the coat.

Maroon ran in a line down to my fingers.

“It’s not that bad,” I mumbled.

But the stranger was staring at me, and consciousness dawned. I was in his car dressed in a skimpy sports bra and shorts. He blocked my way out. All he had to do was push me fully in and I’d be trapped.

Considering how young he was and how expensive his ride, and the fact he did first aid for fun, what kind of man could he be? Oh God.

I was face-on with a gang member.

Breathless, I stared back, my heart rate soaring. I’d lost my ever-loving mind.

He had a hand to his shoulder like he was hurting, too, but his gaze slid over my body and back to my face. Judgement was right there in his eyes. “You a prostitute?”

My jaw dropped.

Of all the things he could’ve said. My temper rose in a rush as fast as the hot attraction had struck.

“Are you kidding? You think I’m a whore working the streets?” I spat out, venom on my tongue.

“It’s just a question.”

“Fuck you for asking. I’m not one of them.”

Sending a silent apology to Cherry in her church steps domain, I leapt from the car, forcing him back a step. I didn’t judge women who worked the streets, even if I found their job distasteful. What right would I have? But my anger didn’t stop.

Headlights flooded us. Another car pulled up, a big silver grille at the front and the outline of two men in the window. My accuser didn’t react to the incomers.

His men, had to be.

Shit. I’d fucked up so badly here. I looked between the stranger and his newly arrived gangster friends.

Then I took a breath, threw his wallet in his face, and ran like the devil was chasing me.

Three hours later.

Leaving the city centre on my scooter, I zipped into an urban suburb and along the dark street of Paignton Place. Riordan’s girlfriend lived here, and my brother still wasn’t answering his phone, so I was doing a drive-by while on the way to collect my next delivery.

I had to find Dad and talk to him. I needed Riordan to answer my goddamned calls. As neither were forthcoming, I’d moved on to plan B.

Even if this was the last place I wanted to be.

Work had been stacked all evening. At a little past midnight, the queue of jobs was still deep and more adding, though the food choices changed from fancy restaurants to late-night take aways and cheaper options. The city was full of university students as well as young professionals who lived in expensive waterside apartments and enjoyed the nightlife. Then there was the underbelly of the gangs and their hangers-on. It made for a rich after-dark industry. On my two wheels, I cruised past it all, headphones in, and only the stabbing pain from my injuries distracting me.

Outside Moniqua’s block of flats, I parked my scooter, hoping it would still be here in a few minutes, and jogged up the steps, stretching to tap on the buzzer. I didn’t have any contact details for Moniqua so couldn’t warn her in advance, but I’d texted Riordan. Not that my brother had read his messages.

The box on the wall clicked, but nobody spoke.

I pressed the intercom again. “It’s Genevieve, Riordan’s sister. Can I come up?”

A pause followed, then the door popped open.

The sharp stench of piss welcomed me inside, and the sole hallway light flickered, giving the long row of entrances beyond it an ominous feel. Only once had I visited here in the past, when Riordan and I had dropped off groceries.

I’d never warmed to Moniqua but I was glad Rio was a good boyfriend to her dumb ass.

Five minutes, in and out. I could do this.

Up the stairs, I skipped to the third floor, not lingering in the corridors. Music pounded from somewhere, and a mixture of odours beat out the urine, the acridity of crack overlaid with the sweeter notes of a joint.

At my knock, a man opened the door. “Well, well. See what we’ve got here.”

I recoiled. If I disliked Moniqua, I was scared of Don, her cousin. He was a gang member through and through, from the tattoo of a spiderweb on his face to the violence built into his every move.

In his casual grip, he held a knife.

“Only to see Riordan, if he’s here,” I whispered.

Don drew his gaze down me, lingering on my bare legs. Then he jerked his head for me to go inside. My brain rebelled, my limbs wanting anything other than to squeeze past him into the flat, but this was necessary. The door opened straight into a wide living room, a collection of worn chairs and sofas at one end and the kitchenette at the other.

Don paced over and dropped his blade so it embedded in the carpet, right beside Moniqua who leaned on a sofa, a woman at her back wrapping her thick hair around a curling tong. She scowled at her cousin who snarled back.

“Clean it, and take that fucking look off your face.”

Don strode away, and I exhaled fear.

I scooted over to Moniqua. “Is my brother here?”

“Can you see him?” She picked up the knife, her pouty lips curling in disgust.

“No, and he isn’t answering his phone. I need to talk to him.”

“What about?”

I hesitated. “Family matters.”

“I’m his woman. I know everything about him.”

I doubted that, but I wasn’t about to say as much to the person cleaning a questionable brown stain from her cousin’s weapon.

Moniqua pursed her lips. “He’s busy out in the city tonight, you know, boys doing business. If I call him, he’ll answer, but ask your little question of me first so I can see if it’s worth his time.”

Fucking hell. I forced calm, ignoring the implied message that Riordan was out doing gang work, because that was a lie. “Okay. It’s actually our dad I need to find. He hasn’t been home in a week.”

“So? Why does that matter? He does this all the time.”

I waited her out. She had a point—Dad was about as reliable as the weather for the majority of the year—but this time felt different. He usually announced his departures, and I’d get the occasional badly typed reply to my messages.

Moniqua hissed then slapped out at the woman doing her hair. “You burned my fucking ear. Be careful.” Her gaze came back to me. “I saw your dad a few days ago. He’s with Sydney.”

“Who’s that?” I’d never heard the name before.

“A stripper.” She smiled, clearly loving this.

I gritted my teeth more. “Do you have a number for Sydney?”

“What am I, dial-a-stripper?”

“Any idea where she works?”

Moniqua rolled her eyes. “There’s only one strip club in Deadwater, and she’s probably there tonight, but good luck getting in looking like that. What did you do to your leg anyway?”

She pressed a finger to the white bandage, and I cringed at the pain, backing away.

“Thanks for the help,” I grouched then let myself out.

Down the corridor, I escaped, my mind sprinting over what my father was up to. Since Mum died, and he’d been forced to take me and Rio in, he’d had a series of girlfriends, none lasting long, so this new woman wasn’t much of a surprise. But⁠—

A hand grabbed mine from behind.

A body slammed mine into the wall.

My breath left me in a rush, and I stared up at the empty voids of Don’s eyes. He was high on something. The smell of it tickled my nose. But dread beat back every other thought.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” He lowered to run the tip of his nose up my jaw.

“Let me go,” I begged.

“Nah, don’t think I will. Sounds to me that you’re not safe at home with your dad gone.”

I trembled, my mouth drying.

“Are you scared? I’ll take care of you. No one will touch you if you’re my girl.” His hot breath crawled over my throat, his body pressing mine into the concrete brick wall. Then he gripped my breast through the leather jacket. Hard. “If you were mine, I could find anyone you like.”

Struggling, I couldn’t move him an inch. I had no power over the creep. No way to get him off me.

“I’ll be in trouble with work if I don’t get back,” I managed.

A moment passed. Another.

Don reared back. “You’d take that shitty little job over me? What-the-fuck-ever, bitch.”

He pushed off me then spat at my feet and returned to the flat. Alone in the darkness, I sagged, my fear bright and real. But screw standing around waiting for him to change his mind. The city at night had any number of dangers, but I’d learned fast to navigate them. This was just another of those crappy realities, and at least I had a lead on finding my dad.

Lucky for me, outside, my scooter was where I left it, though my app listing my next job flashed red with a late penalty.

It was another hour before I could cruise down the river to the huge red-brick warehouse that held the epicentre of the city’s clubs.

Thudding bass rocked the industrial street made of old dockyard buildings. Throngs of people ambled along a wide, harbourside boulevard.

From across the road, I watched the entrance of the huge, eight-storey building containing the clubs.

There were two lines, one where men streamed into a doorway, a curtain concealing the interior and a bouncer giving each a cursory check but moving them quickly inside. The hot-pink sign over the door read DIVINE. That was the strip club side. The other line was busier, with people held in a queue for the nightclub, that side named DIVIDE. I’d never been inside either, so sussed it out.

A pair of bouncers turned away a couple, the dude yelling that he only had fucking trainers so what was he supposed to do. I still had on my running shoes and shorts under a now very distressed leather jacket that was several sizes too big. There was no way I was walking into the nightclub, and not a single woman was entering the strip club side.

Still, I had to try. Straightening my shoulders, I crossed the road and marched up to the bouncers like I belonged there.

The first eyed me. “You lost, miss?”

“No. Can…can I come in?”

“For what purpose?”

I opened and closed my mouth, momentarily stuck on an explanation. Damn, but I couldn’t think of a single reason other than to snoop.

“The only women wanting in here are hen parties, girls dragged in by boyfriends, or the staff.” He folded his arms. “You aren’t any of those, sweetheart.”

“No, but⁠—”

His gaze left me and went to a group of men advancing down the path. “Do yourself a favour and get out of here.”

My breath left me in a rush of disappointment, and I retreated to my position as watcher behind the line of cars. I needed a better plan if I was going to find my father and his stripper girlfriend.

A taxi halted across from me, and two ladies climbed out, both beautiful and sleek, with their hair glossy and makeup on point. They strolled arm in arm up to the entrance, and the bouncer waved them in without an ID check or a single word. Staff, had to be.

Just like that, an idea came to me.

Tomorrow, if Dad hadn’t appeared, I’d be back, and this time with a way to get inside.