AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Daze snatches the bottle and fills his now-empty shot glass to the brim. With a mock salute, he throws it back.
My stomach churns in sympathy.
“Your father would be turning in his grave if he could see you now,” Chris remarks. “Bothof you. The Saints were never the biggest outfit around, but we had pride under him. Respect. If I remember correctly, things weren’t too bad under you, either. But now? Your dad would understand your personal troubles. God knows he had his own shit to deal with. But turning your back on the crew? That would be a step too far, even for him, Day.”
“I didn’t come here for a guilt trip.” Setting the glass aside, Daze sighs. “The old man barely had time for me when he was alive. I doubt he cares too much in the afterlife. Besides, last I checked, you aren’t exactly a member of the Saints anymore. Are you?”
“Don’t be a smart ass.” Chris runs a finger along the patch on his sleeve, his eyes narrowing. “Your old man loved you, and once upon a time, he might have been proud of you.Before you bowed before Silas and let him turn everythingweworked for into shit. You may have a death wish, but the rest of us didn’t ask to be dragged down with you. And for your information? I was pushed out because Silas only wants yes-men in his crew. I didn’tchooseto walk away, but I’ll still uphold the honor of the Saints until my dying day. You used to know a thing or two about that, remember? Honor?”
He storms off to the other end of the bar, turning his attention to another customer.
“What is he talking about?” I demand, fighting to keep my voice level. I fail. “What do you mean by ‘fight’?”
“Relax, Blondie,” Daze murmurs dismissively. “We just got the invite we were after. Don’t get distracted by anything else. You’re here for Hale, remember? I just got us a front row seat to the shitshow he tried to warn me about.”
He doesn’t sound proud of that fact, nor does he seem very excited. Bruised, battered face aside, he looks...
Awful, in a way far beyond the physical. His eyes are cool and empty. Paired with the unusually stern line to his mouth, he could be a different person. Not the intimidating stranger from earlier, either. A man too pathetic to fear. Too desperate.
“What did he mean?” I gather up the nerve to ask. “That you stepped down. That—”
“Forget him,” he adds. “All you need to do is pay attention and follow my lead.”
“Lead for what?” Goosebumps rise over the flesh of my arms, and my heart beats faster, ramming against my ribcage. Here and now, I realize that mocking, playful Daze is who I prefer. I’d rather have him screw me around for days than look at me like this.
Like...he’s drowning, and I’m his only way out.
“You have no idea what you’ve asked of me tonight,” he says, brow furrowing. “It’s gonna get rough. The second I look like I’m gonna pussy out—I mean it. I need you to remind me what matters. Do that innocent, virginal thing with your eyes andmakeme remember.”
“What?”
“Sammy,” he says hoarsely as his hands fall over my shoulders, rooting me in place. His forehead connects with mine, and I swear he’s breathing this confession into me as much as he admits it out loud. “Sammyis the only person who fucking matters. I can’t get sucked in, for his sake. I can’t.”
Letting me go, he stands up and gently shoves me back, beyond his reach. His arm moves to swipe his empty glass across the counter, and when he looks back at me, he’s grinning from ear to ear. It isn’t genuine—his eyes are hollow. “You ready to get your answers, Frey?”
“How is a fight going to give me answers?” I ask, my voice rasping.
“Pay attention. Try to see what Hale saw—something bad enough he had to be killed over it.” As unease unfurls in my belly, he forms a fist and nudges my chin with it. “But know that I’ve got your back. No one will lay a finger on you when you’re with me. I mean that. Come on, let’s go.”
He snatches my hand before I can react and hauls me toward the same door Silas exited through. When he throws it open, I realize it leads to a narrow outdoor alley that reeks of piss and garbage from an overflowing dumpster a few feet away.
“Wish me luck, Chrissy,” Daze calls to the man behind the bar. Then he yanks me onto the concrete pavement and slams the door behind us.
We walk back to his bike, but he’s taking his sweet time—like a criminal doing a perp walk on his way to a life sentence in the slammer.
He moseys along as if savoring the fresh air.
But I know better.
He’s putting on a show—deep down, he’s angry and itching for a fight.
Or, to put it more bluntly…
He’s hungry for blood, and I’m not sure whose.
FIFTEEN
We return to his apartment,and despite the distance between him and the bar, he hasn’t calmed down. If anything, he’s even more riled up, pacing the narrow living room like a caged animal while I watch him warily from my seat on the couch.
