Arran’s Obsession (Body Count, #1)
Arran’s Obsession: Chapter 31

From the warm bag, I extracted the food parcel. It was small, as most were in the early part of the week. Just a couple of inexpensive pasta dishes.

“That house there.” Jamieson pointed across the path to a plain, concrete-block residence.

I swallowed and popped my door.

Off the main road, it was quiet here. Eerily so, with few lights on, the streetlamp overhead dark and buzzing with a fault. Whichever gang had claimed this area was hiding behind crumbling rows of cheap houses. Drug dealers, maybe. The other choice was guns. Not that I knew shit about the gangs beyond what Arran had told me.

Aside from Dad being seen with them.

A raindrop landed on my neck, and I jumped, hurrying across the pavement. The weather had eased, but I wasn’t about to linger more than I needed to.

Being here felt wrong. The sense I’d got at the start of my shift of being a fish out of water intensified. Arran’s point made sense—being connected to him made me a target. Once word got out and my face was associated with his, I wouldn’t be able to do this anymore.

I touched the gate handle, a trickle of fear slowing me. The house ahead was completely dark, not even the flicker of the TV to indicate someone was home.

“I don’t like it,” Jamieson said softly. “This was a mistake.”

A mistake borne of my stubbornness. I wanted to be like my mother, independent and strongminded, but she’d got tangled in gangs and ended up dead. I could have laughed if it wasn’t so tragic. Why hadn’t my mind supplied that extra detail when I was facing off with my very own personal gang leader?

“I don’t think I should ring the doorbell,” I replied. “I’ll leave it outside then they’ll get a notification that it’s been delivered.”

“Thank fuck for that. Give me the bag.”

I handed it to him, and the Scotsman leaned over the gate, setting it on the path.

There, delivered. I could mark it off on the app and move on. There was only an hour left of the shift.

I wasn’t sure I could do this anymore.

Footsteps sounded. Further down the street, a man appeared. He stopped in the shadows, watching us. Waiting. My stomach tightened.

“Who the fuck are you?” he called out.

Without hesitation, Jamieson stepped in front of me, facing the danger. “Get in the car,” he said in that same soft but deadly tone. To the man, he lifted a hand. “Just delivering food.”

“In a fucking Aston Martin?” he intoned.

“Borrowed because of the rain.” Jamieson forced lightness into his tone, backing up.

“Very generous friends you’ve got to let that kind of car down this side of the tracks.” The man strolled closer. “The state of that, brother. What, a hundred K? Two?”

I peered around Jamieson. The car enthusiast was older, maybe fifties. My father’s generation.

“Do you know where you are?” the older man said, louder. “This is Four Miler territory. You need to make your colours clear.”

“No colours. Just delivering food, like I said,” Jamieson insisted.

Colours presumably meant gang affiliation. But I’d got stuck on what the man had said. Four Milers. That was who my dad had been associated with, according to Arran. My pulse skipped a beat. He was right there in front of me, and there was no reason not to ask.

I stepped to one side so I could see the man more clearly. “Hey, do you know Sydney?”

“Who’s asking?” He squinted at me.

“Adam Walker’s daughter.”

“That so? Don’s girl as well, ain’t that right?”

I stared, horrified.

The man continued, “How’s your old man getting on with his job?”

Across the road, a door opened in another seemingly abandoned house. A man stepped out. A second followed, his hand going into his jacket.

Both had balaclavas hiding their faces, and a spiderweb tattoo crawled over the first’s arm.

“Four Milers, three, armed,” Jamieson said low, touching his ear.

Tyres squealed from the way we’d come.

I caught my breath. Earlier, Arran had kept an open line between our cars, but I assumed that was only to have the conversation about Cassie. Of course they’d connected up again before this last drop.

As he spoke, the three men flinched, their focus skipping up the road. Horror took over my bravery. Jamieson had kids. If he faced off against members of a drug-dealing gang and got hurt, it was my fault. What had I done?

“Move.” He spun around and tucked me under his arm, body blocking me across the pavement to his grey car.

Once I was in, he jogged to the other side, right as Arran’s then Shade’s cars tore down the street and halted just ahead of ours, blocking the road. Jamieson gunned our engine and spoke into his phone.

“I’ll get her out of here. Stay alive.”

He reversed from the space into the street, keeping on going backwards, the road too narrow to turn.

I dragged my gaze from Arran’s car to him. “Wait, what just happened?”

“Their suspicions changed into a threat. If we didn’t run, they’d have questioned us.”

“Where’s Arran? Why isn’t he following?”

Peering between the rearview and the side mirrors, Jamieson picked up speed. “Giving us space to leave safely.”

Misery swarmed me. “I only wanted to ask about my dad. Fuck. Arran’s going to be hurt.”

In the dark interior of the car, his friend chuffed a laugh. “I know things between ye are pretty new, but trust that he can handle shite like this. Gang warfare is his bag. He wrote the book on how it goes down in Deadwater.”

I stared into the shadowy road, centred on Arran’s red taillights. Anything could happen. Just because he’d fought for his place in this world didn’t mean he’d walk away now.

What if the whole gang emerged with weapons and set upon him? I couldn’t believe the drop-off had been a trap, surely not, but he’d told me exactly how big an issue it was for him to go down there. I’d left him amongst messed-up criminals with a liking for violence.

He could be killed.

“We have to go back,” I spluttered, but even as I said the words, I knew how ridiculous they sounded.

Jamieson made an off noise. “He’ll hang me by my balls. I’m taking ye to the warehouse. Arran will let us know when they’re away.”

I hunkered down, my thoughts spiralling in all directions and the city flashing by without my noticing. My phone dinged, and I snatched it up only to replace a timeout message from my food delivery app. I logged out in dismay. Let Jon fire me. So long as I got Arran back in one piece, I didn’t care.

Soon enough, we were through to the centre of town and on the west side, following the river. The warehouse sat on the banks, a queue of what looked like students on the walkway outside of Divide and the usual stream of men entering Divine, the black-and-pink signs a homecoming now.

The place loomed big, like it had the right to judge me for harming its master.

Jamieson parked, then there was nothing for it but to wait. He didn’t suggest going inside, and I didn’t budge. Time passed. I checked my phone over and over, tried and failed to play my alphabet game to make the minutes go by faster.

After God knew how long, Jamieson lifted his phone. Waggled it.

I grabbed it and put it to my ear. “Arran?”

“Maniac.”

I slapped my hand over my mouth, his warm tones so familiar. So loved. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Nothing a negotiation couldn’t handle.”

I slumped, my heart pounding. “I pictured you riddled with bullet holes.”

“Wishful thinking?” At my lack of an answer, he continued, a dangerous edge to his voice. “We’re on our way back.”

“I’m waiting outside.”

“I know. Be ready.” He disconnected.

I handed the phone back to Jamieson, unable to speak until Arran’s car appeared on the approach road then spun into his spot, Shade right behind. I leapt out to lurch for his door, but he was already out.

Blood stained his face, a spatter on his shirt. God.

“Are you hurt?” I gasped.

“Not my blood, baby. Now get inside so I can teach you a lesson about knowing your place.”

My breathing hitched, fight or flight kicking in. He was furious. I stepped back but he was faster. Arran grabbed me, throwing me over his shoulder, then marched to the club.

I thumped his back. “Let me go.”

“Not until I’ve fucked some sense into you.”

A laugh came from nearby and I hid my face, humiliation rising with my temperature. Thank God I was in leggings and not flashing my ass to everyone watching. Then we were indoors and outside the lift. It arrived, and Arran strode in.

I caught a glimpse of his expression in the mirror, something powerful stamped across his features. Desperate, aggressive need. I knew because I felt it, too.

He put me down, and I centred myself while he stabbed the button for floor three. The brothel.

“Listen.”

“No. It’s better for both of us if you don’t speak.” With controlled moves, he pulled a piece of material from his pocket. A skeleton bandanna.

I’d barely taken a breath when it was tugged over my head and covering my eyes.

The lift doors opened again and I was back over his shoulder and being carried down the hall.

“Everyone out,” Arran roared.

Faint sounds came, people presumably leaving, but my thrumming pulse in my ears and the darkness around my senses took over my thoughts.

I’d scared him tonight. I’d scared myself, too. He needed to work out those feelings for both of our sakes.

Somewhere deep in the brothel, Arran stopped and set me down, the soft carpet giving under my All Stars. With purposeful moves, he wrenched my shoes, socks, and leggings off me. My jacket and top followed, leaving me in just my underwear.

He spoke next to my ear, and I realised he’d sat down.

“This is for me. You’re going to take it.”

“What are you going to do?” I said with a whimper that was half barely contained need.

“Spank you. Three times for putting yourself in danger and three times for forcing my hand.”

“You’re… You’re going to hit me?”

“It’s a spanking. There’s a difference.”

He pulled me, and I dropped onto his lap with a rush of breath, his jeans soft against my bare skin. Instantly, his hand was on my backside, and I gritted my teeth, wary but frustratingly turned on. He’d never hurt me, I knew that, but getting spanked was something else.

“Start counting.”

“What?”

Arran smacked my ass cheek with the flat of his hand. I jerked forward with a gasp of shock, the pain nothing but the impact commanding every nerve ending.

“I said count.”

“One,” I gritted out.

“You don’t fucking talk to men like that. You don’t go anywhere near that road or any like it ever again.”

“I won’t. I’m not Don’s girl,” I stammered. “I know you heard that over the phone but I’m not. It’s a lie.”

“Mouth closed unless I tell you to open it.” Another smack landed into my flesh, the other side from the first. “Count it.”

His palm soothed the spot. I squirmed.

“Two. Arran, please.”

He spanked me a third time, harder now.

“You’ll listen to me and fucking understand that in circumstances like that, I know better. Got it?”

I whimpered and nodded because he was right. I’d refused to accept that my life was different now and insisted on doing that stupid job. I wasn’t to blame for his or the gang’s actions, but I’d take responsibility for my own.

“Three,” I said, a little more contrite.

“Good girl.” His fingertips brushed over the crotch of my underwear, then slid inside.

I groaned and writhed against him. Then went utterly still when cold metal touched my skin.

His knife blade.

The material split then fell away, fresh air touching my wet core that was bared to his scrutiny. A clatter followed like he’d tossed the weapon, thank God because it would be covered in someone else’s blood, then he was touching me again, driving over my arousal but not dipping inside.

“You’re fucking soaked from this, and you should see how pretty your ass is with my handprints on it. Now count the final three.”

He slapped me again, alternating my cheeks and groaning when I released another unbidden moan. I didn’t want to give up anything more, the fact I was wet from this was embarrassing enough, but I’d lost control. My body craved his beyond measure, and my arousal soaked my thighs.

Arran stroked my backside. “I think you liked this too much, baby. I need another way to punish you.”

He rose, taking me with him until I wobbled to my feet, then he pushed me backwards until my spine hit a padded surface.

The Saint Andrew’s cross.

I’d half expected a cage, or some other device, and his choice made me shiver. The last time I’d been on this had been such a mixture of pleasure and darker emotions, yet automatically, I stepped up, guided by Arran and lifting my hands on his muttered instruction.

With my legs held wide apart and my arms outstretched, I breathed, exposed and dying for more. I listened hard, trying to pick up any movement.

Arran’s voice was barely more than a growl. “This is for me, understand? Not you.”

Abruptly, he crowded me and punched inside me with a growl of pure need. I cried out, the position making his thrust so deep.

“Mine to own. Mine to keep fucking safe.”

His strokes got harder and more punishing with every word, his fingers bruising my hips.

“Yours,” I agreed.

I’d taken so much from him. His vow and his virginity. His peace of mind. I could give him this.

I also couldn’t stop myself from taking. He stretched me so good. Every hit inside boosted my already heightened state from the spanking. I was so ready, so close to the edge, so desperate to reach it and fall. I pulsed around his dick, the first warning of an impending climax that was going to blow my mind.

Arran stopped. Pulled out.

I exhaled disappointment, bereft without him filling me. The room quietened. I focused hard to pick up on his location.

Something touched my ankle and I jumped.

It was his knife, rising up my leg, drawing fire over my thigh. He skipped to my belly, digging the flat side of his blade into my soft flesh.

Then it hooked under my bra and sliced.

Another two cuts and my last remaining item of clothing was gone, pulled away and no doubt thrown.

“You’re as beautiful as you are infuriating.” Arran tweaked my nipple.

I jumped, the action softening as his mouth replaced his fingers. He tormented me, both nipples sucked hard and lightly bitten. Love bites delivered into my skin until he rumbled approval at whatever he could see. The line of bites on my breasts. My shredded underwear and red ass from earlier. Him marking me however he wanted.

His hands took my hips and he entered me again with a hard thrust.

“So fucking wet.”

Desperation filled me with every surge of his body slamming into mine. Sweat broke out on my brow. I needed to come. He wasn’t going to let me, just like when he’d had free use of me and I’d been nothing more than his fuck toy.

A traitorous telltale pang of lust struck me, echoed by every pleasure point, my pussy squeezing his dick.

Arran stopped, of course, repeating the act of teasing other parts of me then fucking me all over again. Start. Stop. Killing me by holding off my climax.

Just when I thought I’d lose my mind, his actions surprised me. One by one, he released my constraints. My wrists first then my ankles.

My surprise was short lived. Lifting me, he spun me around the other way, so I was face-on with the cross. Methodically, he tied me back onto it. I gave him no complaint, as hooked on this as he seemed to be.

“I could edge you all night as the club fills and empties, driving you insane with need.”

Some messed-up part of me thrilled at his words. He wasn’t done.

“But I need to come and fucking fast.”

Arran toyed with my ass cheeks. I stiffened, my wariness returning.

He knelt and kissed my backside, biting where he’d spanked me, and adding to the marks he was leaving on my skin. My nerves blazed where he touched me. Between my legs, I dripped for him.

Arran captured some of that arousal and drew it back to my puckered rear hole. He pressed a fingertip inside and I moaned loud in shock. His tongue followed, penetrating me right there. Then another finger drove in, up to the knuckle. He rotated his hand, opening me up.

I couldn’t close my legs or touch him in any way. All I could do was feel.

He spat saliva onto my ass then stood. Fear brightened every sense. His dick pushed against my asshole where his fingers and tongue had been. A much thicker presence bringing discomfort.

My moan turned into a choked sound of confusion.

“You’ll take whatever I give you and you’ll love it,” he commanded, pushing deeper.

Two inches inside, he pulsed, thickening.

Him spearing me lit up something unexpected. A flare of pleasure that I focused on, letting every other emotion, the humiliation of being carted inside, the confusing spanking, fall away.

It felt good.

Arran’s mouth landed on the back of my neck. He kissed me, giving me the edge of his teeth as he thrust into my ass. Then he bit me and bottomed out at the same time, our bodies touching and his arms around me. His groan matched mine from sheer pleasure.

“Tell me how it feels,” he begged.

“G-good.”

“I should hate that I need that.”

“But you don’t,” I finished for him.

He rocked against my ass. Each surge charged me up, and I surrendered to the feeling and the fire he stoked inside me. My chest heaved. He tugged my hair to bring my mouth around to meet his. Savage, delicious man.

Arran broke the kiss. “You need to come because I’m too fucking angry to do it but I need that feeling around my dick.”

He worked in and out, only a few times needed to return me to the beginnings of a fast orgasm. Then I was coming, spasming around him, and Arran growled and stilled, pulsing into me, too.

At last. God, I’d needed that so much.

I was still shuddering when he released me. Tossed my clothes at me and commanded me to dress. I had love bites, spank marks, and the unexpected prints of some stranger’s blood on my skin plus a thousand emotions in my heart. The one that came to the top? If Arran was okay, nothing else mattered.