Chapter 3 Convict A wailing moan of pleasure pierced my consciousness, dragging me from sleep, and I sat up, blinking in the low light of my room. There was no cast on my leg. No IV in my arm. No hospital beeps or the scent of antiseptic. Just the thudding bass of music and sex moans through the wall. Deadwater's version of a wellness retreat. Fuck, I was free. Swinging out of bed, I touched my booted foot to the floor then stood, testing my balance. Not bad. On the bedside table waited a white pharmacy bag, and I pulled out the only meds I'd be taking from now-the last of my antibiotics-swallowing them down with a gulp of water. My head hadn't felt this clear in forever, and I wasn't about to cloud it with drugs for pain I couldn't feel. Someone tapped at my door. I stumbled over to open it. With a bundle in her arms, Dixie gave me a once-over. "I brought you clean clothes from the wardrobe next to the strip club downstairs. Feel free to raid it if you don't like what I picked. Got to say, you're looking stronger already. I checked on you a few times throughout last night and today. You slept hard." The clothes smelled clean and not of hospital. "If I'm a saint, you're an angel. What time is it?" "Nine in the evening. Almost twenty-four hours after we brought you in. You ate?" At some point in my rest, I'd spotted a packet of sandwiches left for me and had devoured them. "That was you?" "No, Shade. Arran's going to call again soon, if you're fit to head downstairs? He tried once already, but we thought it better not to wake you." Something ticked over in her gaze. "Do you know who I'm talking about?" I grabbed my crutch and threw a glance around the room to check I had all I needed. Except I didn't own anything. At least not here. No keys or phone to take. "Yeah, I remember Arran." Just about. "Where is he anyway?" "Honeymoon. Somewhere hot. I'm a little jelly over it so I'm choosing to space on the details." Arran was married? Dixie noticed. Tsked. "His wife is Genevieve. She's lovely." The name summoned a face, though no other details. They'd come back. Piece by piece, the blanks were being filled in. "Fuck, right. I know her." "That memory still troubling you?" I purposefully eyed her throat bandage and returned her words from yesterday. "Nothing I want to talk about, hun." She smirked in amusement, and we left my room and made our way down the hall. Giving me a ten-minute warning, Dixie waited while I used the bathroom then cleaned myself up as best I could, changing my clothes for the replacement t-shirt and sweats, slicing them open for my boot, and the single shoe I needed to match. I needed a shower, which I could do now I had the leg cast off, but that meant removing the bandage covering the burns on my arm. I grimaced at it. In the hospital, the nurse had said it should be good, but I didn't want to stare down at that mess. Not yet. One demon at a time. Back in the cloakroom, I called Dixie in. "Can I use this?" I waved the razor I'd found in a row of toiletries baskets on the counter. "Everything here is for the staff to use. Knock yourself out." I fronted up to the sink, lathered up, and tackled weeks' worth of scruffy beard. As I worked-fucking hell, did that feel good-Dixie hopped onto the counter and crossed her legs at the ankles, watching me as she continued her crew update. "Shade's girlfriend is Everly, and she's pregnant. Cassie and Riot are paired off, but I don't think you've met him. He's a newer crew member, real name Riordan." She peered at me. "You saved Cassie from the fire that almost killed you. She came upstairs with me earlier to check on you. She's my boss now." I scowled at my reflection, hating my broken memory. "Tell me about the fire." Dixie launched into a story of how I'd been in the basement of a rival gang's brothel when someone torched the place. Cassie had been held prisoner and would've died if I hadn't boosted her out of a cellar door while the building burned around us. "Several people burned to death that night. It's why everyone thought you were dead. But Arran kept the faith. No body, no mourning. They pulled out any number of charred corpses, but none were yours." In the mirror, I finished my shave then ruffled my dark hair to cover the scar slicing back from my hairline. My brush with death was written right there on my face, but I was still the same guy from the wrong side of the tracks. Just one of my nine lives lost. Out of the bathroom, we made for the lift, and I leaned on the wall while Dixie pressed the button. "Why was I there? In the place that burned down." "Beats me." "Do the cops know I'm skeleton crew?" "Everyone knows, hun. Why?" Frustration twisted in my gut. I'd been a stranger to myself for weeks, but maybe I hadn't needed to be. The lift arrived, and we descended to the ground floor, opening onto a busy corridor. Music thumped through the wall to the left that opened onto the nightclub, the scent of dry ice and beer battling perfume and aftershave. On the other side, two women lingered in the open doorway of the dressing room. It was for the strip club, my mind supplied. In skimpy outfits, one a cowgirl and the other a bunny complete with fluffy round tail, both women snuck glances at me. I checked them out in return, again, testing myself. I was reasonably certain I was hetero, but what the fuck was wrong with me if it didn't have even a flicker of interest? Not in them, not in last night's sex show, and not in Dixie who was clearly a friend but also knock-out hot. "Am I gay?" I said in a rush. Dixie blinked. "Don't think so." "Do I have a girlfriend?" Her shoulders sank. "Not that I know of, but you did have a thing with Alisha before she got killed." She winced. "Shit. Did you know that? She was a victim of the murderer haunting Deadwater. That case got solved, but it won't bring anyone back." I stumbled, catching my step with my crutch. I had known about Alisha. I'd heard about her when I was, where? A flash of recollection hit me. My first real one that wasn't putting a name to a face. A dank room with a crowd of people watching a gangster holding court. The smell of smoke had ghosted through the air. I'd been sad at Alisha's death, but not broken like a boyfriend would've been. Dixie directed me to an office, the door opening on our approach and revealing Shade plus a second man I recognised as another of the skeleton crew's inner circle, a bear of a man with a thatch of dark-blond hair. "Tyler," Dixie whispered. I gave her a small smile of thanks. Shade hugged me like he had yesterday, or maybe the day before, I'd lost track of time. Tyler carefully palmed my shoulder, murmuring a greeting with his serious gaze taking me in. For a beat, he lifted it to look over my shoulder. Dixie peeked back at him, flushed pink, then closed herself out. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ ƒind ηøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I was messed up, but I knew attraction when I saw it. At the polished black desk, Shade collected a tablet and placed a call. While it connected, I took my fill of the room. I'd spent a lot of time in here, but on the other side of the desk. We had a bright spotlight that we'd shine on visitors to intimidate them. Against the red-brick wall at the back of the room was a filing cabinet with a stash of skeleton bandannas we'd use to cover our faces. There were knives concealed under the desk. A gun or two. Fresh relief had me standing a little easier. Home sweet home. "Arran, can ye hear me? He's awake." Shade held up the tablet, and on the screen, another familiar face resolved. Fuck, my hard shell crumbled. I hadn't dreamt last night. No hint of memory had returned over what I'd done to Arran. I knew it was bad. He had every reason to throw me out of the crew when I'd only just discovered it again. But if I was shaken, he was, too. Arran stared at me in amazement, his face white. He dug his fingers into his blond hair then swore. "You're a sight for sore eyes." My heart thumped like it wanted out of my chest. "Good to be back." He leaned in more, his gaze roaming over my features and lingering on my scar. "Shade tells me you were at death's door. What do you remember?" I cobbled together the bits of the story Dixie had supplied. "Being in a cellar among people I didn't trust. Smelling smoke. Getting Cassie out. Then the hospital. I was out of it for weeks." Arran inclined his head. "It was the Four Milers' cellar in an old church they'd converted to a brothel. You were undercover." My mouth fell open. Not a betrayal, not if I had been working for my crew. Arran continued, stress tightening his tone. "It was my fault you got hurt. I sent you in to spy on that gang and you nearly wound up dead. I could've got you out. You asked me if you could come home, and I said not yet. Your injuries, that scar, it's all on me. I'm so fucking sorry." A rush of emotion threatened me again. I shoved my hands into my pockets. "Fuck off with that." Arran laughed. It sounded like grief. "You should know the bastards who broke you are dead. Shade ended Bronson, then the fire killed Red. If it hadn't, I would've." They were the Four Milers leadership, or had been. Every time I heard a name, it woke up a sleeping part of my mind. "Good to know. The cop in the hospital mentioned a turf war." Shade stiffened. "Ye spoke to the police?" "One visited me. I gave him nothing." Both he and Arran stared. Tyler leaned in. "Did you get a name, or can you describe the guy?" I feature-listed the fifty-something cop, the big fucker who'd lurked at my bedside wearing a smug grin. Now I knew why. Tyler twisted his lips and queried, "Kenney?" "Got to be." Arran scowled. The name jogged my thoughts. "Yeah, that was him." Fury descended on Shade's expression, and his tattooed hand flexed over where I instinctively knew a knife was hidden in a holster at his side. "Chief Constable Kenney came here and told us ye were dead. He didn't have the DNA evidence to prove it, which makes me think he did it for his own sick pleasure." "I'm going to fucking kill him." Arran braced his hands behind his head and tipped back in his hotel room chair, then came back with resolve in his eyes. "It's not enough, but I'm going to right all the wrongs you suffered because of my bad decisions. You saved Cassie in that cellar. You nearly lost your life as well. I can't change that, but I can make up for it as best I can. You have the run of the warehouse and any work you want, when you're ready. Shade, Tyler, take care of our boy. I'll be back next week." I murmured my gratitude, because no way did he need to make up for anything, but the call was over, and I had two men to convince I was ready for work. Still, I couldn't help the nagging sensation that Arran was wrong. I didn't deserve his respect. I just couldn't remember why. It took another two days for Shade and Tyler to agree to discuss tasks with me. Time in which I met a grateful Cassie and her boyfriend, and familiarised myself with the warehouse again, putting more names to faces and sleeping long bouts in my sex-adjacent room. I even managed a shower, binding my arm in plastic so I didn't have to take off the bandage. The scar on my head was evidence enough of my history. I didn't want to see ruined tattoos and mangled skin from the burns. The next afternoon, I was back in the skeleton crew's office and pleading my case. "I'm dying to get back to work. You've gotta give me something." Shade sharpened a blade, the edge of it glinting in the light. He swapped a glance with Tyler. "We can't utilise most of your main skill set, not until that boot is off and you're fully mobile." "What are my main skills?" "Ye work well undercover, plus breaking and entering, stealing. Not so great at avoiding arrest." Heh. That must've been how my nickname came about. I steepled my hands. "I wouldn't be asking if I didn't have anything to offer. Let me earn my keep." Shade grumbled but gave in. "I'm partway through organising the next game we're running. I have a couple of people left to interview." I sat back, my heart thumping. I'd assumed he was going to offer me guard duty with Manny's team, or something less...compelling. The game. I remembered it, the dangerous fun we had in our basement. If things were murky going from the buzzing nightclub on one side of the skeleton crew's building across to the strip club on the other, then upstairs to the brothel with live performances and anything-goes sex, what happened in the basement turned up the dial to an extreme. The game was a predator-prey chase where we caged men then released them on a siren to hunt women. Everyone who played did so voluntarily, and live cameras displayed the action to paying customers. It was violent, sex-fuelled carnage. The description stirred my blood more than any naked bodies could've. Had I taken part? I wasn't sure. Perhaps I'd wanted to. "I'll help." Shade nodded then continued with a warning. "People apply for the wrong reasons sometimes. I'll let ye know when the next interviewee is coming in, and ye can be the judge. In the meantime, Tyler has something else he needs help with." Shade left us, and Tyler took over. "I lost two of my intercept crew recently." I pulled my mind back from the game's dark reaches and gave him my attention. "Intercept?" The bear of a man furrowed his brow. "That's my job. I intercept trafficking rings and bring them down. Did you forget?" "Shite, no. Ignore that." He bought my excuse and picked up the office tablet, logging on to a website. He handed it to me, and I squinted at the video footage of a run-down building in an alley somewhere in a suburb of Deadwater. There were several feeds being captured, and Tyler tapped between them. "We've been monitoring a property on Milburne Alley for months after it was reported that women had been brought in for unknown reasons. The caller thought it might be a brothel, but the cops don't give a fuck about those and passed it to us via a contact I have with them. They don't have the resources to investigate the degree of trafficking we know goes on. Nor can they take the kind of action that I can." I got what he meant. The skeleton crew would kill if necessary. The cops had inconvenient laws to abide by. "We know women are being trafficked into Scotland and Northern England. A year ago, we took down a team in transit and rescued two women and two teenage girls." "What happened to the traffickers?" "All dead. Unintentionally, in the case of the leader." "Badass." I grinned. Tyler's lips twitched. "I enjoyed it for the sake of the women we brought out of a container lorry, but it pissed me off that I couldn't interrogate their captors. I suspect this case could be connected. The one name we extracted from the traffickers before the last stopped breathing was 'Salter'. We think it's this guy." On the screen, he opened one of the thumbnails of a rangy mutt of a man. Sallow cheeks, a patchy beard, dark clothing. Rings on his fingers caught the light. "Jan Salter. Mean motherfucker. He's been seen at this building, as recently as last night when he met one of his lackeys. Since then, a woman showed up, too, apparently for a meeting. Lucky for us, we already had cameras up, as we believed this place is operating as a holding cell. What I need is for you to monitor the footage and see what you can learn." I studied the live feed Tyler switched to. "What should I focus on?" "Watch for Salter but also the woman. I want any clues to her identity. I don't think she's trafficked, she isn't behaving that way. Which makes me think she could be something to do with the organisational side of it. If so, she's possibly being coerced. I want to get to the truth." He left me to start my task. Getting comfortable behind the desk, I spooled through the cameras, counting off a view of the front of the building, one down the alley and catching the upper windows, and one inside the building which showed a darkened room where the alley's neon-purple lights fell over a bed. Holy fuck, he'd done a good job of setting up the spy kit. I rolled the footage of the clip from yesterday. On it, a curvy woman in an oversized hoodie and with blonde bobbed hair in loose waves crossed the screen. The camera captured a perfect view of her pert face, and my breathing stopped. Not because she was pretty-she was fucking beautiful-but because of something deeper. Attraction. Need. Recognition? For the first time since I'd come back to life, my dick woke up and paid attention. "Yup," I murmured. "You're coming home with me." I knew her. I had to. Which meant maybe she knew me. For several hours, I pored over the footage, streaming the street feed live so I didn't miss anyone showing up. There was no shot of the woman meeting Salter, if she had before she left. They hadn't appeared in the upstairs room which also had an active sound feed. At last, after rain began pattering down on the alley, a taxi cruised into the camera's live scope and stopped by the building's entrance. A passenger exited. It was our mystery woman. My pulse sped up. With her head down against the rain, she cautiously stepped up to the building then went inside, disappearing from view. Instantly, I was overheating again. I switched to the interior camera, tracking her as she went out of sight. It took a solid twenty minutes until she reappeared, this time in the upstairs room, visible to me on the wide lens. Alone, she perched on the bed, her legs bare under that same oversized hoodie, the picture of a vulnerable lass. Was she waiting? The car dropping her off felt like she'd been delivered to this...whatever it was. I hadn't caught sight of who she'd met. Dead certainty consumed me, and I wheeled my chair back to raid the desk. From a hidden drawer, I collected a knife, then a skeleton print bandanna from the cabinet. If I could get a phone and borrow a car, I knew exactly what I was doing this evening. Leaping with both feet into my assignment. I'd find out who she was, either by remembering or simply asking. The only way to be sure was to go to her, and if I was lucky, she might have something to say about me.