Page 66 of Convict's Game
“I think so. Which makes him sound dangerously noble. I’m pretty sure he’d deny it if asked.”
Convict pondered that, throwing back two huge beef sandwiches before he spoke again. “Why isn’t he the heir? He looks older than you.”
“He is. Five years older. I assume our grandparents offered and he refused. He isn’t…malleable, like I am. I would do anything to fit to their needs. He’s like a brick. Solid and dependable but with no give. When we met, I was enthralled at having a brother. He was, not hostile exactly, but it took a long time for him to warm to me, and he refused point blank to discuss anything to do with the Marchant family. I chipped away at him like an ice block until he began to return my texts. I forced a relationship out of him. You know, after what happened yesterday, I should call him. Just to check in.”
“He seems like the type who can take care of himself.”
“True.”
I side-eyed my phone. I’d skimmed my copious messages and emails last night to check what had come in while I’d been gone. My inboxes were overflowing. Relatives had been messaging me relentlessly after getting the same cold shoulder from my grandmother that I had. They’d drawn a blank with the company’s board, and I was the next best bet.
I felt for them. With their income gone, they were in turmoil. I’d done all I could to help, but the only solution was to get the business up and running again, and I was breaking my back for that. I needed to send replies, but for one more day, they could wait.
I scanned the list of new messages. One caught my eye for the user name. I opened it.
Anonymous: Marchant was a despicable piece of shit. Enjoy Hell, Austin. You deserved to die.
It wasn’t the first hate mail my grandfather had received. In fact, I had a folder titled exactly that, and I filed the new message away so I didn’t have to look at it again.
It hurt, though. Austin Marchant was the greatest man who ever breathed. I missed him so much. How dare a stranger treat his memory like that?
Bothered, I wrote out a message to my grandmother, just like I’d done almost every day for the past month.
Mila: Are you available to meet today? I can come to you, wherever you are. I miss you. I need to know you’re okay. Please call me.
I hovered over the ‘Send’ icon, thumb tapping the edge of the screen. Maybe it was pointless. Maybe she’d deleted every message I’d written. I sent it anyway.
Convict touched my knee and claimed my attention back to him. “All okay?”
“Just work nonsense. I need to get out of this inbox.” I shut it down and tossed my phone.
“I meant to say I’ve heard nothing about Jacobs yet. Tyler has set up surveillance. Until he has news, I was thinking how I need to check out the places where I’m supposed to have lived. Wantto come? I can be quick if you’d rather not. Maximum two hours apart.”
There was hope in his expression, his hair still damp and falling in his eyes. It took him back to the cute, boyish side I liked so much in him. My heart softened.
“I’ll come.”
Just like that, the devil returned. A flash of humour and need in his dark eyes. “You’ll come more if we stay here, but I’m down to see what we can manage in a quick outdoor fuck on our travels.”
The weird thing? I didn’t want him to be joking.
Chapter 25
Mila
Into rush hour, we exited the underground parking, Convict pushing into the nose-to-tail traffic in a way I’d never have the confidence to do.
He raised an easy hand to thank the driver he’d cut up, earning the blare of a horn. “Can you drive?”
“Yes, but I don’t have a car anymore.” The sporty little Audi I’d driven from ports to office buildings all around the country was mine no longer.
“What happened to it?”
“It belongs to the business. Like everything else, it’s unable to be used until the will is read. I’m lucky that the apartment is privately owned, though I’ve no idea if any bills are being paid. It’s possible that the electricity will get cut off.”
He twisted his lips. “All the more reason for me to find out if I have a place to live.”
We stopped at traffic lights. I watched him slyly, using my hair as a shield. Convict in my home had been a devastating sight. A big man with ink and dark hair, barefoot on my white floorboards and with a coffee mug in his hand. Now we were in the car, I was back to ogling his confident sprawl in the driver’sseat, two fingers guiding the steering wheel. I could get used to being a passenger princess.
