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He chuckles and draws back, leaning against the counter. Even wearing a ratty pair of sweats and bruised to hell and back, he cuts an imposing silhouette. His good eye observes me intently, missing nothing from my nervous swallow down to the way my gaze dances across the muscles flexing beneath his skin. “You want to know more about my gang, Blondie?” The corner of his mouth quirks—as much as a smirk as he can attempt. “No. I don’t think you can handle it. They aren’t all bad, though. Once upon a time, we had real structure. Maybe even respect.”
“I’m guessing before you were in charge?” I wonder innocently.
His mouth returns to that hard, unusually serious line, and I squirm, uneasy.
“Let’s say it’s just like your father’s little cult—only we worship a different kind of God.”
“Money?” I say, hazarding a guess. “Are you some kind of dealer, Daze?”
“No.” He cuts his gaze away from me, his jaw tight. “Not anymore. But when I was in the Saints, we took our code seriously. Maybe that doesn’t mean anything to you, coming from a former ‘dealer,’ but we lived by it. Some of us were willing to die by it…”
Something in his tone makes me swallow hard and that itching, tightening feeling in my chest returns. It’s time for a change of subject, but when one comes to mind, it’s more dangerous than heroin. “Where’s Sammy’s mom?”
He looks up sharply, and his body stiffens, poised on the tips of his toes. He eyes me for so damn long. It feels like I’ve been invisible my entire life before him. With one glance, he sees too much. All of me. “Dead.”
I could ask him how, parroting the words I heard Silas say. But I don’t. I eye Daze instead. God, he shouldn’t be attractive in this moment. Maybe he’s not—not exactly. His body is a distraction my mind seems keen to utilize. I can’t help picturing him injury-free, a member of a gang Father made sound synonymous with the devil himself.
“See something you like?”
I flinch and meet his gaze again. “Thank you.”
I don’t say for what. He nods anyway like he understands what I can’t put into words.Thank you for ruining my pity party. Thank you for stopping me. Thank you.
“You might want to hold off on the gratefulness, though,” he adds. “Give me time to sleep off this headache. One more night. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you the truth I’ve been dancing around, though you aren’t stupid. I’m sure you’ve come to a few conclusions of your own.”
Conclusions involving Hale’s suspicion of our father, perhaps. Or why one of Father’s men was at the fight ring? Or…
“Tomorrow,” Daze scolds, nudging my chin with his thumb. “For now, let’s sleep.”
I try not to think about everything I’m ignoring by staying with him. Father’s dinner with Colton, among them.
It’s easier than it should be to push them to the back of my mind and focus only on Daze.
We make our way back to the bedroom and lie beneath the sheets, bodies intertwined.
“Before the fight… in the locker room… you mentioned how a man’s old lady would give him a kiss for good luck—” I begin. “And I kissed you.”
His face softens, and there’s a flash of vulnerability behind his gaze. I’ve never seen him look quite this sincere.
“Does that mean I’m yours, Daze?” I ask, staring endlessly into his eyes.
“What? My old lady?” He brings me closer, crushing me against the warm, solid frame of his chest. “Do you want to be?” he asks, his tone suddenly quiet. Overly cautious.
Do I? My pulse quickens with each slow breath. And within seconds, I find myself nodding, unable to put my feelings into words.
After Hale’s death, I’ve been spiraling, feeling lost and unsure of myself. With Daze, I feel wanted for the first time in…too long to remember. I feel safe.
Alive.
“I need to hear you,” he grits out, tracing the contour of my face with his thumb. “Open that pretty little mouth for me, Frey, and use your words.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Since the first moment I saw you standing on the edge of the bridge—” he slowly lets out, studying my face, “—you were mine then. And you’re mine, now.”
And he holds me close as we drift off to sleep.
TWENTY
