1. Daze

ONE

DAZE

"Calm down, Daze," Ben snaps at me from across a narrow room.

Actually, it's more like a crude concrete square, surrounded by plywood nailed to a shoddy frame. The cartel once used it as a logistics center for storing and transporting stolen car parts, according to Marco—one of the few who stayed behind. It's no five-star hotel, that's for damn sure. The structure is drafty as hell, and every sound echoes. It is, however, easily defendable, and large enough to serve as a base.

Besides, beggars can't be choosers, and it's just about the only safe place in Westpoint City.

"You'll give yourself a heart attack before Silas or Heywood can put a bullet through it first," my second-in-command continues. "Have a seat."

The request seems to be purely symbolic, considering there aren't even any chairs around—not that I care. I keep pacing, slamming one foot in front of the other as I try to think. "I can't just sit on my ass while Frey is still in there," I say out loud. My voice is so gruff I can hardly recognize it.

"Take a breath, at least," Ben calls out. "Look, I know your girl is in danger, but you're just torturing yourself at this point. Slow down."

Danger is putting it lightly. Every minute she's in the hands of those monsters, her life is at risk. Because of me.

Though, I wouldn't put it past Ben to knock me the fuck out to keep me from going to her, if he had to.

Besides, we haven't been twiddling our thumbs. Damien and his boys, along with any stragglers Ben could gather, met us after Frey left. Here, our team has begun to reorganize, coming up with a plan to take down Heywood and Silas once and for all.

So far, it goes something like this—keep an eye on the church.

Recruit a capable crew of allies.

Try not to go fucking insane in the meantime.

Surprise, that last part is the most difficult. My sanity went with Frey as she skipped into the enemy's lair alone. The old Daze Keaton would never admit as much, but her absence feels unnatural—like a part of my body is missing. An arm. A leg. A piece of my damn soul. Whatever it is, I can't function for long without it.

Without her.

"Any news?" I ask Ben for the umpteenth time.

"No, Daze, things haven't magically changed in the last five minutes since you asked." Rolling his eyes, Ben crosses his arms. "Lyra took Sam home, despite us telling her to stick around here. Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on her. As for your girl, she's still at the church, and Kane is there, making sure we know the second she's moved. Damien's out trying to track down that reporter guy, and Lex is getting specialized computer equipment?—"

"The point is, they're all being useful," I grit out, eyeing my hands. They're bruised and scraped to hell and back. Even so, I can imagine feeling her warm, soft skin so damn clearly it stings. My fingers flex as if to hold the sensation, but it disappears within seconds.

"Day—" Ben doesn't bother to hide his worry as I look up. "Sit down," he says.

Still pacing, I let my hands fall to my sides. "Tell me again why I'm waiting around here? I should be out there."

"Because you'd be shot to pieces on sight should you go gallivanting around the city. According to Kane, the security at the church is so tight, he can't even get close. The men Silas has on patrol are probably looking for you, and they won't just crack open your skull like before. You'll be killed on sight, and then what about Frey?"

"Heywood was always going to have her locked down tight," I counter, thinking out loud. Maybe this—the millionth time I've gone over this scenario—will be the one time I finally discover a breakthrough. "All I'd have to do is cause a distraction and we take out as many of the guards as we can."

Ben sighs. "We went over this, Day. You need to fight this war on two fronts. Two separate strategies. Besides, what do you really think will happen if you barge in to play the hero? They'll just let you walk out with her?"

"Maybe I should go find out?" I can't resist the temptation any longer. Curling my hands into fists, I make my way toward the battered metal doors at the front of the warehouse, a few paces from our makeshift command center.

"Oh, come on! Not this again. Look at me." Ben rushes forward to grab my shoulders with lightning speed. "Read my lips, Day. You. Can't. Save. Her. Yet ?—"

"I know." I push away from him, tearing my hands through my hair. "I know…" The anger is all for show. Once again, he's right. I need to clear my mind and strategize if Frey has any chance. It's what she'd urge me to do—instead of thinking with my dick, think like a fucking leader.

After all, she supposedly gave me the blueprint to take down Michael Heywood. I cast a glance over my shoulder and wince. Everything she left for me to find is scattered over a ratty metal table, including a tablet, a business card, a journal, and her final message— Trust me . Hale tried to tell me the truth, and I owe it to him to get him justice. Don't come after me yet—I'll come to you. I can handle myself. After all, I learned from the best. —Love, Frey.

She put more trust in me than I deserve, because what have I learned since then? Fucking nada.

"Lex's working on cracking the info on that tablet," Ben insists. "He'll come up with something soon. You just gotta be patient. You know how long that tech-shit can take?—"

"Knowing what Frey does, how long do you think they'll keep her around? The bastard's already killed one of his children." And I may have failed Hale, but I refuse to lose Frey. "We need to be proactive."

"We are. I'm almost done going through the journal. See?" Snatching the item from the table, he brandishes it in a fist. "All we need is to find this Jamie Colland guy?—"

"For a reporter, he's a tricky motherfucker to pin down," a different voice cuts in.

I whirl around. As if he appeared from thin air, a six-foot-tall figure leans against the wall in a corner of the warehouse, arms crossed, green eyes watchful. "I couldn't even get a visual on him," he adds with a shrug. "Looks like he's gone dark on all of his socials, too."

"When the fuck did you get back, Damien?" I ask him, but that's not important. "How is Frey? Has Kane seen her?"

"Easy with the twenty questions! I didn't learn much." He throws up his hands in surrender, but his cocky grin reveals he hasn't come up entirely short. "I tracked down his address, but he isn't there—and it's not hard to figure out why. His place is being surveilled by the Saints. Looks like we aren't the only ones interested in what he has to say."

I grit my teeth. "Ah, fuck. We need to find him." If Silas is on the same trail, that task just got ten times harder.

"Your girl keeps strange company," Damien adds, his expression unreadable.

I raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Kane says she's got at least six guards on her, but they seem on edge—more than they should be. It reminded him of the setup for an ambush, but you know how it is—you do one tour too many in the Middle East, and suddenly everyone's a suicide bomber?—"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" I ask. The worst potential reasons are already dancing across my mind.

She will be killed before this is over.

"Don't shoot the messenger." Damien smirks. The threat of violence excites the motherfucker—even if it's at my expense. Then he frowns and cocks his head, suddenly serious. "His concern makes sense. Heywood's only visited her once before scurrying back to that mansion. Why not keep her there? Unless it's the ol' bait and switch. Distract your enemy with a smokescreen, while concealing your true aim within the chaos. Kane would guess an I.E.D., but I'm sure this Heywood fellow would go for something a little more subtle than that?—"

"Like Frey," Ben insists with a know-it-all frown. " She's the distraction. You get sidetracked now, and you might as well slit your own throat, Day. Tell me you can't see that."

"You might have a point," I admit, hating my own words. This sounds like defeat, a hopeless admission that I can't get her back. Or maybe it's the first fucking coherent thought I've had all day. "Let's say she is a decoy." I turn around in time to see Ben's reaction.

Slowly, he nods along as if following the same train of thought. "Alright. Keep talking."

What else would I do in Heywood's shoes? It doesn't take a genius to figure out the obvious answer.

"If I were him, that's the only reason why I'd keep her at the church," I spit out. "As a decoy. The real question to ask is what he doesn't want me to see. What are we missing?"

Ben strokes his chin without offering up an answer.

"Why don't we swing by that mansion?" Damien suggests, his lips quirked. Damn. I know that look—he's up to something.

Still, his hunch is the best one we've got. "Why?"

"Heywood doesn't strike me as the type to spend a quiet evening at home while his daughter is held captive across town," he says.

"Hmm." Ben continues to stroke his chin. Then he jerks his head toward me. "Why does he even give a shit about you anyway? You're a fly in his orbit. He can't fear some crazy ex-gangbanger with no real crew or territory to back him up."

"Jesus, Ben, enough with the compliments," I say with a scoff. "I might get a bigger ego than I already have."

"Hey! I'm just playing along. It's your job to answer my questions. So, tell me why."

"Let's hear it, Day," Damien rests his head against the wall, his gaze shrouded in shadow. "What could be more important to the bastard than winning the election or punishing his pretty, disobedient daughter?"

My eyes narrow at the offhand compliment, but I focus on the task at hand first. "Something must be going down soon," I surmise. "Something he can't risk putting off. Maybe a meeting with Silas? Or even the cartel. If I were him, I'd think I'd be too busy trying to play hero to give a damn about anything else."

"Alright." Ben rakes a hand through his dark hair, highlighting the purple bruises beneath his eyes. I'm sure I look just as wrecked. He hasn't slept since yesterday morning, but like a true ride-or-die, he's here when I need him most. "We should check with your cartel contact. Ask if anything unusual has been happening. I know they keep tabs on the docks where their merchandise comes in. Maybe they've seen something?"

"For that information, they'll probably want something in return," Damien pitches in. "Wouldn't it be easier to just attack the church on our own and call it a day?"

I'm sure as hell down with that plan of action, or I would have been… Before Frey. No longer am I the only one in the arena, watching my own back. I have a crew to lead now.

And a real leader doesn't do shit without putting the safety of his men first. Samuel, Damien, and his boys, even the cartel holdouts…

They're all in my corner.

"We'll regroup," I say, going along with Ben's original plan. "You and I will watch the house. Kane will watch over Frey."

"She'll be fine for the night," Ben says. "I'm sure of it."

A bitter thought creeps in before I can help it—maybe she wanted it this way. Maybe this was a setup from the beginning, meant to catch me off guard. A sleeping-with-the-enemy-type deal. All along, she could have been playing me for the fool.

The thought doesn't fully enter my mind before I quash it. Bullshit. Frey isn't like that. If anyone would have had an ulterior motive, it's me. I'm the one who lied to her from the start and dragged her into this mess. I'm the one who failed not only her, but her brother.

I'm the monster in this fucked-up fairy tale.

"Hey." I sense Ben come up beside me before he even places his hand on my shoulder. "You're in your head again," he points out. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"Maybe going to the house is the real trap?" Turning on my heel, I start pacing all over again. "Who knows what they're doing to her in that fucking church? Leaving her there could be exactly what they want me to do."

"I doubt it," Damien pipes up. "Now, quit your bitching and tell us what to do."

I stop short and face him again. He's right. In this situation, I'm not in control, and the only option I have left is one that scares me to death.

I have to trust Frey and myself.

"Kane could be right," I admit. "We should look into Heywood's activities away from the church. Lie low. The three of us will check out the mansion and see what's going on. And in the meantime?—"

"Lex will keep cracking at the tablet," Damien cuts in. "One of his government contacts is bringing in some high-tech computer equipment. In a few hours, he'll be able to tell us everything we need. Kane will stick around the church. If anything changes, you'll be the first to know."

"We'll get to the bottom of this mess," Ben says, nodding in agreement. "So, when do you want to get this shit show underway?"

I look out of a nearby, partially-boarded-up window. Through slits in the plywood, the sky is already darkening to an inky blue as night falls. A sinking feeling in my gut warns me that unless Frey is freed soon, she might never be.

But if I don't find a way to take down her father, she wouldn't accept me as her "savior" anyway.

"Now," I say to Ben. "Let's move out."

"You sure you don't want to shower first?" He casts a wary glance at my filthy sweats and tattered shirt. I haven't changed since she left. A day ago, already? It feels like a goddamn eternity.

"No." Cracking my knuckles, I turn toward the door. "We need to leave now before I change my mind."

"Yo, blondie. Hold up." My attention is drawn to the far corner of the warehouse, where shadows obscure anyone on that end. A lone man is heading my way, an eyebrow raised. He's kept mostly out of sight since we've been here, but I recognize him instantly—Marco, one of the cartel holdouts. "We need to talk first," he says, coming to a stop paces away from me. "Or are you all too busy with this pow-wow sesh?"

"I'll go get a van ready and make sure we have some backup," Ben grumbles, heading for the battered metal doors that mark the exit.

As he leaves, I size up the man standing before me. He's tall, with dark hair and enough muscle to suggest he can hold his own in a fight. I can't tell much from his guarded expression. For all I know, he could have a knife at the ready, primed to stab me in the back.

It wouldn't be the first time I trusted the wrong person.

"I want to make it clear that we aren't here to play Girl Scouts," he says once Ben is out of earshot. "You made an offer we couldn't refuse, but we aren't dogs you can keep on a leash. Don't forget our deal."

As if I could. I grind my teeth, recalling exactly what that agreement entailed—I would help them drive Silas and Heywood's goons from the city once and for all. After that? We'd go our separate ways, supposedly without any further bloodshed. How did that one saying go? The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

"So, is this your way of saying to watch my back?" I counter, keeping my tone neutral.

He shrugs. "This is my way of telling you that our loyalties still lie where they lie. But if you need any intel regarding Cortez or the other leaders, we're here to offer it. No more. No less. Comprende ?"

I nod. "And I'm sure that you'll offer all this help in exchange for nothing. Out of the goodness of your heart, of course."

He winks. "You can bet your ass on that."

"Maybe I will."

Before this deal with the devil is all said and done, I might come to regret it.

But hell, who knows what role I'll actually play in the long run.

The cartel might have made a mistake in trusting me .

For the time being, I can't be too picky when it comes to allies. Hell, I can't be picky at all. "You mind if I take you up on that offer now?" I wonder out loud, my head cocked, hands at my sides.

Marco chuckles, his gaze wary but curious. "How so?"

"We're going on a little field trip," I say, nodding my head in the direction Ben went. "If you mean what you said, then come along."

After all, if anyone could know what Heywood might be up to, it would be the very organization that created the infrastructure he's using now.

Marco purses his lips and runs a finger along his jaw. Then he nods. "Bet."