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Startled, I scoot back and nearly fall. Only by steadying one of my ridiculous heels against the ground can I maintain my balance.
“Now look...” Daze stands, shaking out his newly cut hair. His eyes draw my attention, darker than they were before we left. His posture is tenser too, and he doesn’t look at me directly, even as I yank off his helmet and dump it on the seat of the bike. “The world in there isn’t like your little church.”
He jerks his chin to a brick building about a block down. It looks like a warehouse at first glance, but there’s no sign or display to give any clue as to what lies within.
“The men inside might not be as polite as your parishioners,” he adds, eyeing his knuckles. “Do some shit that may turn your delicate little stomach. Think you can handle that?”
This time, the jokes don’t have that biting sense of humor tainting them. His eyes don’t sparkle. His mouth holds that serious, firm line that makes the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
He’s serious.
“And you’ve beensucha gentleman so far,” I choke out.
“I have, haven’t I?” He flashes a real grin. His eyes rove downward, and his tongue traces his lower lip in a slow, disconcerting motion. I suck in a breath. It’s like he knew where my thoughts had drifted seconds prior.
And they eagerly head there again. I can’t help it. His eyes do something strange when his attention turns to that vulgar, taboo subject. Sex. It makes it harder to breathe—impossible to think of anything else.
He distracts me so much that the rest of the world has to fight for my attention. A honking horn does the trick, and I turn to the road. Even on this back street, traffic runs at a steady pace, and a passing yellow school bus draws my attention.
“Sammy,” I blurt. “Don’t you have to pick him up from school?”
“Lyra’s got it.” His palm graces the seat of his bike as if saying goodbye to the thing, then he turns and heads up the street, leaving me to follow.
“You’re not even going to call her and check?” Poor Sammy. I picture his face, streaked with tears, as he stares at an empty school parking lot. “Shouldn’t you—”
“Iknow,” Daze insists, waving me off. “She’s got him. That’s the game she plays. She’ll let me get a fucking taste, then hold him hostage for a week. No contact. No picking him up from school. Nothing. The next time she wants something, she’ll dangle visitation again. Rinse and fucking repeat.”
The muscles in his arms quiver with tension—a brief crack in his carefree facade. I’ve written him off as a selfish deadbeat. Maybe I still should. But...
There’s more there. He’s so much like Hale the comparison stings—they both enjoy keeping secrets from me.
And they both have a way of getting under my skin.
“Knowing that, you sure spent a lot of time with him,” I counter. I know what it’s like to have absentee parents. “Don’t you think—”
“Don’t.” Daze stops so suddenly I stagger against his back. “Don’t act like you know how the fuck I feel about my own damn kid because you don’t. I’d die for him. Hell, as things stand now, I might as well be dead. He’d be better off.”
The coldness in his tone chills the air in my lungs. I can’t find anything to say. Then, I manage to croak out something. “I’m sorry.”
“We don’t talk aboutyourshit, and you don’t talk about mine. Got it?” He looks back to see me nod once. “Good. Let’s go.”
We continue in silence and quickly draw near the warehouse. Up close, I’m caught off guard by how unassuming it looks. There are no lights in the dusty windows. No noise drifting from beyond the walls. No sign proclaiming “Debauchery Within.” Rather than approach the metal doors I assume serve as the entrance, Daze cuts through an alley and sidesteps a dumpster overflowing with trash. There’s another door on this end. When he raps on it with a fist, it opens from inside.
“Oh fuck. Not you.” A man wearing a leather jacket and jeans bars the doorway. He eyes me up and down before turning his attention to Daze, who suddenly lingers in my wake. Baring his teeth, he spits on the pavement. Is this the man we’ve come here to provoke? “You again?”
“Me again?”
I turn. That voicesoundedfamiliar. Daze—only about two octaves deeper than he usually speaks. Standing tall, he meets the man’s gaze without flinching. They eye each other for a second. Two. Sighing, the stranger finally steps aside.
“Chris can’t protect you this time. I bet my ass that Silas will show up in less than five minutes. You should clear out, Day. Most of us have no beef with you, but… Rules are rules, and you’repersona non grataafter that stunt you pulled.”
“Thanks for the warm welcome,” Daze replies coldly. “Now, let us in.”
For a second, it looks like the man won’t budge. Then he shrugs. “It’s your funeral. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I won’t.” Daze grabs my wrist, steering me inside ahead of him. It’s dark and dank. My nostrils itch with a moldy stench that reminds me of how the city sometimes smells when it rains. Damp, drenched dreams mixed with the faintest hint of cigarette smoke.
“Watch your step.” Daze reaches past me, opening what I assume is a door. Just like at his gym, his hand finds my hip next to guide me down. A part of me latches onto the contact. It means it was an act, right? He isn’t that cold, hard person I just caught a glimpse of.
