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I wake up sighing,languidly stretching out my limbs. For a second, I feel a tendril of lingering guilt—how can I feel so relaxed at a time like this, with the truth of Hale’s death still shrouded in mist? Then a nagging pleasure drowns out any doubt. I earned this peace, if only for a few seconds.
I deserve it. So, I burrow into Daze’s side guilt free and relish his heat on my skin and his low, sleepy growl of approval. I let my mind skip ahead, imagining all the many ways he can help me forget my worries for the rest of the day.
But then the world explodes. A thud resonates from the other room, and Daze lurches upright just as the door flies open, slamming against the wall. A figure stands at the other end, but they aren’t his sister Lyra. A man looms there, dressed in dark colors, his arm extended before him.
“Don’t fucking move,” he snarls, training an object over Daze’s chest. Black. Rectangular. My mind registers it belatedly as the man steps forward, revealing another figure behind him.
Instantly, I recognize his eyes—and the cold, piercing quality to them. Silas.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize her?” He steps forward and inclines his head in my direction while the man with the gun inches toward me, still focused on Daze.
“What the fuck is this?” Daze’s tone is carefully controlled. He reaches for my wrist and wrenches me behind him. Then he grabs a sheet and drapes it over me, ignoring how the man with the weapon tenses at the action. “You know the rules. You stay in your territory, and you stayoutof mine—”
“You want to talk about rules now? It’s a good thing I knew better than to trust your lying ass,” Silas says, his lips quirked. “You stick your nose up at getting your hands dirty, but here you are, trying to undercut me after walking away with your moral tail between your legs. So tell me—have you already sent a ransom letter off to her father? How much did you think you could get for her? A few grand? A mil? I’m sure that’s the only reason you intervened, but I guess you didn’t get the memo. She belongs to someone else. He won’t give you a fucking dime.”
Confusion alone spurs me to croak out a question from over Daze’s shoulder. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t fucking move,” the man with the gun snarls.
Silas chuckles. “You always did have a thing for damsels, Day. I wonder who tipped you off. Chris? Ben? Either way, they’ll pay—”
“No one had to tell me shit,” Daze growls. “I know you, Silas. I know the shit you’re into. It was only a matter of time before you got in over your head. You think your mysterious benefactor is some big fucking secret? Bullshit. We all know that the Saints don’t have your loyalty. I know who your true master is.”
“Is that so? Well, I know that following you almost led the outfit to the brink of ruin. But you were too damn busy fucking around with booze and women to give a damn. At least under me, the Saints will be respected again. It’s only a matter of time before our legacy extends beyond a few crumbling dens and cage fights. We will own this city.” He turns to his henchman and nods toward me. “Get some clothes on her and get her in the truck. Hurry the fuck up—”
The man doesn’t get the chance to move before Daze practically shoves me into the closet and positions himself in front of me. And as if it’s a sign from above, I notice the Saints jacket buried in the far back, out of reach. “You goddamn prick,” Daze snarls. “You want her? You go through me. This time, don’t hide behind a patsy to take the fall. You fucking faceme.”
“You don’t call the shots anymore,” Silas says harshly. “But if you want to play, who am I to stop you?”
With Daze in my way, I can’t see a thing—I can only hear. A sickening thud. A groan. Suddenly, Daze sinks to his knees, and Silas pushes past him. In his hand is another gun he doesn’t hesitate to point my way.
I go numb. For a second, anything he says goes in one ear and out the other. He has to shout before I finally comprehend. “I told you to get dressed.”
My limbs jerk into action, and I crouch for the clothing still piled on the floor. I risk glancing over at Daze, and my heart stops. He’s hunched on his side, clutching his head. Did Silas hit him?
“Hurry up!”
Silas waves his hand closer to my face, reinforcing the threat. Looking up, I can’t take my eyes off the weapon, but somehow, I manage to shimmy into Daze’s shorts under the probing eyes of the two men. The second I’m decent, Silas lunges for my wrist and drags me away from the bed. I claw at his hand, nails drawn, and he yanks, knocking me to my knees.
“Your father doesn’t want you harmed, little girl,” he tells me. “But if you don’t want to play nice, I may have to make an exception.”
He could have struck me, and I doubt the blow would disorient me as much as that one word does. Father?
“You’re dead,” Daze rasps, trying and failing to stand. His old wound has reopened, and fresh blood paints his face in garish hues of scarlet.
“Your threats don’t hold any more sway,” Silas says, chuckling. He tugs me to my feet and cinches my neck from behind. Using the grip as a leash, he forces me into the living room with a debilitating shove.
Voice thick with agony, Daze calls out. “You do this, and it’s war, Silas. Fucking war.”
My spine tenses. I recognize that icy voice of his. A dangerous warning is concealed in the threat, one that Silas doesn’t seem to take seriously.
He laughs, shoving me toward the door. Contorting my neck, I strain for one last glimpse of Daze—and it’s as if my gaze alone spurs him into action. He leaps from the bedroom like a caged animal who just broke free, and his fist collides with Silas’ face in one crippling blow.
Like that night in the ring, he seems electrified by primal instinct. Unstoppable.
Until Silas’ pistol comes down hard on Daze’s head, and he goes limp immediately, crashing against the kitchen counters.
“No!” Any move I make is quickly restricted as Silas cinches my arm and muscles me back.
