Arran’s Obsession (Body Count, #1)

In a desperate scrabble, I ran to the door Alisha had left by, yanking at the handle. It wouldn’t budge. I bit back a scream.

Convict descended the metal steps, his handcuffs rattling. “Stop. Don’t be scared. I know I look like shit but I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Stay away from me.”

“I swear on my life, just hear me out. Alisha gave me five minutes to say my piece, then she’ll be back.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He reached the bottom. I gave up on the door and backed away, keeping space between us. The man had a wicked limp, yet still he moved.

Convict stopped and held up his hands. “I need to apologise. Arran told me to stay the fuck away from you⁠—”

“Then why didn’t you?” I breathed. My hands shook with my fear.

“Because I hate the thought of what happened. Please, Genevieve. He told me that, and in the same breath, said how much I’d scared you. I’m so fucking sorry. I shouldn’t have been in here during the game, but all the women who signed up for it were supposed to want the hunt and the chase. I thought you were playing.”

“I wasn’t. I told you to stop.”

The broken crew member hung his head. “I know. I’ve replayed that over and over. I got caught up in the fever of it all and thought I was a player. I should never have been in the game. My life is over because I fucked that up.”

I wasn’t about to feel sorry for him, but some of my panic lifted. “I need Alisha back right now. How do I get her to unlock the door?”

Convict sniffed. “When the five minutes is up. There’s something else I need to tell you. I found your dad.”

My jaw dropped. “You…? Arran didn’t say.”

Hurt welled up in a fast wave.

“He doesn’t know. He wouldn’t listen to me. Alisha didn’t believe me either.”

“Tell me everything.”

Convict halted to lean heavily on a metal support pillar. “I tracked him down to the Four Milers. He had a girlfriend there, Sydney. She used to work here. Then, alone, he went to see the Zombies. They’re the gun runners, so my guess was he picked up a weapon. I confirmed it later when I saw it with my own eyes.”

I rotated the explanation in my mind, frantically trying to work out what on earth my father was doing. “Why would he want a gun? He wasn’t doing gang work, surely.”

“Think he might have been. He had a target in a different city. I followed him all the way there and watched him stake out this man.” He curled his bloodied lip and gave me a sympathetic half-smile. “I’m so sorry, darlin’, but he was a dead man walking the minute he took that job. Fronting up against a big-time supplier? Badass, but a suicide mission.”

I spun around and walked away a couple of steps.

None of this made sense.

Not the lack of contact, or the affiliation with people Dad despised. Something must have happened to make him do this. “Did you actually see him take on this other man?”

Meaning was he dead. Meaning was my father’s body in a morgue somewhere.

Convict shrugged, and guilt took over his expression. “No. I watched him practice loading his gun. Poor guy’s hands shook. Then I did something stupid. While there, I met up with some old boys I’d served time with who asked me to deliver something to the Four Milers. I was coming back to see Arran anyway so took the money and did the drop. It was harmless. Nothing to do with women or our territory. You and Arran happened to be on the same road on the same night. That’s why I’m in here. Like this.”

I closed my eyes for a moment. I couldn’t pity Convict the decisions he’d made, but I deeply pitied my dad. The description of his shaking hands was so familiar. Dad’s problem with alcohol meant he often trembled, and my heart was sick at the thought of him in whatever desperate state he’d got into. If only he’d spoken to me or Riordan.

Reality crashed in. He wouldn’t have survived the dangerous job he’d taken. Dad didn’t know how to operate a gun, and he’d make easy pickings for some psycho drug dealer.

He was dead.

All this time of him being missing, I hadn’t lost hope. I’d believed this just another drunken escapade, and my soft-hearted father would reappear, recuperate for a few weeks, then get back into life as normal. But it wasn’t to be.

The clink of handcuffs pulled my focus back to Convict. Belatedly, I realised I’d got his name wrong. He was Roscoe. Shade was Connor. What a night for getting a full understanding of Arran’s crew.

“Sorry for both things,” Convict finished. “Arran will see that your dad is avenged. He’ll clean up Peters and right the wrong.”

I squinted at him, several things becoming clear at the same time. Arran had gone after Peters. Peters was no longer the small-time dealer who’d scared my mum into crashing her car, but a major supplier who Convict feared.

I spluttered the words. “Jordan Peters is who my dad went after?”

Convict nodded, but my heart had sunk all the way to the cold stone floor of the basement. I’d lost my father, but maybe I’d lose Arran, too.