Chapter 46 Convict Sleep wouldn't come. Though Mila had curled up on the couch and passed out, dawn found me borderline frantic. I was wrong. She wasn't lying. Or, I was right and she was. My head was so fucked, I was going insane. Alongside that was the weight of partial memories I still couldn't reclaim. Every time I tried, they slipped around and moved. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I slid it out to dismiss it, but it was a message from my bank. At last, I'd gained access to my account, having supplied the driver's licence I'd needed as evidence. Piece by piece, I was becoming real again. The notification allowed me to log on to their app, and I scrolled through the transactions, hope stirring in my chest that the familiar spending pattern of my old life would trigger memories. My pay. Endless pizza takeaways. Some bills. I scrolled back to the date when I was supposed to be working for the rival gang. A ten grand payment stood bold on the page. I stared at it. There was no way the Four Milers would have paid that to a new recruit. Nor did it come from the skeleton crew because Manny told me they'd switched to cash. Unless I'd had a surprise lottery win, logic gave me only one solution. I'd been paid off for something. Sickness swirled in my belly. When I'd come out of the hospital, I'd been certain that I'd betrayed my crew. Even when I got to the bottom of entering the game and my breaking of Arran's rules, my gut had told me there was something else. Fucking hell. If the money was a bribe, I was the worst. Maybe it was better that Mila didn't feel what I wanted her to. Her family's meeting was in a matter of hours, and even with Salter brought in, I'd failed to deliver Jacobs which meant Mila couldn't swing his influence. We'd run out of time. She wanted to leave me. If that was true and not the heat of the moment, after the deal we'd made, I'd be the worst man alive if I didn't let her walk away, and I was already toeing that line. Besides, what was I supposed to do, handcuff her to the bed for the rest of her life? I couldn't even joke at how the thought was compelling. A strange and entirely new sensation spread through my chest. A kind of spasm, but it broke my mood and edged me into desperation, my fingers gripping the edge of the sofa as the crush of it worsened. What the fuck was wrong with me? Was I having a heart attack? I held my gaze on Mila. The answer came slowly. This was pain. I'd never felt it before, but the knowledge that she would walk out of my life hurt. The more I considered living without her, the more I descended into agony. My body felt like it was dying, except it was all in my head. For the first time in my life, real pain became known to me. I got why others did anything to avoid it, because this fucking sucked. Climbing to my feet, and careful not to disturb the exhausted woman, I stumbled to the kitchen in search of water. An image hit me so hard it nearly knocked me out. A recent memory formed from fragments that had troubled me for days. A woman's face. Maybe even a girl because she was young. I'd picked her up from somewhere. I was the driver. Breathless, I jammed my fingers into my hair and tried to push the scene out. Nighttime, yes. Late enough that the streets were dead. Salt air. Holy shit. Leith? The scenery filled in. It was a dockside building. I knew the street. That was enough. The sickness inside me spread. What if the money was worse than a bribe? What if it was a payout for fucking trafficking? I had to fill in the gaps, the importance of it overriding every other sense. A quick glance at the time told me I had three hours before I needed to be back for the meeting. Just enough time to make the trip and force the rest of the damning scene to the fore. I pocketed my keys. Stooped to kiss Mila on the forehead. The notepad I'd used was on the coffee table, and I scrawled a quick message. Be back soon. I won't miss the meeting. Then I was gone. A little over an hour later, and I rolled into the town of my birth, my manic rush and the early morning giving me a clear run up the coast. I passed Ocean Drive where Arran and I had walked, and drove onto Dock Place, crossing a bridge that led to where the Eden had been moored. Outside a huge warehouse, I exited the car and stared up at the white letters on the red frontage. Marchant Haulage. The memory blurred then gripped me once again. It was here I'd come to pick up the woman, her dark hair half hiding her terrified eyes. Horror chilled me, and I stumbled closer, gaining more slivers of a picture as I moved. It was a job for the Four Milers. They'd sent me. I swallowed. Maybe this wasn't on me. I'd been undercover for Arran. But fucking trafficking? She'd trembled in the cold, so I'd stayed gentle and calm, offering her a coat that she refused. I couldn't identify the grim-faced man who'd escorted her out, but I'd delivered her to the Four Milers' brothel, assuming she was a sex worker. Wait. Something had happened before that. I crossed the yard and approached the brick building, setting my hand to the cold wall, just like I'd done in the not-too-distant past. While waiting for the woman to come out, I'd searched for the warehouse's name, typing Marchant Haulage into my browser. It brought back Mila's face. Not the sad funeral shot as she hadn't been bereaved at that point, but a happy one with her grandfather. I'd flipped through more, instantly hooked on the beautiful woman. Holy shit, I was wrong in thinking I knew her. Nor had she lied to me. Hers was just one of the last faces I'd seen as that was probably the evening where everything had gone to hell. My elation curled in my gut and soured, the cold light of day exposing a damning fact. Last night, I'd implied that her grandfather might be a people trafficker. Now, I was ninety-nine percent certain it was true. How the hell did I tell her? She'd hate me for it. She'd hate me more if I lied. She'd despise me if that money I'd been given was for more than the undercover work. "If you're here to steal, you're out of luck." A voice cut through my thoughts, and I jerked around to see a man approach. I squinted in recognition. He was the son of the Marchant-Smythes, the one who'd been playing video games in the daytime like a fucking teenager when Mila and I visited his parents. Preston? Wesley? Fuck if I could remember his name. "Everything is locked down tight," he continued. "Protected from thieving chavs like you." At whatever my expression had shifted into, he gave a mocking laugh, his fingers moving over his phone. "You didn't think I recognised you when you showed up with Mila? What are you, muscle to protect her? Definitely not a boyfriend. Not for someone like her with a stick so far up her ass she can sweep the floor. Does she know what kind of scum you really are?" I'd missed something with this guy. Staring hard, I worked out what I knew. He lived with his parents. He had a girlfriend and no job. One of the cars outside their luxury home was probably his. The cars. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. My mind leapt back to the night I was here with Arran and the blue BMW that had cut us up in town. His. Fucking. Car. I lurched to a conclusion. "Fine words for a man who blew up a boat in the world's biggest tantrum. What, did Mummy and Daddy cut your allowance?" "The Eden? Why the fuck would I do that? It was worth a fortune. Maybe I'm just here to see if the old man lined his cabin in gold like his fucking coffin." Mini Marchant-Smythe stepped up to me, inches shorter, and giving me a close-up of his mid-brown hair cut straight across his forehead. "And fuck you for that attitude. I owe you for knocking me out. I don't give a crap if it was ten years ago." Ten years? "What are you talking about?" His features tightened. "Piss off. I don't buy it that you don't remember me. I split your lip." No memory served me, but I took a guess. "You visited the Glass House for fights. So did a lot of people. I floored a whole lot of boys like you. Congrats on the lucky shot." Anger flickered in his eyes. I'd pissed him off. Good. I wanted him rattled, because him being here was no coincidence. His family were among those shouting loudest about being cut off. He knew the area and had clearly hung out here when he was a teenager. Then he was back on the very night the boat blew up. What else had he done? I lifted my chin. "What's your name?" He didn't answer. Only held his gaze on me then snuck a look at his phone. I tried again. "You're working for the company. Was that off the books? Carrying out dark deeds for old man Marchant?" It wasn't him I'd pictured in my memory of the trafficked woman, but that didn't mean he wasn't involved. Why else would he be here? Not just today but often. Mini Marchant-Smythe curled his lip. "Work? This fucking family is a joke. Did you know my girlfriend's mother is a police officer?" I squinted, not following his train of thought. What difference did that make? It was then I picked up the siren, wailing in the sea air and coming in fast. He'd called the cops on me. Shit, I was on probation. And trespassing. Arran might have paid off the police in Deadwater, but I had no idea if that applied here. His mocking continued as I backed away. "She was so interested when I said your name. I remembered you as Convict, but Mila called you Roscoe. No confusing the identity of a man like you." I exited the yard, rounding the tall stone wall onto the road and the bridge over the water to the mainland. The police car screamed to a stop, blocking my ride, and an officer leapt out. From her belt, she lifted her Taser. For fuck's sake. I couldn't do this right now. I had to get back to Mila ahead of the meeting or she'd think I'd abandoned her. In a rush, all my mistakes fell as dominoes in my mind. The fact the police were interested in me. The way I moved like I was invincible. The way I treated my broken body without care. I reached for my phone. The cop yelled and ran at me. The crackle of electricity filled the air, and I ducked to avoid it. But the prongs from the Taser missed their mark of my chest and instead struck my temple. Right over the site of the brain injury that had stolen my thoughts. I dropped to the ground and my world turned black.