19. Daze

NINETEEN

DAZE

I can't help it. I need to see her face when we leave the city. As expected, a mixture of shock and confusion flood those beautiful damn eyes once Westpoint has faded into the distance. A swath of green spread out beneath a gray sky is all that lies ahead of us. She doesn't question me out loud, though. Instead, she keeps her gaze on the tinted windows of the truck in a subtle display of trust that blows my mind.

There is an entire police force searching for her, including her father's flunkies. Nevertheless, she can doze beside me, completely free of tension. Not for a moment do I take that trust for granted.

Damien's intel must have been spot on, because this way out of Westpoint seems clear. No one other than the average trailer or camper heading for a weekend getaway has passed us so far.

We might as well be in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere.

As a result of the monotony, my mind starts to wander. Mainly toward Frey and her silence after my prior confession. I love you, Frey.

It's cliché as hell to feel this way, but it stings that she didn't say it back. Like a teenager, I was caught up in a whirlwind of hormonal affection, only to realize that the person I've been fucking only wanted that from me and nothing else. Sex.

Can I even blame her? No. Do I still want more?

Hell yes.

Call me pussy-whipped, but I would give anything in the world to hear those words trickle out of her mouth. To know that she feels the same for me. However, dwelling on it right now won't help.

As she stirs sleepily and opens her eyes, I plaster a fake fucking grin on my face.

"Hey, how you holding up?"

"I'm fine," she says, turning toward me. "Where are we going?"

I bite down on my lip and contemplate telling her the full truth or a mere summary of events. In the end, I settle for a compromise between both. "Damien knows a place just outside of town where we can lie low for a while. Knowing him, it's no luxury paradise, but I'm sure it's better than squatting behind a piece of plywood."

And, if Ben's description was anywhere close to accurate, we have to hope that the police don't catch wind of the less-than-legal means by which the place was obtained. In the meantime, it's the only safe option we've got. When I look back at Frey, she doesn't crack a smile and I sense that there's more than exhaustion to her current mood.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she says, turning away. A sigh comes before I can demand a real answer. "I should be there with you, fighting to take down my father. Not sunbathing by a lake. I'm not some weak, helpless idiot. Not anymore." Her arms are crossed, and her bottom lip is caught between her teeth. It's so damn stubborn that a smile tugs on my mouth in response.

"I know that. Better than anyone, I know that."

She keeps her gaze averted away, and I know better than to push the issue.

"Look, we can talk about this later, okay?" I murmur, turning back to the road. "Besides. Looks like we're already here."

Legalities aside, Damien came through. A modest cabin is visible on a ridge near the end of a long, winding road. While it's no five-star resort, it's a step up from some shitty warehouse at the heart of a building war between the gangs and the police. It also seems to have one main access point via this very road, which I'm sure Kane has scoped out to hell and back. If the man has even a fraction of the experience he claims to, then they probably saw us coming from a mile away.

Sure enough, the second we pull up, a familiar figure appears at the end of the driveway.

"It's about damn time," Lyra mutters as I roll down the window. "I was worried sick about you. Next time, you warn me that your idea of ‘safe' involves some random place in the boondocks?—"

"Daddy!" A tiny figure comes running from inside the cabin at full speed. He's barefoot in bright-blue pajamas with bears printed all over them. His beaming grin is a direct contrast to the pissed, fully dressed Lyra, who looks like living hell, armed with a juice box and a cell phone.

"Sam, get back inside! I don't want you running around in this place. Be careful! And you—" Her eyes land on me, narrowed to slits. "As I was saying, it's nice to finally get a meeting with the man of the hour. You made such a show of shitting on Silas for what he dabbles in, but here I see that you've been rebuilding your own little biker gang all this time. Time you could have spent with someone else, mind you."

I grit my teeth as I park and step out of the truck. "Can we save the lecture for later?"

Lyra scoffs but shrugs. "Fine. To be fair, this place isn't too bad. The cabin itself is small, though, with just two bedrooms. Me and Sam have already claimed one and the big guy, Kane, has been taking the couch. I suppose you and your guest can decide amongst yourselves who gets the other bed."

She ushers us forward with a wave of her hand and traipses up the narrow, rickety steps to the large wooden door that serves as the main entrance. Once inside, I see that Lyra's description of the place was less than accurate—it's fully outfitted with a TV and apparently Wi-Fi, judging from the laptop that Kane has balanced on his lap while seated on a plaid couch. Not to mention, air conditioning keeps the place at a comfortable temperature, unlike the sweltering warehouse we've held up in.

"Hey, Daze." Kane acknowledges me with a nod while barely taking his eyes off the computer screen. "I've been keeping an eye out. No trouble so far."

I return his nod while still following Lyra. Past him are the two rooms with a view of the water.

"You can take that one," I say to Frey, nodding to the narrow bed. "I'll crash on the porch to keep watch."

"And I will heat up some dinner for everyone," Lyra says with a nervous laugh. Hospitality isn't in her nature—she must be anxious as hell, more worried than she's letting on. To my shock, she even musters up a wary smile before returning to the kitchen.

In no time, we're all settled in and seated around the rickety table in the main room. Kane is nowhere in sight, though I notice Lyra set a plate of warmed spaghetti aside.

"You seem to be in a good mood," I point out before taking a bite. The taste of homecooked food makes me realize just how fucking long it's been since I've tasted anything resembling a decent meal. Too long.

Even Frey starts in on her plate of food with earnestness. Damn. I catch myself staring, and I nearly miss the moment Sammy reaches across the table for me. At least not until his fork flies from his grasp and strikes me full in the face.

"Sorry, Daddy!" he chirps, flashing an impish grin. As long as it's been since I've had good food, it's been even longer since I sat down to eat with him at all. He still hasn't gotten the hang of utensils yet. There is more sauce smeared around his mouth than in it, I suspect. With a playful sigh, I grab a napkin and attempt to clean him up, while he squirms to shake me off.

"No! I'm a big kid now. I can do it myself!" He pries the napkin from my hand and winds up just making an even bigger mess.

I sit back and watch him, laughing my ass off. At the same time, a deep sense of guilt hits me straight in the gut. I've missed too many damn moments like this. Too many.

"Why are you sad, Daddy?" Sammy asks. His smile falls, and his eyes widen. "What happened to your face?" he asks Frey next. "You have boo-boos everywhere."

"It's nothing," she says with so much false cheer I almost believe her.

"I'm not sad," I say before Sam can question her further. I reach out to stroke my fingers through his wild mess of blond hair. "I'm happy. Very happy. I get to hang out with you for a while."

"Really?" His eyes sparkle, and he turns his attention to Frey. "Even you, Ms. Lady?"

I hold my breath, unsure of how she'll react. Not that I should have been worried. If there is one thing she knows how to do, it's put on a show and flash a good-girl smile, even if she's destroyed on the inside. She does so now for my son's benefit. Damn. I didn't think it was possible to feel more gratitude for her than I already do. She makes herself put on a veneer of happiness just for him, erasing all traces of sadness from her face.

"Yes," she says, matching his excitement. "We can do whatever you want."

Sammy's eyes go even wider. In an awed tone, he whispers, "Bedtime story?"

"Yeah," I say, wincing. How long has it been since I've read him one of those? I don't even want to know.

"I packed his favorite book," Lyra calls from the counter. Her back is turned, but I know her ears are perked, primed to hear every word. "It's in the room."

"Alright, then!" I slam a hand onto the table. "When you finish eating, we'll get to it."

Sammy shoves one last bite of pasta into his mouth. Then he flashes a messy grin. "Done!"

I help him into the small bathroom to brush his teeth and finally clean his face. Then I carry him into the room he shares with Lyra and tuck him into the narrow bed. He watches me expectantly, his hands folded over a blue comforter that I draw up to his chin. "The monkey book," he prompts, nodding toward a corner of the room where his bag of things is. Frey moves first and retrieves the requested book about a family of monkeys sharing a bed.

As I prop the book open on my lap, I go all in while reading it. I do different voices for each character, and repeat his favorite lines to his heart's content. He makes me reread the entire book three times before he finally drifts off.

When I look over at Frey, she's watching me, her expression unreadable. The brave face she put on around Sam has fallen. She seems lost again. Too damn delicate to pester with questions now.

"You should get some sleep," I say, as I stand and lead the way into the hall. "You can take the other room. I'll keep watch."

I head for the front of the cabin, expecting her to stay back, ready to continue our conversation tomorrow. At least that gives me more time to think of a way to question her without sounding like a thoughtless dick. I'm so fixated on the thought that I pass the main room of the cabin and barely notice that Kane has returned, eating his food alongside a suddenly chatty Lyra. I offer up a grunted greeting, but as I step outside, I expect to be alone for the first time in hours. Instead, the second I set foot onto the porch, someone too short to be Lyra or Kane is right on my heels.

"Damien is going to send one of his boys out here to keep watch," I say. "You'll be safe."

"But you won't be," she counters.

"Look, we don't have to talk about what happened back there," I say, even though the curiosity is killing me. I can't stop replaying the worst-case scenarios in my head. The bruises on her face don't put my fears at ease any, not to mention the scratches on her inner thigh…

God, if that motherfucker wasn't already dead…

I'd kill him myself.

"But I need you to know, that it's not easy for me to just sit on my fucking hands while you tiptoe in and out of danger. It's not, Frey. It fucking… It kills me to know you're in danger."

She sits on the step beside me, but not close enough to touch. Wearing my clothing, she looks so damn delicate, shrouded in gray cotton. I can't stop myself from reaching for her, pressing my hand over her shoulder. Despite the tension between us, she doesn't shrug me off. Thank God for that. Our reunion last night did little to ease the ache I feel without her. It's more than lust, deeper than pure sex. I need to feel her skin on mine. Taste her.

But I'd be a fool to overstep, especially when she made her feelings more than clear. She doesn't see this as a serious thing. The strange part? I feel like I could be okay with that, just as long as it meant that she stuck around.

"You can hate it if you want, but I give a shit about what happens to you." I start to pull my hand away, but her fingers seize my wrist, holding my palm captive against her. Fuck. I breathe out through gritted teeth, and it takes all the willpower I have to keep from pulling her against me.

"I don't hate it," she admits, her voice so soft I have to lean in to hear her. "I just don't want you thinking that I'm some fragile little girl who can't handle herself."

"I know you're not," I tell her. "Hell, I still have the bite marks to prove it."

That draws a smile out of her, and I don't restrain myself from touching her any longer. I sweep my thumb along the corner of her mouth. She sucks in a breath, and I feel a jolt through my body, electrifying every nerve.

I don't know who moves first, but when I'm kissing her, nothing else in the world matters. Just her scent. Her taste on my tongue. Hungry for more, I pin her down against the steps. My hands roam her body, desperate to feel as much of her as I can. She reaches for me, just as impatient. I feel her hands slip beneath my shirt, and I groan.

Suddenly, a noise comes from inside the house. It sounds like Lyra, still talking to Kane. Judging from the intermittent laughter that follows, he's one of the few people in the world to crack her shell. Odd.

But that also means she's awake, liable to hear any sound we make out here.

"Damn," I whisper. The point is, fucking on the porch probably isn't the most private location.

Frey starts to pull away, her cheeks pink, but I let my dick do the talking. My eyes latch onto the truck, and when I stand, she's on my heels. We scramble into the back seat, and I pull her beneath me with mindless need. Having her ride me is sexy as hell, no less enjoyable than plain ol' fucking.

But in this moment, I need to be on top and press her body into the leather seat beneath. I need to have the leverage to rock into her so deep her eyes go back in her head. I need control.

Because something tells me, that where she is concerned…

I won't have it for very long.

Already, she grapples for my hips, pulling me into her. Soon, she alone sets the pace, and I'm just along for the fucking ride. Not that I would have it any other way.

She feels like heaven, gripping me like a vice, moaning into my ear as if nothing else in the world matters but this.

"That's it," I tell her, my voice thick. "No one's here to see you, Freylie. Show me what you need."

Me. Me with my cock buried to the hilt inside of her. More, demanded with throaty gasps issuing from her throat and her nails sinking into my skin. She doesn't give a damn if she hurts me or not. I don't want her to.

"That's it," I say into the crook of her neck as I feel her body quiver around me. "You're mine, Frey. All mine. I can feel you coming?—"

And as if my voice is a lit match, she goes up in flames. Her head flies back, hips arching against the leather upholstery, eyes wide, bottom lip clenched between her teeth. She is so fucking beautiful, and a sense of possession slams into me like a freight train. Brutally. Punishingly.

Perfectly.

When I go limp, softening inside of her, I know without a fucking doubt that it doesn't matter who stands in our way—Heywood, Silas, anyone.

No one will ever come between us.

Never again.