2. Frey

TWO

FREY

Something is wrong.

I haven't been dragged off to some dark, underground dungeon to be tortured. Yet. Instead, I've been locked in a windowless room near the back of the church. Father or Colton hasn't even come to gloat over me yet—and it's the lack of violence that scares me. Maybe they're hoping that Daze will come back for me first?

He would be walking into a bloodbath if he did.

God, I can only pray that he doesn't even try. Daze is brave, but violence alone isn't enough to defeat my father. To beat him at his own game, we must unravel the mysterious events in the city involving my family.

Like finding the truth behind Higher Limit Construction, an agency that has been buying up property all over Westpoint, and finally avenging my brother's death.

Nonetheless, terror starts to creep in anyway, sowing other thoughts. Were Daze and Sammy able to get away okay? What if Father had someone waiting to harm them as soon as they reunited? The cynical part of my brain eagerly rewords that statement—of course, he did.

Daze and his son could be dead, and it's all my fault.

Enough. I shake my head to snap out of the self-pitying mindset. Taking a deep breath, I clear my mind and focus, starting by straining my ears to hear the shuffling feet of a nearby guard. Then, the sounds of distant traffic warning that I'm on the far end of the building. The last guard to walk past the door to this room came an hour ago, and roughly forty-five minutes before that. How can I tell?

Because all this time, I've been counting the seconds down. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. Sixty. Ten, Twenty. Thirty. Sixty.

Fifty-four minutes. Sooner or later, they'll do another round, and I'll be ready. They'll knock on the door just once to check I'm still inside. Afterward, they'll give me a sandwich or a cup of whatever to tide me over. Rinse and repeat.

My hand reaches toward the hem of my dress, finding the tiny secret I hid there before leaving Ben's bar—an exposed razor blade. It's all I could locate by way of a weapon, but I don't let myself dwell on the potential risks of using it. All I need to do is think of my next plan. Keep breathing. Don't get discouraged.

Finding a way out on my own is my only option. Otherwise…

I don't want to think about it.

Instead, I wait until I finally hear footsteps approaching. Only… Wait. In contrast to the usual lone steps of a hired guard, two sets of steps advance toward me now. One is heavier and one distinctly lighter, as if the owner were eager to get to me. Eager to gloat. The thick cologne that Colton wears seems to fill the room before the door even opens to reveal him standing there.

The sight of his gray dress shirt and black slacks provides me some relief—he doesn't look as though he's ready for a wedding anytime soon. But what does he have in store?

As he enters the narrow space, I realize that my father isn't with him. He came here alone.

"Frances," he says, clasping his hands before him. "It breaks my heart to see you like this." His tone conveys anything but heartbreak. More like malice.

"Like what?" I counter coldly. "That I'm able to speak for myself for once?"

"No." His eyes narrow to slits, and I no longer recognize him. "Disobedient. Reveling in sin. The woman I love is modest and humble. But I have no doubt that you will return to that demeanor soon."

As he speaks, a chill runs down my spine.

"Oh?" I force myself to meet his gaze and suppress another shudder at what I see there—pure, cold emptiness. "And how do you plan on achieving that?"

"Don't be na?ve, Frances." His upper lip quirks into a smirk. The expression looks out of place on him, a mocking imitation of my father's stern glare. "You will learn. In time, you will crave my touch as a wife should," he says ominously. Without warning, he advances in my direction and reaches out, swiping his fingers through my hair, ignoring how I attempt to scurry from his reach. My fingers twitch in the direction of my concealed razor—but I keep myself from drawing it.

For now.

"I have every intention of making you a woman worthy of marriage," Colton says, oblivious. "In no time at all, you will once again be the Frances we all know and love."

We? His use of that particular word makes the hair on the back of my neck go up.

"I'm sure my father will teach you everything he knows on the subject," I snipe. "I bet you're looking forward to that."

His eyebrows go up and I recognize the emotion flashing through his gaze as fear. Not because of my tone but because of what I said. I'd come close to uncovering something, but what?

"Well, he is an expert on shaping and controlling women," I add to twist the knife. "Isn't he?"

"Don't play coy." Colton draws back, his expression blank. "I think it's a good thing that our wedding will be expedited?—"

"When?" My voice breaks, and I hate myself for showing even a sliver of weakness before him.

"Soon." His smirk returns. "There are arrangements that need to be made first. I know this isn't the most comfortable of accommodations…"

"It's fine." Despite only a plastic mattress for comfort and having to be escorted to the bathroom by an armed guard, I'd rather be here than anywhere near him or my father.

But I'm not na?ve. They won't keep me here for long, and I need to learn as much as I can now—before it's too late.

"Wait," I call out before Colton can leave the room fully. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" He spins to face me as if he's genuinely confused by the question. "Caring about you? Wanting to save your soul from damnation?"

"No." I lick my lips and ask, "Why do you want me at all? What do you stand to gain?"

As his expressionless mask quivers once again, I know I've hit a nerve. In a similar way, he flinched when I hinted at him learning from my father. In a bid to uncover what he's hiding, I again take a stab in the dark.

"Maybe it's all about pride?" I suggest, my tone neutral. "You want to follow in my father's footsteps like his perfect little progeny. But there's one problem, Colton. No matter how much you kiss his ass or do his bidding, you will never live up to Hale. Ever."

"Hale?" He laughs as if I compared him to a cockroach. "As if I would want to become a degenerate drug addict hellbent on destroying the only family I had. He was a liar, Frances. A pathetic, worthless piece of shit, who was more valuable dead than alive. If you ask me, I'd say what happened to him wasn't murder at all. It was a mercy killing."

"You bastard..." I swallow hard, surprised by how openly he refers to what I already know. My father intentionally killed Hale and made it look like an overdose. After leaving him to choke on his own vomit in his childhood bedroom, he paraded himself around like a martyr in hopes of being elected. With every ounce of self-control I possess, I fight back the raw, intense anger I feel. I can't play into his hands—and he wants me to spiral into despair.

In place of that, I propose another question. "Hale had integrity," I say, my jaw clenched. "He had a conscience, and he had a will of his own rather than be led like sheep. That's more than I can say about you. What do you think will happen when my father grows tired of you? When you've outlived your purpose? If you think owning me will earn you his loyalty, you're wrong?—"

"You?" Colton snarls, lunging toward me. Both of his hands collide with my chest, shoving me against the far wall. I'm too stunned to react as he fists a hand through my hair next, wrenching my face closer to his. "You think any of this is about you? Oh, hell no, Frances. You are merely a consolation prize." He rakes his gaze up and down my body while his fingers tighten their grip until I feel the nails biting into my scalp. "A little toy they put in children's meals at fast-food restaurants. You were thrown in to merely sweeten the pot. What your father is after, only my family can provide. He needs us far more than we need him, so keep that in mind."

Suddenly, his other hand brushes my cheek, and I wrench back. Unfazed, he lets his fingers remain in the air and flexes them so the knuckles crack in a menacing symphony. "When we are married, the things I will do to help you learn how to control that smart mouth. You'll be singing my praises like the sweet angel I know you are deep down."

"Don't touch me!" I stumble out of his reach, nearly tripping in my rush to get away. As I press my back against the wall, I have no delusions about the situation I'm in. He could do whatever he wanted to me. The fear lingers at the back of my mind, and I watch his every move while balling my hands into fists.

No. I won't let him. If he so much as twitches, I'll be ready…

But he doesn't approach. He merely tilts his head further and issues a laugh that runs through me like a knife. It's borderline gloating. Whatever truth I'd been nearing before, I've gone the wrong way.

How on earth to regroup?

I decide to play it safe for now. "I want to know when the wedding will be," I say thickly. "So that I can be prepared."

He raises an eyebrow. "You'll find out soon enough. But I can assure you that there won't be time for any games or hysterics. There is too much riding on this marriage. Should you or anyone else try to intervene, you'll face a far larger threat than I could provide."

The words hint at something. Is there another player behind the scenes in addition to my father? Someone that even Colton has the sense to fear?

He doesn't explain more before turning on his heel to leave, slamming the door in his wake.