Page 6 of Pretty Savage: Defy

“Mm-hmm.” He studies me for a moment. “I’d wager the answer ain’t nearly as simple as you believe.”

Before I can ask what that’s supposed to mean, he rubs his chin. “What you need to think about is an animal. What happens when it’s hurt?”

I close my eyes and rub my forehead. Of course he answers a question with another question.

“Humor me.” His grin widens. “A rabbit. A deer. A wolf. Don’t matter. Where does a wounded animal go to lick its wounds? To lie down and meet its maker?”

“I don’t know.” I cross my arms. “It hides? Runs home?”

He points his thumb and index finger at me, makes them into a gun, and pretends to pull the trigger. “Ding ding ding. We got ourselves a winner.”

My brow furrows. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Reckon we’ll find out.” He flashes a grin.

“Silas,” Jackson whines. “Please…”

Without taking his bright blue eyes off me, Silas answers him. “Ah, yes. Your payment for bringing me the girl.” Silas reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a tiny plastic bag of fine, black powder.

“Here.” He hands it over to Jackson, who grabs at it greedily.

Jackson rips open the package, and a cloying sweetness drifts over to me. It takes a minute before I realize I’ve smelled that scent on Jackson before. Several times.

Jackson digs his pinkie finger into the substance, then brings it to his nose and inhales deeply. The effect is instantaneous. His eyes glaze, a slack half-smile curves his lips, and he slumps back, boneless.

“What’s that?” My voice comes out high.

Silas’s lips quirk, pleased. “Just a little something my chemists cooked up. A new-generation opioid. DD, short for Devil’s Dust,” he says, accentuating his southern drawl. “One taste and you’ll swear you’ve made a deal with the devil himself. Thing is…” He lets the warning hang. “The devil always collects.”

That settles between us, heavy as swamp heat. I keep my face blank, though my pulse hammers against my ribs. His shoulders are relaxed, posture easy, fingers loose on the table as if one snap could end me.

I hold his gaze as a cold feeling snakes down my spine. If he’s looking for me to flinch, he’ll be waiting a long time.

“It’s highly addictive,” he says in a casual tone. “Euphoria, hallucinations, the kind people crave.”

As if on cue, Jackson moans softly, the sound disturbingly sensual.

The echo of Silas’s words crawls over my skin. I can already see them, all the people lined up for that first trip, thinking they’re stepping into freedom, not realizing they’ve slipped shackles on their wrists.

Silas reads my expression like lines on a page. His smile deepens, pleased by my horror. “You know, there’s a thousand ways to beat an enemy.” He taps the table, like he’s marking the beat of a song. “The best way? Take the things they love most.”

His gaze turns predatory. “The Order loves power. Control. Money. They feed on it.” A pause, the faintest curl of satisfaction. “Devil’s Dust takes that away. I’ve got the better product. One that will empty their coffers and transfer their precious grip on this world straight into my hands.” He tilts his head, already admiring the future he’s described. “Just one way I’ll run The Order out of business. Ruin them.”

I blink.

“You and I are the same, Laurel Turner,” he says.

A harsh laugh breaks from me, but he raises a hand, instantly silencing me.

“We are,” he insists. “Same goal, defeat The Order. Free the Brothers and Sisters, and we have the same history.”

“Lemme tell you a story, but, fair warning, this one doesn’t have a happy ending…at least, not yet.” His gaze grows distant, and his voice takes on a sing-song quality, like a rock star segueing into a ballad. “Once upon a time I fell in love with a beautiful woman. She had eyes of lavender, and her name was Evangeline Hazel Montgomery, but she was a Sister, and I was an outsider.” He pauses, checks to make sure I’m following. “Sound familiar?”

I keep my face expressionless, refusing to be sucked into his game.

“Her mama gave her to a Brother. A monster of a man. I didn’t see it. They had me locked up by then, but I heard it took three men to hold her down while they drew the knife across her palm.” A note of pride enters his voice, tempered by sorrow.

“What do you know about jackals?” he asks, then grins at my obvious confusion. “The animal, I mean.”