Arran’s Obsession (Body Count, #1)

The lift descended the warehouse’s interior, and I subtly rubbed my backside. One of my cheeks throbbed like an insect had stung me. Probably something to do with Arran removing my clothes in my sleep again, though it wasn’t like him to be clumsy with his knife.

Once he left, I couldn’t sleep for worry. I’d played with Rosie for a while, but even she’d curled up to rest. Divide and Divine were closed, but the brothel would be open a while longer, so maybe I could find someone to chat with.

At my side, a member of the security crew silently marked me. Unsurprisingly, one had been waiting outside the apartment door, a man I distantly recognised from being in the office with Arran when he’d brought in another team after the encounter with the Four Milers.

I didn’t know his name, nor had he offered it, and it was a little strange that the security chief himself wasn’t the person waiting for me.

“Isn’t Manny around this evening?” I asked.

The lift passed the sixth floor.

The guard glanced my way then gave a single nod, the bright lift making his features all the more severe. “Mr Manford is monitoring the third floor, miss.”

The brothel. Where I wanted to hang out. My lingering unease was slightly mollified. I trusted Manny. He was friendly and shared random facts.

The light illuminated the floor-five sign. At four, the lift stopped, the doors opening.

I squinted out into the corridor. It resembled a hotel with single doors spaced at intervals. What had Manny said, that it was made up of bedroom suites? “Why did we stop?”

My guard drew his dark eyebrows in and pressed the button for three. It did nothing, the doors remaining open. “I’m not sure.”

He touched a button at his lapel. “Penthouse lift has failed.” At whatever he heard in his ear, he nodded and exited into the corridor. “We’ll take the stairs while someone looks into the lift. It’s only a single flight.”

“Okay.” I stepped out, my hackles up.

He gestured for me to go ahead.

I hadn’t minded exploring the warehouse with Arran, or with Alisha for the short tour she’d given me. But this man was a stranger, and creeping along a softly lit and apparently deserted corridor with him behind me felt off.

A door opened ahead, and a woman slipped from a room, heading the other way from us. I breathed and started walking. Then a man appeared from the same room. In a split second of seeing his side profile, I recognised him.

The mayor of Deadwater.

My lips parted in a degree of unwarranted shock—he used this place, I knew that—and my fingers went automatically to the choker at my throat. But then my breath was knocked from me as, in a rush, my guard turned on me.

I gave an oof that was cut off by his arm muffling my mouth. Abruptly, he threw me into a dark bedroom. Floor lights sprang on.

The guard released me, and I spun around.

I wanted to challenge him and ask what the hell he was doing, but fear held my tongue. Instead, with my heart racing, I backed into the suite. A huge bed with black-and-pink linen took up a big portion of the room, and a wet room lay beyond, with a spa bath and tiled walls and floor.

Perfect for clearing up spilled body fluids. Such as blood.

The man spoke into his comms system, still peering out the door. “Roger that,” he said then snicked it closed.

Shutting us in.

An icy chill slid down my spine. There was no way I could rush the man, and even if I could, what if they were all in on it? All working for one of Arran’s enemies?

What if he’d been biding his time until the one evening Arran was away? It all made sense, and I cursed myself for ever leaving the apartment.

The guard shifted, revealing a holster under his smart jacket. Oh God, this was where it all ended for me. Right in the place I’d started to feel safest.

But the man wasn’t advancing on me.

In fact, he appeared to be doing his job and guarding me. Warily, I peered around, making a second assessment of the room. If someone else was here, that was his role. Bringing me to them.

Yet there was no other person in sight.

“Copy,” the guard said to whoever was on his line, then his gaze cleared and he bobbed his head at me. “The corridor is safe, miss. We can proceed.”

“Pro—? Why did you throw me in here?”

“Mr Daniels explicitly said to protect you from being seen by a list of names. This was the first available solution for concealment.”

I set my hand on my hips, trying hard to contain my emotions. He had been hiding me, not trying to hurt me. “The mayor is on that list?”

An inclined head gave me my answer, then the guard held the door, ushering me out.

I fast-walked past him then straight down the hall to the stairwell, running down the single flight. The brothel floor had never looked so good, and I sought out any familiar face.

In the receiving room, empty of any clientele, Alisha was at the bar, a glass of some peachy cocktail in hand, and a blonde wig and full makeup deployed.

Throughout the week, I’d tried to talk to her but got nowhere. She was pissed off with Arran, still, and unwilling to be friends with me. It was time we had it out. Not only for the sake of calming my nerves, but for Arran, too.

At my arrival next to her, she cast a glance over me, rolled her eyes, then turned away.

“Gen! What can I get you?” asked Sunny, one of the brothel workers who sometimes worked the bar, too.

I jerked my head at Alisha. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

“That’s fruit juice, honey.” At my shrug, Sunny grinned and trotted away to mix up my drink.

“Alisha,” I said.

She ignored me.

“Alisha, please. Can we talk?”

“I’m working.”

“Are you? Because it’s dead in here, and I have never once seen you up on this floor. Got five minutes to spare for me?”

She took me in, hostility in her eyes. “Watching me in order to take over, I see.”

“What? I have no desire to run this place. Why would you think that?”

That hadn’t been where my mind had gone with her at all. Nor did I truly suspect her of murder, even though I’d added her to the list. I did think she cared about Arran more than she said, and that, at least, we had in common.

Alisha clutched her drink. “Because… I don’t know. You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Which means I want your role? No, you do a better job than I ever could. I love it here but I don’t want to take over. I actually plan to get a degree in nursing.”

Sunny handed over my drink, and I accepted it with thanks. When I came back to Alisha, her hostility had only grown.

“Well, aren’t you just a virtuous girly,” she snarked.

Biting my tongue, I tried again, still unsettled from my earlier scare. “Why do I get the impression that concern for me running the warehouse isn’t the reason you don’t like me? What is it? You might as well spit it out.”

With a heavy breath, she stood from the bar stool. “Follow me. There’s no need for this to be a public debate.”

In the dressing room behind the bar, she took a seat at an unlit station. I eased into the next chair, ignoring that annoying sting of pain from my ass. My guard, who’d stood sentinel across the room while we’d talked, stayed outside.

Alisha pursed her lips, not making eye contact. “You want honesty?”

I swallowed. “Sure.”

“It’s nothing personal. My concerns are for Arran. You won’t like the reason.” At my head tilt for her to continue, she took a short inhale. “His father is the worst person to have ever breathed air in this world. I mean evil to the core. You have no idea how bad his reign of terror was, and his son lived right in the centre of that.”

I frowned, trying to follow. “Arran hates his father. He does everything he can to avoid being like him. He actively works to fix the damage the man caused.”

Alisha finally met my gaze, some depth of despair in her eyes. “Then you came along. A pretty blonde girl who’s just his dad’s type. After years of him finding out who he is and establishing this place, protecting us all, one arrow into his sexuality and the tide starts to turn.”

“I don’t understand. How is our relationship a threat to anyone else?”

A staff member strolled into the room, her posture changing from perky to exhausted the moment she was out of sight of any customers. She spied us and grabbed a bag, disappearing into a shower room.

Alisha dropped her voice. “Why would you understand? You know shit about him. Listen to me, and I’ll tell you what the implications of this relationship are. I was given to Arran when he was a skinny boy of about twelve and I was an experienced fifteen-year-old. That’s sixteen years of knowledge and of watching out for him. He surprised me right from the start by rejecting my advances, and I was devastated because I assumed I’d be punished for not doing my job.”

“He told me this from his point of view. I can’t imagine what your life was like.”

“Don’t try, a person like you can’t even comprehend it. Arran told me to leave his rooms, but I burst into tears, and he stopped dead like he’d never seen real emotion in his life. After that, we talked, and between us, we agreed that we’d lie to his dad and to the rest of the women. He swore to me he would never share his father’s obsession or treat women like that man did. I believed him. I trusted him. Don’t you see? He wasn’t ready for what his dad wanted, which was to follow in his footsteps.”

I listened, trying to work out her meaning. Slowly, a horrible picture materialised in my mind. “You think from dating me, he’s ready now?”

She held herself so taut she could fracture. “You tell me.”

Outrage filled me. I was ready to yell that from someone who was meant to care about him, to be fiercely loyal after their shared traumatic experiences, she was betraying him in the worst way.

Except another thought sprang up in its place.

Alisha was scared. So afraid that her glass shook in her hand. Her life was this place, she’d told me so on the tour. Arran managed everything, so any difference in him was terrifying to her. She took no part in a leadership role because that would affect what worked, what kept her alive. My coming along upset a carefully balanced apple cart, and the impact for her would be life-changing.

For all that I thought I was fitting in here, I’d missed this major issue.

I calmed myself and placed my words carefully. “I will never know how bad things were for you or for Arran, but I know in my heart he’ll never be like his father. He and I are in a relationship. He didn’t buy me, and I’m here because I want to be. We’re unconventional, sure, but we’re real.”

Alisha leaned in, clinging to every word. “He hunted you down. He’s controlling you.”

“Yet at one word from me, he’d drop to his knees. I don’t fear him.”

Slowly, she sat back, deep concern still etched on her brow, but something else there, too. A shifting of opinion, maybe. A reduction of her terror. “He looks so much like his father, but maybe inside he’s got more of his mother.”

“Did you know her? What was she like?”

“She’s the only person who knew about our deal. Audrey was kind and sexy as hell, but scared, all the time. Did Arran show you her video? The one she made exposing his dad?”

I stared, my brain making the connection. Arran said his mother had provided evidence on his father. My breathing caught. “That’s still available?”

“It’s been online for a decade. A series of women made them, but she was the only soul who lost her life because of it. Hand me your phone.”

I did, and Alisha searched until she found a video. Then she pressed play and handed it back.

She left me alone to watch.

An ordinary, pretty woman in her mid-thirties appeared on my screen, a medical mask the only attempt at concealing her identity. She spoke clearly and started her story of being sold into prostitution by a family member. I curled in the chair, hearing Arran in her tones. Seeing him in her hand gestures. Audrey spent most of her life as a sex worker but never had the protection of a place like Arran had established.

The more I watched, the more tears fell. The staff member left the shower and silently handed me a tissue. I swiped at my cheeks and thanked her but couldn’t take my eyes off the story.

“Women should have the right to choose if they want to sell their bodies. I don’t want that taken away from me,” Audrey said, wrapping up her tell-all. “What I hate is seeing girls pushed into it in the way I was. Or women having kids taken away from them when instead they should be given support. My son was raised by his father—the man who bought my time and who considered my baby as his property.”

Her expressive eyes crinkled at the edges.

“I had no hope. No one to turn to. I never got to take care of my little boy, was never permitted to tell him I was his mum for fear that I’d never see him again, and that cut me up. If anything should change, women need to have a voice. That’s why I made this video today. I never had one, and at last, I got the words out.”

When it finished, I started it over again. How must Audrey have felt each time she saw Arran on visits to service his dad at Kendrick Manor? She’d cared about him. Missed him. No wonder she tried to do anything to spend time with him, in her own traumatised way.

It was such a contrast to my upbringing where Mum would tell us she loved us multiple times a day. We were showered in hugs and affection.

Audrey and Arran had nothing but pain dividing them.

Arran would’ve seen this video for sure. His mother’s tell-all led to her death, and he would’ve watched it knowing that this vibrant woman was doomed to die. It made me want to find him and hug him. It made me want to forgive him anything.

“Genevieve?” Alisha appeared at the door.

I dried my eyes. “Alisha.”

“Actually, it’s Rachel.” She gestured to herself.

Oh, her real name. I gave a watery smile, happy to know it.

She beckoned. “I wasn’t planning on doing this, but he asked and now I see the point.”

“Who asked?”

“Roscoe.” At my blank stare, she grumbled. “There was me thinking you were paying attention. Arran’s man?”

Stumbling to my feet, I followed her, faking recognition. Roscoe was Shade’s real name, then, because Convict was Connor, I’d already discovered, and the only other man who Arran kept close was Manny, who I’d spotted in the security room. Weird thing was, I’d assumed Shade had gone with Arran on their outing, but more, my mind was stuck on Audrey. On her bravery in making a video that called out the chief of police for abusing her for so long.

The lift descended. It was only when Alisha and I were exiting it that I realised it was working again. And where we were.

The basement.

I hadn’t been down here since the night I’d wandered into the game, though it had featured in one or two of my dreams. Alisha guided me along the corridor and unlocked a door. Then we were out into the wide-open concrete expanse, most of the lights off with shadows deep, and the air several degrees colder than upstairs.

I crept through, hugging myself and suddenly chilled. “Why is he down here?”

“Arran didn’t tell you, then. Figures.” Tapping the key on her palm, she paused. “I’d like to think I was wrong about you, but I learned a long time ago to trust my instincts.”

“What do your instincts say about me?”

“That you need what’s about to happen.”

Something was wrong. I backed up a step, twisting to eye the way back to the lift. There was no way I was staying down here. Especially in my shaky-as-fuck state when my senses were working overtime and screaming danger. It was only the fact I’d made a mistake in panicking earlier without need that held me in my place.

Leaving it too late to help myself.

Alisha opened the door once more, stepped through, and locked it again. Alone in the space, I spun around.

A tapping came from the metal gantry above.

I raised my gaze, and a man appeared. Bloodied and bruised, he was barely recognisable, black eyes swollen almost shut and a limp in his slow walk. Not Shade, though. I was certain of that.

“Genevieve,” the beaten man said in greeting.

Handcuffs clinked, loose on one arm, and obviously partially unlocked by someone. They swung over the tattoo of a snake.

With slamming, awful realisation, I knew who he was.

I’d been locked in the basement with Convict.