Chapter 21 Mila We left the skeleton crew's warehouse with a rucksack of Convict's scant possessions and in borrowed clothes. I wanted to go home. I wanted to take him with me. Luckily we were both on the same page. He guided me to a car. "I'll get your door." "We can walk. I don't live far. Only in the city centre." "Is there parking?" "An underground car park." I had a space but I hadn't used it in a while since surrendering my car. "It's safer for you if we aren't out on the streets for any longer than necessary." He opened the passenger-side door of the huge, black vehicle and helped me in, then we set out into the night. It was late, past four in the morning, but I wasn't tired. Kane had been rescued. He wasn't hurt, or worse, as I'd imagined, and my overactive brain could settle on that score. It left all the space to think about the man driving me. He casually spun the wheel to take us away from the river. "Direct me. Where are we going?" "Harbour View Apartments on City Road." "Fancy. There a doorman or something? You don't have a key." I shifted in my seat. "I don't need one." "How does that work?" "You'll see." He chuffed at my answer but let me lapse into gazing out of the window. Deadwater was a city that never truly slept. Neon lights advertised clubs and services, and a group of drunks waved at us in the hope we were a late-night cab. Even so, traffic was light, and the drive was done in a matter of minutes. Convict entered the garage using a code I gave him. He backed the car into my spot, controlling the vehicle so easily, his actions accurate and somehow incredibly attractive. I liked how he moved. How he held the steering wheel with a light touch, sliding it through his fingers. It was distracting. I had to keep reminding myself this wasn't a test drive with built-in orgasms. Part of why I'd wanted to take him home was to process what I felt for him in my own space. A week ago, I'd first seen him through a window, and today, we'd had sex after a brutal evening. It was so far from my usual reality of responsible, cautious living that I couldn't understand myself. All I was sure about was that I wanted him closer. He caught me staring. "Careful, Mila. Take me upstairs first, or any early waking neighbours are going to get an eyeful of you bent over this car." I ducked my head and went to open my door. He stilled me with a touch, rounding to let me out. "Such a gentleman." "I'm really not." Maybe that was what I liked. "Sure you are. You opened my door before mentally undressing me." He kept my hand in his. I let him. The coded lift took us up to the twelfth floor, and at my door, I pointed out the scanner. "Biometrics." "What are you, MI5?" He whistled approval, but I saw how carefully he scanned the hall behind us. Trust didn't come easy to him, and I liked that. The door popped open, and he held it to let me inside. I didn't know what I expected, probably for him to grab me the moment we were shut in, but instead, he toed off his running shoes and prowled through the rooms. I followed, seeing it through fresh eyes. The pale wood floors. The high-end kitchen with the Miele appliances my grandmother approved of, and the living area to the other side, the white sofas arranged to take in the city view. Décor-wise, it was practically unchanged from when I'd moved in. I'd never noticed that. I hovered in the hall doorway. "My grandparents gifted me this place so I had somewhere to live outside of term at school and university. They liked me to come back to Deadwater." "Not to live with them?" I wrinkled my nose. That had never been on the table. "No." Convict checked out the artwork that had always been on the walls then moved to the coffee table where I'd left a sprawl of paperwork, discarded when I'd come up with my auction plan. He picked up a thick file and read the first page. "Last will and testament? If this is all about money, I'll be disappointed." My heart sank unreasonably. To hide my reaction, I folded my arms. "Seriously?" His grin returned, and he placed the file back down and slowly stalked over to me. "No. I'll still adore you. I am intrigued, though." I stiffened, all too aware of how completely alone we were in this apartment. I wanted this. I wanted him. I couldn't be sure why it was so strong, but perhaps it was because he was so resourceful. Or maybe I needed the distraction of a dangerously sexy guy to balance out the mess my life had become. Turning, I made for the hall, beckoning him to follow. "I'll show you the bedrooms." In my bedroom doorway, I reached for the light switch, thankful that I'd left my bed neat and nothing embarrassing on display. Convict's hand landed over mine and paused my action, leaving the room dark. He took in the space then gestured with his chin. "That fluffy white rug and the mirror." "What about them?" "If I let you take me into this bedroom, it's where I'll fuck you first." I stared at him, shocked. Convict's eyes darkened. "I'll drag that rug over so it's in front of the glass. Then I'll get you naked, put you on all fours, and fuck you from behind. You'll finally give in to the lust you're holding at bay, and you'll do anything I ask. You'll beg for more. When you're about to come, I'll pull you upright so we can watch my dick plunge in and out of you and witness the second you break apart." I was lost for words, caught up in his fantasy. My body was so ready for him, heat pooling at my core and my skin on fire for his touch. "Are we going in, then?" I finally managed. He tipped up my chin, lowering his mouth until we were millimetres apart. Amusement danced in his eyes alongside deep, unhidden attraction. "Nope." Disappointment pierced me. "Why not? Because you want me to beg?" "Nah. That ship sailed. Let me remind you that when you agreed to the rules of the game, you gave your body over to me. I get free use of you whenever I want. I'll fuck you in your sleep, in the shower, I'll drive into you on those pristine sofas while the city watches us." Damn his dirty mouth. I curled my lip. "I get the same rights." "You do. I'll even trade in a safe word for a hydration break. But the flip side is what else you get from the deal. What should be the more important part from your point of view. If I'm to help you, I need your story. I want to know everything about your life. Every little detail to what makes up Emilia Marchant and why you're willing to go to dangerous lengths for your cause." He slanted his gaze to the room. "The moment we go in there, it's game over for talking." Convict slapped my ass and moseyed back down the hall. "So get your story on. I'll make coffee." Trailing after him, I had a choice to make. I'd done all of this solo, only bringing Kane in for one specific part which turned out to be nowhere near enough. But in tying myself to Convict for a month, I wasn't alone anymore. For the first time in my life, I had a partner in crime. It might be time-bound, but my gut told me to follow this man. Honesty shone off him, as much as questionable morals and breathtaking heat. I didn't trust him, not yet, but I felt...something. I'd agreed to let him have sex with me whenever he wanted. In my sleep, as he'd pointed out. A shiver ran over me, the lust he generated just by existing ever present. What would it be like to wake and find him inside me? Toying with me. Fucking me. For a dizzy moment, I couldn't breathe for wanting him. Except he wouldn't go there without talking first. The decision over sharing deeply personal parts of my life had been made. I just had to find the words. In the living room, I gazed at Convict, busy in my kitchen, then drifted to the shelf and picked up two framed photos. I set them on the coffee table, tidying the paperwork I'd left in a mess. The scent of coffee pricked my nose. "No milk in your fridge. Tells me you're not ready to take care of more than a succulent." Convict joined me with two mugs. I rolled my eyes, and we settled on the sofa. I took a sip of the hot drink, picking over where to start my story. It helped that Convict had positioned himself to face me. He gave me his full attention. I needed it. "A month ago, my grandfather died." He wrinkled his nose. "I read about it while you slept. I'm sorry." An all-too-familiar ache stole over my heart. I glanced at the first framed photo where my grandfather smiled back at me. I missed him so much. "It's hard to share this. I haven't talked to anyone. Even Kane doesn't know the full story. You might not be a stranger any more, but I still don't know you." His gaze held mine. "Pop quiz. What's my name?" "Roscoe Locke." He'd told me the first time we'd met, and I'd never forgotten it. "Where do I work?" "For the skeleton crew, in the warehouse by Deadwater river." He inclined his head. "What do I like?" The heat in his eyes was unmistakable. "Me." I was rewarded with a smile. "Then you know almost as much about me as I do. If there's anything else, just ask." This was easier than trying to make sense of my own story. "How old are you?" "Twenty-eight. My birthday is the fourth of January, it says so on my hospital paperwork. Yours?" "The first of June. How did they know if you were in a coma?" "You used fancy biometrics to get into this multi-million-pound home. The hospital used mine to identify me. I have a criminal record. All my data is on file for the safety of the public." Perhaps that should have alarmed me, but all I felt was intrigue. "What crimes have you committed?" Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the ƒindNoᴠᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He raised an easy shoulder. "No idea, but you'll get the benefit of my dark side for all your scheming." I took a steadying breath. At last, the words flowed. "I didn't know my grandparents when I was growing up. I met them when I was fourteen. They put me through private school, bought me this place, and then paid for my degree in business management." I collected the first framed photo from the table and held it out. "This is me with them when I was officially given the surname of Marchant." Convict took the frame and examined it. "What were you before?" "Emilia Gold. That's my stepfather's surname. My mother had me after a short fling with my bio father, my grandparents' eldest son. He's long dead." He handed the picture back. "Is that why they didn't know about you, because he died and never told them?" I stared down at the proud teenage version of me who'd been so enamoured with my newfound grandparents. Even then, my grandfather had a thatch of grey hair, and my grandmother her trademark blonde bob. "No, they knew about me. It was just complicated. But I'm digressing. I just want you to understand why this is so important to me." "I'm listening. Share everything. I want to know it all." My thoughts rushed. "They wanted an heir. That's the reason they took over my life so thoroughly, because of how vital it is for Marchant Haulage to survive. That's the company my grandfather built from the ground up. The one I studied hard to understand then worked at officially until a month ago." I took the second picture, a landscape shot of two dozen people in a harbour scene, a huge red-and-white ship behind them, and a warehouse the other side of the water with the family logo proudly displayed. "All the people in this picture are dependents of the company. They live off the profits and have done for decades in some cases." I saw an argument form then fall away as his gaze travelled the picture. There was an entire seat cushion between us, and I knelt on it so I could point out what I needed him to see. I pressed a finger to an elderly couple. "My grandfather's sister and her husband. Both are in their late seventies and had hard lives, so only have the state pension to live on." I tapped a woman with a baby in her arms. "Their oldest daughter with her firstborn. She has three kids, but her husband walked out on her. One of her sisters is also a single mother." I jumped one across to a man in a wheelchair. "My grandmother's nephew. I think he's in his forties now." Convict gave a chuff of interest. "And all of them live off the company's payroll?" "Exactly." I set the photo back on the glass coffee table, in our eyeline, just like I kept it on my shelf to remind me how important it was. "One of the first things my grandparents impressed upon me was how the company is a lifeline. I know in painstaking detail how my grandfather started out, operating a single boat with which he used to do the soft fruit route, as he called it. He would sail from Liverpool to Barcelona and back, bringing the produce into the country. From there, he scaled up and up, until he had a fleet of ships and lorries operating out of multiple ports to many countries. Alongside that expansion, his profits soared. He was smart. When consumer preferences changed, he'd talk to the fruit market owners and they'd adapt. When lawmakers got in his way, he dodged around them. At every stage, he innovated and he created an empire. I'm saying this as if he did it alone. He didn't. My grandmother also worked for the company and managed certain parts of it for years until she retired. For them, it was their life. And from age fourteen, it was mine, too." "Impressive." I took a breath. "Isn't it? It gets me in the throat when I think about what they achieved. I admire them so much. Even as a young teenager, I understood their importance." He twisted his lips, his gaze never leaving me. "As did your parents if they were willing to trade you off." "They didn't trade me off. They saw the opportunity of a lifetime for me and took it." "What did they get out of it?" I furrowed my brow. "You make it sound like they got a payout." "Didn't they? It's hard to imagine giving up a kid to strangers, even if they're related." Maybe that was fair, but he didn't understand my family. I shook off the insinuation and carried on. "That's the background. All these people and more rely on Marchant Haulage surviving. I feel the weight of that on my shoulders just like my grandfather described. He found it thrilling every time he made enough money to do something good. First, it was to give his sons a great life. Then, it was the extended family. By the time he reached his seventies, he'd created this institution. There are family trusts. There are dividend payments. There are people who wouldn't be alive without the money they get from the business." "As the heir, your job was to continue what they started?" "It was. But I failed at the first hurdle. When I finished my degree, my grandfather put me to work at the lowest rungs of the company. I moved between different sites and departments, learning what they do and getting to grips with all the moving parts. I loved it." A darkness swarmed my heart. "My final placement was to be back in the headquarters with him, but I put it off. Then he died. It just... I mean, I couldn't..." My words stalled again, and tears pricked my eyes from exactly how badly I'd fucked up. "My failure cost my grandfather his life."