Wild Devil, page 15
And I fucking hate it.
At the same time, I can’t imagine living without this bitter sting. I’m addicted to her like nothing else…
And she knows it.
“Can you stay with me?” She looks back at me through a fringe of white-blond hair. “Just for a little while.”
In all honesty, the answer should be no. With Heywood’s plans alone, there are so many moving parts to coordinate. Ben would kill me if he were here to see how easily I relent with a nod.
“Of course.” I sink onto the narrow mattress beside her, throwing my arm around her waist. Now would be a good time to force the issue about my previous confession. I consider it.
Then I feel her body go limp in my arms, and bothering her at all becomes the furthest thing from my mind. I don’t need an answer, I decide.
It doesn’t matter if she feels the same way or not. I may not be an expert on love, but I can recognize it when I feel it. How she may feel in return doesn’t matter.
I love Frances Heywood, and that’s a fact.
Maybe she’s smart enough to see that as more of a curse than a blessing.
After she’s deep asleep, I finally disentangle my limbs from hers. When I step out from behind the makeshift screen, Damien is already there to block my path, arms crossed, scowl fixed.
“It’s about damn time,” he mutters. “I know you two needed to reconnect and all, but did you forget that you’re kind of in the middle of something right now? I don’t know, like tracking down a psychopath before he potentially blows up all Westpoint City to score political points?”
“Keep it down!” I glance back over at Frey. She stirs in her sleep but doesn’t seem to have heard Damien, thank fuck. Still, I take a few steps toward the front of the warehouse, ensuring she’s out of earshot. “But you’re right,” I say, turning back to Damien and Ben behind him. “So, let’s get to it. Any luck tracking down where Heywood went?”
“No,” Ben admits. “But your cartel buddy seems to think that he must be ready to coordinate their final plans. There is some dedication of some statue happening downtown in three days. That might be when they strike.”
“And what about the fire?” I add, crossing my arms. “Any news of the stepmother?”
Damien frowns, shaking his head. “Not so much as a fucking whisper. I bet they’re working overtime to keep it under wraps. They even put a notice in the paper of the princess’ wedding to Mr. Burnt-n-crispy.”
“Maybe now isn’t the time for jokes,” I point out, though sympathy for the bastard husband-to-be is far from my mind. I’m more worried about something Frey said. “Frey’s stepmother could have died there too.”
“My sincere condolences,” Damien says with a scoff. “You know what does deserve my emotional focus right now? Getting you clear of this mess and putting Silas in check.”
“Silas,” I say, unnerved by a sudden realization. “He wasn’t at the manor.”
“No,” Ben says. “Which means that Heywood thought it more prudent to have him somewhere else, tidying up loose ends.”
“Sounds about right to me,” Damien pitches in.
But something still doesn’t add up. “How do we know that Catherine set the fire in the first place?” I counter.
Grunting, Ben strokes his chin. “You thinking it was a setup?”
“Otherwise, why would Heywood leave his daughter and new son-in-law in the middle of nowhere, unprotected? My guess is that the fire was planned to get the unfortunate new husband out of the way.”
“But by who?” Ben wonders. “Silas or Heywood himself?”
“That’s the real question. And how long will it take them to realize who really went up in the blaze and who didn’t?”
“Another mystery to solve,” Ben says with a pensive frown. “You seem to be an expert at racking them up these days.”
“Well, call me fucking Nancy Drew,” I counter. Hell, it’s a better nickname than “ex-almost-felon.” Or “murderer.” In a twisted way, all this shit is squarely my fault. “The fact of the matter is that everything stems from the same two-headed snake. Silas and Heywood. We cut them off, and we slay the beast.”
Ben raises an eyebrow. “So, what’s our next move?”
Even though it’s self-serving, I can’t deny that there is some benefit to a certain approach. “We lay low,” I say. “Put out feelers. Keep our heads to the ground. The men can base here, but if Frey really is essential to this whole scheme, I say we move her somewhere else. A place that’s easier to defend.”
Ben scoffs. “I agree, but do you have any idea where you’d like to hide the daughter of the most powerful man in the city for a few days?”
“I’ll think about it,” I say, heading past him toward the front of the warehouse. “Speaking of hiding, where are Lyra and Sam? You got them out of the city like I told you, right?”
Ben winces as his face turns beet red. “About that… Damien knew of a place, and it turned out to be perfectly safe. Actually, you know, it was more convenient than any other solution.”
I raise an eyebrow at his cautious tone. “But?”
He shrugs. “It may or may not be legal.”
“Ben…”
“Damien may or may not have had Lex hack a real estate listing for a waterfront cabin and made it so some random alias of his shows up as the owner in perpetuity.”
“That definitely doesn’t sound legal,” I point out. Not that I’m in any position to quote property laws.
“So what?” Ben winks. “You don’t really care, anyway. It can’t be traced to you, either. Besides, Kane is there now, and Lex even rigged the security system so that a fly can’t get close to the place without us knowing. Legalities aside, it’s safe. Now we have to focus on more important things, like getting your little princess out of town.”
“Any ideas?”
“I think a lakeside retreat would do her some good,” he says. “But you need to get back as soon as possible. We need you if we’re going to take down the Heywood bastard, not to mention Silas.”
“So I take her there, but then come right back,” I suggest, hating the idea almost as much as I know what a good idea it is.
“Better than putting her in harm’s way,” Ben replies.
I nod. But something tells me that what I want won’t matter a damn bit if Frey refuses to leave.
EIGHTEEN
FREY
Damn, Daze Keaton. Just when I think I have him figured out...
He has to go and say something like, I love you, Frey.
He meant every word—no one could deny the sincerity of his gruff tone. Daze Keaton loves me.
However, I am not worthy of that love, and I didn’t even have the courage to tell him so. It isn’t all self-pity that causes me to feel this way. It’s a cold, hard truth. Since I met Daze a couple weeks ago, he has saved me more than once and put his life on the line without hesitation. In spite of the danger it put him and his family in, he never hesitated to take on my personal drama.
To put it simply, he is perfect.
And I would be so very selfish to continue to trap him within my web of chaos. My father will eventually have to be dealt with, and a good person wouldn’t allow Daze to handle the aftermath. It seems that Michael Heywood’s crimes go well beyond some petty crime ring and Hale’s death. As I think of those poor girls in the barn, I know it is my duty to protect them and anyone else caught up in this maze of lies.
No matter the personal cost.
Throughout what little sleep I manage to get, the thought haunts me until a blinding white light drips through the square windows built into the corrugated metal walls as I peel my eyes open.
The place looks no better today than when I first saw it, shattered, and covered in blood. To put it politely, it’s a dump. The sort of place my father’s goons wouldn’t dare to set up shop in. He would sneer at the dirty concrete floors and flickering fluorescent lighting, which makes me love them all the more.
With no clear direction, I slip past a gap between several large boards of plywood nailed to wooden structure beams. More makeshift planks are affixed at various intervals to divide the wide, narrow space beyond.
I don’t see Daze at first. Several other equally muscular figures, wearing nondescript clothing, carry boxes from one corner to another. I wander through the perilous field of plywood, out to a broad open area where Daze sits at a long table flanked by four other figures, only two of whom I recognize.
“Looks like the princess has finally arisen,” one of the men says. His shaggy dark hair and relaxed posture give away his identity even before I see his face. Ben. “Good to see you in one piece. You okay?”
I nod.
“You should still be sleeping,” Daze grumbles. He pulls back from the table and approaches me. “How are you feeling?” His expression is carefully blank, and I feel a tendril of unease. Perhaps he realized over the past few hours what I already knew. I’m not worthy of his love.
“I’m okay. Have you found out anything about the fire?”
“No,” he admits. “But it seems I’m not the only one in the dark.”
“What do you mean?”
As he crosses over to the table, he grabs a worn newspaper from the pile strewn across its surface. The issue is from earlier this morning, and printed below the headline is a picture of a man I vaguely recognize beneath the letters: ABERNATHY Patriarch concerned about son’s whereabouts.
“Colton,” I say.
“This could either be a show, or it seems like your daddy hasn’t been very forthcoming with his partner in crime. In any case, it gives us a good distraction to get you somewhere safe.”
“Where?” I ask, curious.
He winks. “You’ll see when you get there.”
I wince. The secrecy triggers a chilling memory of my father blindfolding me on the way to the manor, but Daze’s warm smile calms any unease. I didn’t realize just how much I missed him until now. At the sight of his smile, I almost forget…
“You’ll like this place, I promise,” he says thickly, reaching for my hand. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Do you trust me on that?”
I nod. “I trust you on anything.”
NINETEEN
DAZE
I can’t help it. I need to see her face when we leave the city. As expected, a mixture of shock and confusion flood those beautiful damn eyes once Westpoint has faded into the distance. A swath of green spread out beneath a gray sky is all that lies ahead of us. She doesn’t question me out loud, though. Instead, she keeps her gaze on the tinted windows of the truck in a subtle display of trust that blows my mind.
There is an entire police force searching for her, including her father’s flunkies. Nevertheless, she can doze beside me, completely free of tension. Not for a moment do I take that trust for granted.
Damien’s intel must have been spot on, because this way out of Westpoint seems clear. No one other than the average trailer or camper heading for a weekend getaway has passed us so far.
We might as well be in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere.
As a result of the monotony, my mind starts to wander. Mainly toward Frey and her silence after my prior confession. I love you, Frey.
It’s cliché as hell to feel this way, but it stings that she didn’t say it back. Like a teenager, I was caught up in a whirlwind of hormonal affection, only to realize that the person I’ve been fucking only wanted that from me and nothing else. Sex.
Can I even blame her? No. Do I still want more?
Hell yes.
Call me pussy-whipped, but I would give anything in the world to hear those words trickle out of her mouth. To know that she feels the same for me. However, dwelling on it right now won’t help.
As she stirs sleepily and opens her eyes, I plaster a fake fucking grin on my face.
“Hey, how you holding up?”
“I’m fine,” she says, turning toward me. “Where are we going?”
I bite down on my lip and contemplate telling her the full truth or a mere summary of events. In the end, I settle for a compromise between both. “Damien knows a place just outside of town where we can lie low for a while. Knowing him, it’s no luxury paradise, but I’m sure it’s better than squatting behind a piece of plywood.”
And, if Ben’s description was anywhere close to accurate, we have to hope that the police don’t catch wind of the less-than-legal means by which the place was obtained. In the meantime, it’s the only safe option we’ve got. When I look back at Frey, she doesn’t crack a smile and I sense that there’s more than exhaustion to her current mood.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she says, turning away. A sigh comes before I can demand a real answer. “I should be there with you, fighting to take down my father. Not sunbathing by a lake. I’m not some weak, helpless idiot. Not anymore.” Her arms are crossed, and her bottom lip is caught between her teeth. It’s so damn stubborn that a smile tugs on my mouth in response.
“I know that. Better than anyone, I know that.”
She keeps her gaze averted away, and I know better than to push the issue.
“Look, we can talk about this later, okay?” I murmur, turning back to the road. “Besides. Looks like we’re already here.”
Legalities aside, Damien came through. A modest cabin is visible on a ridge near the end of a long, winding road. While it’s no five-star resort, it’s a step up from some shitty warehouse at the heart of a building war between the gangs and the police. It also seems to have one main access point via this very road, which I’m sure Kane has scoped out to hell and back. If the man has even a fraction of the experience he claims to, then they probably saw us coming from a mile away.
Sure enough, the second we pull up, a familiar figure appears at the end of the driveway.
“It’s about damn time,” Lyra mutters as I roll down the window. “I was worried sick about you. Next time, you warn me that your idea of ‘safe’ involves some random place in the boondocks—”
“Daddy!” A tiny figure comes running from inside the cabin at full speed. He’s barefoot in bright-blue pajamas with bears printed all over them. His beaming grin is a direct contrast to the pissed, fully dressed Lyra, who looks like living hell, armed with a juice box and a cell phone.
“Sam, get back inside! I don’t want you running around in this place. Be careful! And you—” Her eyes land on me, narrowed to slits. “As I was saying, it’s nice to finally get a meeting with the man of the hour. You made such a show of shitting on Silas for what he dabbles in, but here I see that you’ve been rebuilding your own little biker gang all this time. Time you could have spent with someone else, mind you.”
I grit my teeth as I park and step out of the truck. “Can we save the lecture for later?”
Lyra scoffs but shrugs. “Fine. To be fair, this place isn’t too bad. The cabin itself is small, though, with just two bedrooms. Me and Sam have already claimed one and the big guy, Kane, has been taking the couch. I suppose you and your guest can decide amongst yourselves who gets the other bed.”
She ushers us forward with a wave of her hand and traipses up the narrow, rickety steps to the large wooden door that serves as the main entrance. Once inside, I see that Lyra’s description of the place was less than accurate—it’s fully outfitted with a TV and apparently Wi-Fi, judging from the laptop that Kane has balanced on his lap while seated on a plaid couch. Not to mention, air conditioning keeps the place at a comfortable temperature, unlike the sweltering warehouse we’ve held up in.
“Hey, Daze.” Kane acknowledges me with a nod while barely taking his eyes off the computer screen. “I’ve been keeping an eye out. No trouble so far.”
I return his nod while still following Lyra. Past him are the two rooms with a view of the water.
“You can take that one,” I say to Frey, nodding to the narrow bed. “I’ll crash on the porch to keep watch.”
“And I will heat up some dinner for everyone,” Lyra says with a nervous laugh. Hospitality isn’t in her nature—she must be anxious as hell, more worried than she’s letting on. To my shock, she even musters up a wary smile before returning to the kitchen.
In no time, we’re all settled in and seated around the rickety table in the main room. Kane is nowhere in sight, though I notice Lyra set a plate of warmed spaghetti aside.
“You seem to be in a good mood,” I point out before taking a bite. The taste of homecooked food makes me realize just how fucking long it’s been since I’ve tasted anything resembling a decent meal. Too long.
Even Frey starts in on her plate of food with earnestness. Damn. I catch myself staring, and I nearly miss the moment Sammy reaches across the table for me. At least not until his fork flies from his grasp and strikes me full in the face.
“Sorry, Daddy!” he chirps, flashing an impish grin. As long as it’s been since I’ve had good food, it’s been even longer since I sat down to eat with him at all. He still hasn’t gotten the hang of utensils yet. There is more sauce smeared around his mouth than in it, I suspect. With a playful sigh, I grab a napkin and attempt to clean him up, while he squirms to shake me off.
“No! I’m a big kid now. I can do it myself!” He pries the napkin from my hand and winds up just making an even bigger mess.
I sit back and watch him, laughing my ass off. At the same time, a deep sense of guilt hits me straight in the gut. I’ve missed too many damn moments like this. Too many.
“Why are you sad, Daddy?” Sammy asks. His smile falls, and his eyes widen. “What happened to your face?” he asks Frey next. “You have boo-boos everywhere.”
“It’s nothing,” she says with so much false cheer I almost believe her.
“I’m not sad,” I say before Sam can question her further. I reach out to stroke my fingers through his wild mess of blond hair. “I’m happy. Very happy. I get to hang out with you for a while.”
“Really?” His eyes sparkle, and he turns his attention to Frey. “Even you, Ms. Lady?”
