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Not entirely.
As we descend, orange light floods in, revealing a wide, spacious room. There’s a bar at one end, lined with stools. Across from it are a few pool tables. It’s not the den of vice I pictured.
“What is this place—”
“Not yet,” Daze warns.
The back of my neck prickles, picking up on his unease. He’s as edgy as he was the day he led me across town to his gym. As if any minute he expects an attack. As a result, he’s closer, running his lips along my neck. The touch doesn’t convey the same electric tension I felt in the bathroom. In this instance, he reminds me of a dog, guarding his favorite bone while surrounded by potential rivals. He’s possessive of me, and it feels strange to acknowledge that.
But it shouldn’t feel…good.
“Don’t worry,” he says near my ear. “This isn’t the hard part. We’ve got to plant a little bait first.”
“What?” I crane my neck to look back, but his expression reveals nothing when it comes to his motive. Bait?
Confused, I put my focus into scanning our surroundings. With every new observation, a ball of dread in my belly grows tighter. Painful. I try to picture Hale here, mingling with these hostile people. Breathing in air tinged with cigarette smoke and deafening music.
I can’t quite envision it. No matter how bitter and angry he became, he’d never fit in here. Not like Daze does, bulldozing his way fearlessly through the crowd.
I’m tempted to break his rule by asking a question. “Why are we—”
“Keep close and stay quiet,” he hisses, his eyes fixed ahead. “I’ll do the talking.”
The order alone isn’t what makes my mouth snap shut—it’s his tone, conveying an authority he didn’t even utilize around his own son. Intrigued, I follow his gaze to a man leaning on a pool cue against the back wall. His black leather jacket seems out of place in the casual surroundings, as does his harsh smile.
“Daze,” he calls over the music. “For the love of God, you got a death wish? You could use a gun, you know?” He mimes one with his free hand and pulls the pretend trigger, aiming his forefinger at his skull. “It’s quicker and would make a hell of a lot less mess than having to peel you off my goddamn floors every night.”
“And what, Chris?” Daze asks, lifting his arms into the air. “Spare you bitches the fucking show? No way.”
“You always were insane, even before you went away.” Chris scoffs and aims his cue at a row of balls neatly lined on the pool table. He strikes, sending them in every which direction. “Not that I used to complain. It made you a damn good leader. But now?” He looks up, meeting Daze’s gaze, and laughs at what he finds. “You’re even more fucked up now than you were then. Usually, power is what corrupts most men. Not ‘freedom.’ Though, you always did have a way of making a mess, even when you were on the straight and narrow.”
“What can I say? I’m a man of many talents,” Daze quips with a maniacal smile—but his voice still has that sharp edge to it, and the amusement doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Once I have a nice little chat with Silas, I bet you won’t see me around here for a long, long time.”
“Silas.” Chris narrows his eyes and places the bumper of his cue stick against the floor. “When I heard you were back in town, I was stupid enough to hope you had changed your mind.”
“What?” Daze says, raising an eyebrow. “You mean to say you all aren’t better off without me, frolicking in the sunshine?”
Chris doesn’t crack a smile in return. “No. We aren’t. Don’t pretend like you haven’t heard the rumors. About who Silas has been working for, dragging the Saints into his mess. I’m sure that’s why you’re really here, but you’d be a fool to go against him alone. The kind of men pulling his strings have more power than you can imagine and enough wealth to make even the police look the other way. Though, if you were looking to get back into the fold… That could change things.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Daze says, matching his serious expression. “I’m just passing through.”
“You’re playing with fire, Day,” Chris says, an eyebrow slightly raised. “You were always a reckless punk, but suicidal? I never took you as such.”
I can’t escape the suspicion that the majority of their conversation is transpiring beyond their words. It’s all in the steady way Chris maintains their eye contact for only a few seconds before turning away. A frown tugs at his mouth.
“Coming here tonight was a mistake,” he reiterates. “You may have stepped down, but he’s not going to stop until you’re dead, you know,” he mutters, crossing his arms. I notice the same patch on his jacket sleeve that Ben wears—the skull with wings. “That son of a bitch can’t let it go. You gave up everything, and hestillisn’t satisfi—”
“Let’s not get sappy, Chris. Besides, if I’m going to die tonight, I’ll need a drink. Or several. And one for my friend.” He slams his hand on my shoulder, nearly knocking me over. “But make hers a virgin. She’s a sloppy drunk.”
I don’t know whether to be insulted or relieved by the request. I’ve never sipped anything other than the wine served at Covenant events as part of the holy service.
“If you say so.” Chris gives me a final once over before crossing to the bar and grabbing three glasses from behind the counter. He slams them onto the surface and fills two with brown liquid from a glass bottle. The last one he tops off with water. “For the lady,” he says, sliding the glass toward me.
“And for the men.” Daze grabs both glasses and clinks them together. Then he downs both, one after the other, wincing at the taste. “Fuck, that shit is strong, Chris.” He coughs, slamming a fist against his chest. “You trying to finish me off, yourself?”
Laughing, Chris retreats to the other side of the bar. “Silas would pay me handsomely if I did,” he calls back. “Watch yourself, Day. I’m sure he’s already on his way.”
Instantly, Daze’s smile falls, and he tilts his chin toward me. “It’s only a matter of time. Just follow my lead and trust me. Please.”
