Arran’s Obsession (Body Count, #1)

Arran turned his back and stopped talking. Fucking hell. Broken by his father and abused by his mother, by rights, he should be the worst kind of criminal. A wreck of a person. Maybe in parts he was. He was also incredible. Brave. Brutal but in a strangely admirable way.

He killed bad people. Confessed it with the rest of his awful story. The marks on him were evidence of his abuse.

And in a breathtaking, pulse-racing moment of time, I fell in love with him.

The image I’d painted when I first knew him was rooted in my hatred for gangs. Cruel people doing bad things for their own gain. Arran was the opposite of that in every way. Everything he did was to try to right the wrongs of a past he didn’t create but had suffered through. To revere the memory of a mother who’d been so messed up she’d failed him.

Unseeing, I stared at the steel ceiling rafters.

He protected the women in the club. He set up a game to unite people in love, albeit with a vicious start. In all the time I’d been his captive, I’d barely thought about the meaning behind that. Had he designed that game because it was what he wanted, a method to break through his damage? Yet he’d operated it with no intention of being a participant, watching all those other couples pair up, giving him an outlet to handle his trauma.

Up until I walked in and gifted him a reason to enter.

I shivered, bringing myself back down to earth with a bump. Whatever I felt for him, and however real that might be, there was no guarantee he’d ever feel the same. I wasn’t foolish, even if I’d been a fool for him over and over. I couldn’t kid myself that a man with that much damage would miraculously heal because we’d slept together.

So why did that make me want to curl up in a ball and cry for him?

Outside the window, the faint streaks of dawn pierced the night, and I rolled away, facing Arran instead of the daylight.

Fuck it.

I curled around his back. Wriggled my leg between his. Wrapped an arm around his upper arm so I could hold him then kissed one of his round scars.

After a beat, Arran, the broken king of the sex workers, tucked my hand against his chest. My heart beat out of time, and I clung on to the feeling, letting it wash over me until I closed in on sleep.

One thing was certain—this moment of traumatic peace wouldn’t last.

When next I woke, it was to a night-dark afternoon, a summer storm lashing the city. Rain spattered on the arched window in Arran’s bedroom.

I stretched against him. Both of us were still naked under his midnight-blue sheets. We smelled of sex and disaster.

“Morning.”

I blinked up at him, conscious of his wary tone. Without giving a second of thought, I reached for him and pulled him onto me. Wrapped my legs around his hips, the ridge of his dick between us.

“Give me back my permission to fuck you whenever I want.” Arran’s voice came out low and deliciously rough.

“Granted.”

He drove into me, my body welcoming him, that insistent need never far away.

I’d dreamed of this, having fun in a bed with him. But in my imagination, we’d been happy. Not dragged down by all the other factors in our lives.

Arran kissed me and thrust in lazy, half-awake slides. He found my clit, easily getting me to the edge of pleasure. When I was close, he stopped his strokes and just moved his hand, groaning with deep need when I hissed out, convulsing around him in the way he’d told me he loved. It only made the climax more devastating. The knowledge of what I did to him and our shared desire and need. Then his control broke, and he rammed over and over until he came, too, triggering all kinds of echoed explosions throughout me.

Fuck, I was in such trouble.

We cooled together. I risked a glance.

He swatted my backside. “Go shower. If I come in with you, we’ll never get anything done today.”

I rose and skittered away, naked, and with the sticky essence of him seeping from me. Weird that I liked that.

Loved it.

I wrinkled my nose, not looking back. I loved him. How had I let that happen? Frustration broke over my afterglow. This wouldn’t end well, and losing him was going to hurt. Better not to think about it.

In the shower, I blushed to recall the last time I was in here, and took my time cleaning myself thoroughly. Arran had shampoo and conditioner that I hadn’t noticed last time. Both were specifically for blonde hair. Surely not his. I laughed to myself then got out, dried off, and used a moisturiser and waiting toothpaste and brush.

Back in the bedroom, the man I loved was on the phone. He pointed to a hairdryer on the dresser and then the wardrobe, stalking out to the living area. I opened the door, finding shelves of women’s clothing plus more hanging up.

All my size. Huh. Suspicious. He probably wasn’t having women sleep over often. Holding my towel closer, I extracted a gorgeous dress and took it to the door and peered out. He noticed me. I held up the item in question.

His lips curved into a boyish smile that did things to my stupid heart.

“Lara,” he mouthed.

I blew him a kiss then returned to pick out clothes for the day. Or evening, according to my phone which I found in my bag on the dresser, presumably Arran having ordered it fetched for me at some point. It was nearly dark again, and I was fully in my creature-of-the-night era.

I had multiple missed calls from my brother and a reminder popping up, followed by a text.

Jon at Deliverus: If you don’t come in tonight, I will have no choice but to let you go.

Shit. I had work in thirty minutes.

It was a crap shift—four hours to cover the evening rush only—a punishment for missing a week of work, despite my claim I’d been ill.

Riordan’s missed calls would have to wait. After tapping out a fast response to my boss, I dried my hair and brushed it into a high ponytail, then yanked on leather leggings with ridged knees like biker wear and a cropped top over a t-shirt bra. There was a nice jacket that would work for being on the road. Lara had good taste.

As I readied myself, I took in my surroundings in a way I hadn’t fully done when we’d arrived. Arran’s place was high-end, from the engineered oak floors to the heavy furniture and beautiful fixtures. The impromptu sex toys had all disappeared, thankfully, but the candles had guttered to wax puddles on the wooden chest of drawers. That was the only element out of place. The only personalisation to give an indication of who lived here.

Perhaps that was why Arran wanted my…presence everywhere.

When I was just about ready, he reappeared, stabbing his phone to end his call with a huff of annoyance. He eyed the light coat.

“I need to go out,” I informed him.

“Where?”

“Work. I start in thirty.”

He jerked his head back, his expression souring. “Why the fuck are you sticking with that crap delivery job?”

My shoulders rose. “It’s crap but it’s mine, and I need the money.”

“You get money from me.”

Oh, he didn’t go there. “Do I!”

“Yes, because you’re my woman. I don’t want you out there doing something hazardous for little reward when I can and will provide for you. You promised you wouldn’t do anything dangerous. Was that another lie?”

I glowered at him. “Something’s obviously pissed you off, but I’m not in the mood to indulge a temper tantrum.”

“Just stating the facts. You’re mine.”

“I’m not a possession.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Just because you say so?”

“Well, you never would.” He breathed evenly, hands on his hips, his expression that same infuriating neutral he’d worn on the video calls he’d made to his clients.

If I couldn’t read his body language, his tight muscles and panic rolling off him, I’d assume he’d want me to agree.

But something else was happening. I stopped my response, waiting on him.

“Do you want an out, Genevieve? Should I call someone else to step in? Maybe the woman whose place you took would be happy to be at my side and pretend she liked me. Tell me now if you want to go back to your old life and never see me again once the month is up.”

Natasha Reid was the woman in question, but aside from a stab of jealousy, she was far from the forefront of my mind.

Arran had got badly shaken up by my mention of work.

He’d moved on from the mistrust. He was invested, and it scared him. My heart cracked.

Crossing the room, I stepped into his space. “Is that what you want, someone other than me?”

He didn’t answer, folding his arms as a barrier between us. I lifted them and slipped underneath so he was holding me. Arran’s lips remained in a pout, but he let me rearrange him.

Then I pushed up on my toes and kissed his cheek, speaking to his soul. “I want to keep my job because it’s mine and I’m a human being with my own thoughts, feelings, and independence. Nothing to do with you supporting me. This is my second week of being with you, and in that time I haven’t been home once or done anything I usually would. In another two, you could throw me out. If I don’t have my job, I’ve got nothing to go back to. Understand? I’ll lose the flat because of whatever the hell my dad’s done. Mouldy walls, shitty small-minded neighbours and all—it’s my only home. I’ve got four hours of delivering food lined up in exchange for some semblance of security, so yes, I can do it, and no, it doesn’t mean I’m leaving you.”

Those strong arms tightened around me. His grey eyes scrutinised mine. “Security,” he repeated, almost to himself. Then, more assuredly, “Let me drive you.”

I adapted my plan of being on a scooter in the pouring rain to being chauffeur driven around the city. Not a bad compromise. “Okay.”

He kissed me, an almost desperate claiming that I had to break or I’d miss logging in on time.

Together, we left his apartment.

“I’m still giving you the money you’re owed,” he griped. “Can’t wait to see what you bid on with it this time.”

On the way out, Arran thumped on the door opposite his in the hall. There was nothing else up here other than steel framing the brick exterior walls, the stairs entrance, and the lift.

In just his boxer shorts, Shade answered, his black hair messy and in his eyes. Dark-ink tattoos crawled from his muscular thigh and across his chest to climb up his throat.

Last night, he’d held my breasts while Arran toyed with me. Looked like we were just going to breeze right on past that.

I adjusted my gaze away.

“In future, put some fucking clothes on when you answer the door,” Arran intoned.

“In my defence, it’s never anyone but ye. You’re lucky I had shorts on.”

“Gen lives here now so adjust.”

Gen, he’d called me. Only people I cared about used that.

“Aye, sorry, Genevieve. Hang on.” Shade disappeared, reappearing with a black shirt shrugged over his body.

Arran lifted his chin. “We’re going to be out in the city for the next few hours. Are you good to hold the fort?”

“Nae bother. It won’t be busy until later, so I can come along for the ride if ye need backup?”

“It’s nothing wild. Gen has her delivery job.”

Shade jumped his gaze to me, wrinkling his nose in an expression of disbelief. “Really?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I still have a job.”

“In the rain. Going about on your scooter from restaurants to lazy people’s houses.”

“Don’t you start, too.”

A laugh returned. “All right. Are ye leaving now?” At my agreement, he stepped back. “Give me two and I’ll come. Don’t like the thought of the pair of ye roaming the streets unprotected.” Then he called into the depths of his apartment. “Leesh? I’m going out.”

He shut the door, and Arran called the lift.

“Is ‘Leesh’ Alisha?” I asked.

Arran inclined his head.

I frowned, a thought occurring that hadn’t last night. “Another ‘A’ name. She isn’t…?”

“Related to my mother? No. Alisha isn’t her real name.”

Of course not. No one around here used their real identity apart from Arran. “Are they a couple? Shade and Alisha?”

He shrugged. “Not that I know of. She was screwing Convict at one point, and Shade’s taste runs in another direction.”

“He’s gay?”

“No. A forbidden pussy direction.”

At my laugh, the lift arrived.

He gestured to the panel. “This and the stairs door are coded if you want to come up. It’s the same as the pin I gave you to use in the bid room.”

“Two-seven-six-eight. I remember.”

He leaned against the door, propping it open. I guessed to wait for Shade. Then he regarded me with something new in his gaze.

“What do you remember of Addie?”

I smiled. “I was twelve so thought her the cutest thing ever. Those dungarees in your picture? They were soft in real life. Velvet. Her favourites. She was so smart, too, and she’d chatter away like anything, more than most two-year-olds, according to Flora.”

“Did you know her birthday?”

I squinted, trying to recall any kind of party. “No, sorry.”

“What about Flora, can you give me a description?”

I rattled off what I remembered of the woman. She was tall and curvy with fair hair. Similar to my mother, I realised. Nothing of her address or surname had made it through to my pre-teen mind.

“Was Addie happy?”

“Very.”

“I’ve wondered how Audrey’s death affected her. I never knew her as a mother, but she did. At least I assume so.” He rubbed his hand over his hair. “I’ve wondered all kinds of things. Was her foster mother kind to her?”

“Flora treated her like her own and never once said she was a foster mum. It was obvious she loved her.”

He went quiet for a moment, his gaze distant. “Want to know the shittiest thing about it? The part that haunts me? Audrey never told me about her daughter, even at the end. She could’ve asked Flora to bring her to me, or at least let me know she existed, but no. The only thing I can assume is that she didn’t want me to know because she couldn’t trust that I wouldn’t turn out like my dad.”

My heart hurt. “You don’t know that for sure.”

“True, but I can’t deny it.”

I took the opportunity to say something else I’d dwelled on. “I need to apologise to you.”

“For what?”

“I said a lot of bad things about how you treat women. If I think back on it, it makes me cringe. You’re so different to what I thought. To that public image you present.”

“You like me now?”

Heat warmed my cheeks. “I don’t dislike you, I guess.”

The corners of his mouth tipped up.

Shade’s door opened along the corridor. Arran reached and grabbed me into the lift. Then he hit the button to close the door.

“Wait,” Shade called.

“Sorry, bro. It’s the stairs for you.”

The lift doors met, and Arran closed in on me, a kiss the answer to my apology. We only had eight floors to descend, but that was plenty to get me flustered, his tongue the wickedest, cleverest tool in his toolbelt. At the ding, Arran pressed the button to keep the door closed and kissed me some more. Breathing hard, he finally pulled away then captured my hand, taking me with him out into the hall.

Shade emerged from the stairwell and gave him a shove. “Dick.”

We passed the staff entrance to Divide, a glance in showing me all the lights on and a cleaning crew hard at work in their black skeleton shirts.

“Student night tonight,” Shade informed me. “Cheap pints. Naw so hectic as the end of the week. The strip club and upstairs will have the usual crowd and be rammed from ten onwards.”

“On a Monday?”

“Businessmen away from home. They start the week as they mean to go on.” He raised his eyebrows.

More insight into the undertow of the city. This place was another world.

Someone called us, and we paused in the corridor and turned back. It took me a second to recognise Alisha, the operations manager, coming from the stairwell. In day clothes, her mousy brown hair in a messy bun, and no makeup accentuating her features, she was barely recognisable to the glossy creature I’d seen when she was working.

Arran’s comment about why she never wore a mask made sense. Her street disguise was effective.

Her gaze flicked over me then to the man holding my hand. Hostility crawled off her. “Why do you all have to go out this evening?”

Arran shrugged. “We’ll be back by the time it picks up.”

Her lips flattened. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“I’m not having the same argument again. Four hours, then I promise I’ll be here for the whole night.” He took a breath. “There’s something I need your help with. Does the name Flora sound familiar?”

Alisha wrinkled her nose. “Who is she?”

“That’s not important. Do you know anyone of that name?” At her headshake in the negative, he sighed. “Can you ask around the OG crew?” He gave the description I had.

Alisha shrugged, noncommittal.

I watched their interaction with a sinking heart. Arran called her one of the most important people in his life, and yet they were barely speaking. I was the reason.

“Mr Daniels? There’s a visitor here for you,” someone else said from the other direction.

Manny, the head of security, approached, another man at his side. Jamieson, one of Arran’s Scottish friends.

Arran embraced his friend. Jamieson nodded to me then fist bumped Shade. I wasn’t sure how much Arran’s worlds overlapped, but he’d clearly brought his friends here in the past.

“Walk with us,” Arran told his friend. “Tell me what the fuck you’re doing here?”

Jamieson fell into step, and the four of us moved on.

“Cassie,” he said with a frustrated grumble. His hand flicked a lighter wheel, a spark flying. “She got upset over something then took off. My guess is she’ll end up here.”

I drew my eyebrows in. “Have you checked with her friends?”

“Doesnae have many. We’re kind of an insular family.”

My heart gave an unexpected pang of understanding. I didn’t have many friends either, though for different reasons. Then a memory hit me. “She said something about coming here. I’d forgotten until now.”

Cassie had said she wanted to dance, but in case that meant on the pole rather than the nightclub’s floor, I kept the details to myself.

“Fuck, she mentioned that to me, too,” Arran said. “I’d assumed it was a joke because she said she wanted to dance here. I warned her off.”

Jamieson’s lip curled. “Red rag to a bull, man. She’ll be around somewhere. She’s not called?”

Arran snorted. “Like she’d give me notice of showing up. None of you fuckers do.”

There was no malice in his tone, only the tolerance extended to family. But worry was there, too. I shared it. Cherry had been murdered by someone unknown. That killer was still walking the streets. Even if he’d killed Cherry for a specific reason, that didn’t ease my concern for any other woman out on her own.

We exited the warehouse with a gust of wind and rain splattering us. At Arran’s car, he hustled me inside. Shade went to the next one over, another chunky, matte-black beast of a vehicle.

“We’re driving around the city for a few hours while Gen works.” Arran enunciated the last word like it was poisonous. “Come with? We can keep an eye out for Cassie’s car.”

Shade banged his fist on his wet roof. “Ride with me. Tell us what’s up with your sister.”

“Fuck riding shotgun. We’ll take my car,” Jamieson decided.

Shade scowled, then raised his hand. “Rock, paper, scissors…”

Still at my open door, Arran chuckled under his breath as if there was some inside joke.

“Shoot,” Jamieson said. He smacked his fist against Shade’s scissors. “Shotgun for ye.”

Shade swore a blue stream. “I need to find a better way to call shit. Anyway, fuck not being behind the wheel. I’m taking my car, too.”

Jamieson shrugged and strolled to an expensive-looking, gunmetal-grey vehicle across the car park.

I stared between them. “We can’t drive three cars on one delivery route. We’ll clog up the town.”

Arran only shrugged, uncaring.

We took off in convoy. Arran’s phone connected to the speakers, and from the car behind, Jamieson filled us in on Cassie.

“She’s been stressing about not having a purpose in life so signed up to business classes at a college, but got into a row with a lass who told her how privileged she was, just because she drives a nice car. She worked out where Cass lived and decided she didnae need to work for a living because of Daddy’s money. In front of the whole class, she told her to get off the course and make way for someone who needed it. Like the bullshit our father put us through and the fact she was in foster care for the first years of her life didn’t mean anything. Cassie’s been working hard to manage herself, and this set her back.”

“That’s horrible,” I said. “What did she do? Either tell her darkest secrets or brazen it out? Fuck that girl for bullying her.”

“She threatened her,” he intoned. “Got herself kicked off the group by her own actions. Not one for mincing words, my little sister.”

Arran’s hand curled into mine, keeping me with him as we drove the dark streets. At the yard for Deliverus, I hopped out. Jon, the boss of the franchise, stared over my shoulder at the cars behind me. The three big men watching my every move.

“I don’t need a scooter tonight,” I chirped. “Just a bag to keep the food warm. Sorry for the past week, it couldn’t be helped. We good?”

He gave a faint nod and let me go without another word. Back in the car, I logged in to the delivery system and cued up my first job, then swiped to my playlist.

“Mind if I play music as I work?” I asked.

Arran gave me an indulgent smile then tapped his car’s screen to disconnect his phone and add mine so I could use his speakers, putting in an earpiece to keep the line open with his friends.

‘Midnight City’ by M83 surrounded us. Old-school nostalgia for the win.

Then I was out in the city and back to work. Slick, wet roads reflected neon signs, and the big overhead streetlights picked out showering raindrops. Grey clouds scudded over the dark skies, backlit by a faint moon.

All so familiar from a year of me doing this job. At the same time, all was completely different.

Everything else in my world had changed, from where I was living to the clothes on my back. Clinging on to this job felt vital. But doing it, I battled back a strong urge to return to the warehouse. Deadwater had taken on a dangerous feel, as if only bad things could come from roaming its streets at night.

Yet I couldn’t quit. Arran’s life had absorbed mine, and if he spat me out again, this was what I’d come back to.

Whether I liked it or not, I had to see it through.

Two hours in, with a dozen deliveries complete and no Cassie sighted, I exited an Italian restaurant, Shade shadowing me because Arran had taken a call. A few metres away, my man was still on the phone, whatever he had to handle an obvious issue from his frown and pacing.

I went to get back into his car. He gestured at Shade’s. Alrighty, then. His conversation wasn’t for my ears, and it only cemented how his existence wasn’t mine. Hiding my bubble of hurt, I got in with Shade.

“Address?” he asked.

I stuck my phone on the dash holder, the first of two delivery locations coming up. At Shade’s agreement, I linked up my music, and Shade sped us out, Jamieson and Arran tailing close behind.

I lined up A Perfect Circle’s ‘Judith’. A track my rock-chick mum loved. The eclectic playlist had been hers, featuring bands like Korn and Metallica, and I’d added to it over the years. It kept me feeling close to her. Emotion filled me, something about the city and my strange new relationship messing up my feelings.

Mum had been my model for independence. For her, life had been tough. She’d made it her bitch.

Oblivious to me fighting becoming a hot mess, Shade smiled approval, ducking his head to the tune, streetlights flickering over us as we rocked out to a song featuring killing in its lyrics.

At the drop-off, I delivered to the street door, no dark corridors in a tower block to get spooked in, and Shade stuck close.

I eyed him. “If you ever want to give up the gangster life, I can put in a good word with you for food delivery. You’re a natural.”

He pursed his lips. “I appreciate that. Speaking of being good at things…” His gaze sought out anything but me beside him on the pavement. “I did and said shite I shouldn’t have last night. Been playing on my mind.”

I cast my mind back. Amusement bubbled up along with embarrassment. “Nice tits, wasn’t it?”

He sucked in a breath, hands diving into his pockets. His shoulders up around his ears. “If ye could take that from your brain and throw it away, I’d appreciate it.”

“Done, though it wasn’t your fault. Do Arran and I need to fess up to your lady for including you in our…whatever we want to call that?”

“There’s no lady. I’m permanently out on my ass.”

I snorted, because there was no way this guy wasn’t pulling interest. With his dark hair and eyes, the tattoos all over him, and his brazen air of danger and arrogance, women must love him, even if he wanted someone unattainable. Forbidden pussy, as Arran called it.

On my phone, I tapped the job completion button, the next address loading. I already had the meal for it, grabbed from the last Italian restaurant, but the delivery was way across town.

I held it up. Shade’s mild amusement dropped.

He shot his focus up to the other cars where Arran and Jamieson waited by open doors. “We have a problem.”

Arran stabbed to end his call. Both were on us in seconds. My pulse spiked. Whatever was in his expression, I didn’t like at all.