Page 71 of Convict's Game
And if they didn’t? Then I’d go down fighting for him, fake deal or not.
“Sweetheart, anyone looking at us would know it was right. I only have to think about you and he’ll see it in my face.”
We returned to the car, but that comment stayed with me. What was odd was how completely natural his statement felt, almost as if he meant it for real.
Back home, I dressed to impress in a thigh-skimming strapless purple dress—reminiscent of the one I’d worn in the game but a thousand times classier—and makeup that was on point for the hottest nightclub in the city. Armour against the man who owned it.
Convict was banned from the bedroom so we had a chance of making it out of the apartment. When I emerged, he was in a fresh black t-shirt and jeans from his stash.
He gave a low whistle. “Yep. I’m getting into a fight tonight.”
My cheeks heated. “That was our deal. To show your friends that we’re together.”
“Just for the deal. Right.” His eyes flashed dark, and he turned to leave.
And that countdown in my mind ticked on for when we’d come to a screeching end.
Chapter 26
Convict
Pink neon lights strobed across the entrance to my crew’s warehouse, filtering through Mila’s blonde hair. Music thudded in time with my heartbeat. I fell back a few steps, running my gaze up her long legs from her high heels to the line of her short, sparkling dress. Outlined against the dark night, she was a fucking vision. An angel.
She twisted back to me and tilted her head, her fingers extending for me to take. Tight dress, pink lips, all mine.
For now.
I swallowed, and time caught up with me.
Catching her hand, I tugged her closer and ran an arm around her waist. The sound of the crowd rushed back in. From the line outside of Divide, people catcalled us. Men entering Divine’s strip club on the other side of the rope watched her with lust in their eyes.
I glowered back until they dropped the gazes to the ground. Mila giggled and palmed my chest. At the front of the queue, one of the security team waved us inside, murmuring his congratulations, the sentiment echoed by those nearby.
“Good game. Way to fight for her. She knew she was yours,” some suited arsehole commented.
The girl on his arm curved her lips into a knowing grin. “We re-enacted your claim. She got away then you found her again. It’s our favourite.”
Mila hid her face in my shirt and gave them a shy wave. Fucking sex tourists, though despite my annoyance at them seeing her naked, something about it was hot, too.
Inside the building, we passed through the dark nightclub, the music vibrating through the floor and stealing any chance of conversation. The DJ mixed a dance version of ‘i’m yours’ by Isabel LaRosa. Mila peered at the heaving dance floor where strobe lights flickered over the crowd. Her shoulders moved to the beat.
I wanted to hit up the VIP area and dance with her there. I wanted to do a lot of things with her. But I was here for one reason, and it wasn’t good.
At the back of the lower floor, I tapped a code into the staff exit, and we entered the central corridor that ran between the two clubs. As always, it was buzzing with skeleton crew, dancers, and other employees, everyone busy on a Saturday night. Men shook my shoulder or slapped my hand. Women complimented Mila’s hair, her fit, and her choice.
Forcing a smile took more energy than I had. At the office, I stuck my head inside, finding Shade behind the desk. “Arran around?”
The tattooed enforcer jumped his gaze between us, tension in his frame. “Upstairs in his apartment. He said for ye to go up. Hit the eight. Your pass has access.”
In the lift, my pulse kept up the same thudding beat. A metronome of my impending doom.
Mila checked her makeup then watched me in the mirror. “Did I do okay as the bashful new bride?”
“You’re perfect.”
If Arran kicked me out, she’d have no reason to be with me. I stuck my hands into my pockets and tried to stop myself from spiralling.
The lift arrived on the eighth floor, and we stepped out into the hall. Other than the stairs and the lift, there were two doors, one ahead and one to the right. I hesitated, not knowing which apartment to choose. Knocking on the wrong door would be a dead giveaway.
