18. Frey

EIGHTEEN

FREY

Damn, Daze Keaton. Just when I think I have him figured out...

He has to go and say something like, I love you, Frey.

He meant every word—no one could deny the sincerity of his gruff tone. Daze Keaton loves me.

However, I am not worthy of that love, and I didn't even have the courage to tell him so. It isn't all self-pity that causes me to feel this way. It's a cold, hard truth. Since I met Daze a couple weeks ago, he has saved me more than once and put his life on the line without hesitation. In spite of the danger it put him and his family in, he never hesitated to take on my personal drama.

To put it simply, he is perfect.

And I would be so very selfish to continue to trap him within my web of chaos. My father will eventually have to be dealt with, and a good person wouldn't allow Daze to handle the aftermath. It seems that Michael Heywood's crimes go well beyond some petty crime ring and Hale's death. As I think of those poor girls in the barn, I know it is my duty to protect them and anyone else caught up in this maze of lies.

No matter the personal cost.

Throughout what little sleep I manage to get, the thought haunts me until a blinding white light drips through the square windows built into the corrugated metal walls as I peel my eyes open.

The place looks no better today than when I first saw it, shattered, and covered in blood. To put it politely, it's a dump. The sort of place my father's goons wouldn't dare to set up shop in. He would sneer at the dirty concrete floors and flickering fluorescent lighting, which makes me love them all the more.

With no clear direction, I slip past a gap between several large boards of plywood nailed to wooden structure beams. More makeshift planks are affixed at various intervals to divide the wide, narrow space beyond.

I don't see Daze at first. Several other equally muscular figures, wearing nondescript clothing, carry boxes from one corner to another. I wander through the perilous field of plywood, out to a broad open area where Daze sits at a long table flanked by four other figures, only two of whom I recognize.

"Looks like the princess has finally arisen," one of the men says. His shaggy dark hair and relaxed posture give away his identity even before I see his face. Ben. "Good to see you in one piece. You okay?"

I nod.

"You should still be sleeping," Daze grumbles. He pulls back from the table and approaches me. "How are you feeling?" His expression is carefully blank, and I feel a tendril of unease. Perhaps he realized over the past few hours what I already knew. I'm not worthy of his love.

"I'm okay. Have you found out anything about the fire?"

"No," he admits. "But it seems I'm not the only one in the dark."

"What do you mean?"

As he crosses over to the table, he grabs a worn newspaper from the pile strewn across its surface. The issue is from earlier this morning, and printed below the headline is a picture of a man I vaguely recognize beneath the letters: ABERNATHY Patriarch concerned about son's whereabouts.

"Colton," I say.

"This could either be a show, or it seems like your daddy hasn't been very forthcoming with his partner in crime. In any case, it gives us a good distraction to get you somewhere safe."

"Where?" I ask, curious.

He winks. "You'll see when you get there."

I wince. The secrecy triggers a chilling memory of my father blindfolding me on the way to the manor, but Daze's warm smile calms any unease. I didn't realize just how much I missed him until now. At the sight of his smile, I almost forget…

"You'll like this place, I promise," he says thickly, reaching for my hand. "I won't let anything happen to you. Do you trust me on that?"

I nod. "I trust you on anything."