4. Frey

FOUR

FREY

There is too much riding on this marriage. Colton's ominous warning echoes in my skull long after he's gone. The more time passes, the more uneasy I feel. It seems that he and my father are planning something—and I'm just a bonus prize for him and his family. Collateral.

Father wants nothing more than to be elected, but I didn't stop to think about what else he stands to gain. Or what those who support him expect.

I almost wish Colton were still here so that I could ask him what outright. Somehow, I'd make him tell me. Luckily, I have access to the next best thing. Rising to my feet, I tiptoe through the darkened space and feel for the door.

"Hello?" I call out.

Despite the fact that no one answers, I can smell a guard lurking on the other side, reeking of cigarettes and food grease. As my nostrils wrinkle, I shudder. These men don't seem to be the polished, professional bodyguards my father normally hires. They remind me more of the men I met during Daze's cage fight. Gritty. Gruff.

"I know you're there," I say, making my voice louder. "I need to use the restroom, please."

After a few seconds, the door is abruptly opened from outside.

Startled, I stumble back. My escort isn't the slender man I met earlier—someone I could try to coax into giving me information. As he towers above me, he blocks out most of the artificial light illuminating the hall. What little of him I can make out, has me swallowing hard—not a nondescript black uniform, but a T-shirt and jeans that do nothing to disguise the muscle coiled over every inch of his frame. All in all, he requires no introduction. Silas.

I spit his name out, and he laughs darkly in return.

"Your daddy wanted me to watch you personally, little girl," he explains in response to my unanswered question. His gloating expression is convincing. I almost believe him.

Almost.

"I intend to take this job seriously," he adds. "After all, there is a naughty fugitive out there, looking for you." His eyes sweep over me, raising goosebumps in their wake, but I have a hint as to why he's really here. Daze.

I take another step back, hating the weakness the action reveals. Despite his cruelty, my father isn't a fool. Leaving Silas here is the equivalent of letting a fox guard the henhouse. The criminal biker isn't in his class. Should they cross paths, I doubt he'd even acknowledge him on the street. No… Just like Silas has another aim in mind, my father wouldn't leave him to guard me without his own reasons.

Then it dawns on me—their goal is the same. Daze. What better way to lure him out of hiding than to use me? That is the real reason why I'm here, to act as bait.

"Ah, you don't seem very happy to see me, little girl," Silas croons. Behind him, I can see the still-open door and the darkened corridor beyond. Considering how the sound echoes, I have a horrible suspicion that he is the only one here. At least for now.

We're alone.

"Smile, little girl." His finger digs brutally into the corner of my mouth, making me grimace. I snap my teeth, barely missing his index finger. Looking at the digit in question, he laughs. "I think we're going to have a lot of fun together."

It takes me a few moments to recover from the fear, at least until I recall something Daze said to me. Reacting out of fear is what Silas wants.

"You can't touch me," I say, imitating his swagger.

In a rare display of shock, he cocks his head. "Is that so?" He reaches out, pressing his calloused hand against my cheek. "I think I'm touching you now."

My heart quivers. Breathe Frey. I can't stand how cold he is. Every cell in my body crawls with disgust. I want to run. Scream.

"You know what I mean," I reply, meeting his gaze directly. "You think that because my father lets you do his dirty work, he trusts you? No. You're merely the hired help. If you leave so much as a mark on me, he'll punish you for it." My voice sounds so confident that I almost believe it.

It's hard to tell whether Silas is fooled despite his sly grin. "I don't know if you've already forgotten, sweetheart, but I've left my mark on that pretty little face more than once." He prods the still-sore spot from when he slapped me, but I don't flinch. "Maybe I didn't make it hurt badly enough. Don't worry. We can always try again."

"That was because my father gave you your marching orders, and you carried them out like a good soldier." I feel my body go numb as his eyes flash and alarm courses through me. A heartbeat passes, but he doesn't move. Bravado or not, I wasn't too far off.

He can't touch me.

"You know it, don't you?" I choke out a hollow laugh. "You can only obey him and follow the rules he sets out. He's put you back on your leash—" My head held high, I step forward. "So, you can't touch me."

Instead of moving, he chuckles. "It seems like you learned some tricks on how to use that smart little mouth. I have to give Daze his credit. He's managed to teach you a lot in a short amount of time. Imagine what you and I will learn when we have all the time in the world to play."

My breathing hitches. "A bold claim," I manage to croak. "Seeing as how you aren't even fit enough to be by his side tonight. I'm sure Colton is," I add, thinking of what he'd hinted at earlier. "My father trusts him. Honors him. Sees him as an equal. You? You're just a useful tool."

"Is that so?" Something dark falls across his expression, and another trill of alarm runs down my spine. Then he starts to laugh, shaking his head as if in disbelief at my naivety. Instead of moving, he chuckles.

"I'm glad you find it amusing," I say. "That you know your role to play, and?—"

"Listen, little girl." With one hand, he grips my throat. I feel my eyes bulge from the pressure he applies before he releases it a heartbeat later. "You think you have my balls in the palm of your hand, and that you'll be able to hide behind your daddy forever. Now, I may not know shit about politics, but most elected officials don't seem to last too long in the grand scheme of things."

I swallow hard, ignoring a twinge in my throat. Breathless, I ask, "Is that a threat?"

"No, sweetheart." He starts to stroke through my hair, and this time, I don't let myself so much as flinch. He wants to get a rise out of me. The only way to beat him is to deny him the satisfaction of knowing he's affected me. At least until he tugs, wrenching my face closer to his.

"That was a promise," he warns. "Your daddy won't be king for long, but I'll play along. Bide my time. I just hope there's something left of you when that pretty boy is finished."

His confident tone catches me off guard. It's as if he knows something I don't regarding Colton's true intentions.

A good, obedient hostage would remain silent. Luckily, more than a little of Daze's personality has rubbed off on me. It's easier now to think the way he does, and analyze things from a different perspective, even while afraid. Silas is counting on my fear to let him get away with dropping these little tidbits of information, thinking I won't notice. I need to play on that.

"As if he'd ever let you touch me," I say with every ounce of superiority I can muster. Hearing my own words echoed back to me makes me cringe. God, I sound like Colton. Or worse, my father. "Don't you get it? You're just a flunky for their benefit, but they will always regard you as trash beneath their feet."

"Is that so?" He cups my chin, wrenching my face within a mere hairsbreadth of his. I can feel his breath on my skin, hot and tinged with cigarettes. Ironically, he smells so much like Daze, but still different. What is an appealing musk on the latter, smells acrid and hostile on the man in front of me. My entire body reacts to him the same way I figure it would respond to a wild bear, or some dangerous predator. Every cell and pore is screaming at me to do only one thing.

Run.

"You've been spending too much time listening to your daddy's little sermons, sweetheart," Silas tells me. "You have a warped sense of what happens in the real world versus those scriptures he relies on so much. I'll enlighten you. He thinks he's a big shot now and that he holds all the cards. But how does that one saying go? Pride cometh before the fall?"

As he draws back, I fight to school my face into a blank expression. My mind is going a million miles a minute. He doesn't sound cocky or smug. No, he sounds convinced, as if he knows something I don't, and he's relishing in my stupidity.

"From where I'm standing, it looks like you're a good boy taking orders from someone with more power," I say.

"Oh really?" It makes my stomach churn when he laughs. "What is power but a fickle friend? It changes hands, sweetheart, sometimes more quickly than you'd think."

"Bold words." I don't miss the honesty in his voice. "What if I told my father that you were plotting behind his back?"

He smirks, amused by the threat. "Do you really think he'd believe you? After all, I'm just a dutiful little soldier. For the record, honey, I think your daddy has bigger fish to fry at the moment."

"What do you mean?"

Stepping back, he chuckles. "Wouldn't you like to know? I'm sure Daze has you convinced that I'm the bad guy. That he's as pure as driven snow and I'm a monster who only wants to see this city burn. Oh no—" He bares his teeth, his nostrils flared with anger. "I'm the only one with the balls to protect this city. It's the righteous bastards like your daddy who will gladly let the devil in. Just you wait."

He saunters into the hallway, and I follow him, unable to resist questioning. "What do you mean? You're the one who convinced my father to turn salvation into a human trafficking scheme. You're the one who wants to piggyback off his political power to hide your crimes. That doesn't sound very noble to me."

"Ah, but there is where you're wrong," he counters, shooting me a searching look from over his shoulder. "I may be the tool your daddy is using to carry out his nefarious plans, but who do you think gave him the idea in the first place? High-level trafficking doesn't seem like something you'd learn in seminary school."

"And you're just an innocent bystander waiting to take your shot at playing king?" I ask, forcing a scoff. "I may be young, but I'm not stupid, Silas."

"I'm seeing that," he says, stroking his chin once again. "No wonder you have Daze wrapped around your pretty little finger. But I'll let you in on a little secret—" His dark eyes shimmer with menace as his voice dips to a dangerously low octave. "Daze is a fucking idiot. If he were smart, he'd see the forest for the trees, but I'm betting that he's itching to play the hero. He'll come for you, and I'll gladly put a bullet in his head this time."

I can barely stomach the horrific imagery. It's not just a matter of him gloating now. He's dropping breadcrumbs to see if I'm able to pick them up. One stands out to me clearly.

"I'm a distraction," I say. While I surely realized that on my own, having him taunt me with that fact makes it clear that his feud with Daze is not his sole reason for being here. They're banking on using my captivity to draw his attention, perhaps from something else.

Whatever they're planning seems to have escaped even Colton's notice. Which means it's important. Vital. I've been focusing on the wrong piece of the puzzle all this time. Hale's death represents more than collateral damage.

"And I'm sure you know exactly who is pulling your puppet strings," I blurt out to Silas, hoping he'll be dumb enough to give me a name.

That likelihood is dashed by his smirk. "Of course, I do, baby. But do you?" He spins to face me and leans his weight against the door frame. "I'm sure you think your sordid little romance is the center of the universe, but it isn't. You're just one little buzzing fly among many. If anything, you did us a favor by keeping Daze's fucking nose out of our business for a few days."

"Oh really?" I fight to keep my face blank. "I thought he was just a fly among many."

Silas nods. "Ah, but even a fly can cause a shitload of trouble if it buzzes around the wrong person."

I hate his playful tone. He's dancing around the subject on purpose, practically goading me to ask, "Who?"

He winks. "Wouldn't you like to know? You aren't the dumb little fool I thought you were, I'll give you that. But you don't know shit, sweetheart. Not by a long shot. You're still thinking in the short-term. In small little details like you and Daze and that little boyfriend of yours. You haven't stopped to take in the big picture. What do all those little snippets look like when viewed together?"

In other words, it's a twisted version of the puzzle analogy I used earlier. "And let me guess, you'll take pity on me and tell me your grand master plan?"

"I'll do you one better. What do they say? You give a man a fish, and he'll eat for a day, but if you teach a man to fish…"

He gestures for me to continue.

"He can drown you," I snap.

"No, no." He wags a finger at me disapprovingly. "You teach a man to fish, honey, and he can create a goddamn empire. Then, when you least expect it, he can take not just your fish, but your entire boat without you even realizing it. Teach a man to fish, Frey, and he can eat for life."

"And I suppose you see yourself as the winner in that scenario?"

"Better. I see myself as owning the whole damn ocean in the end. Since you seem so eager to play detective, I'll give you another tidbit. We'll make a game out of it. How about you answer a question for me? I want you to think long and hard about it. Think you can do that, honey?"

I grit my teeth, unwilling to give him a response. Even so, I can't deny that I'm intrigued. Something has him more talkative than the last time we met, and he's radiating energy like a live wire. I can either try to harness it or get shocked by it. There is no in-between.

"Fine," I hiss when he remains silent. "What is the question?"

A manic gleam ignites his expression. "I want you to riddle me this. Your mother was some rich little heiress, right?" Suddenly, anger washes over me. Blinding hot and reckless. "Don't you ever mention her?—"

"She disobeyed her parents and married some poor preacher man who's lived high off her money ever since," he says over me. "I bet your daddy is terrified of that money running out, huh?" He chuckles to himself, his upper lip quirked into a sneer. "What really keeps him up at night, shaking in those polished boots? What truly feeds the ambition of a holy man?"

I can't hide my annoyance anymore. "If that's your idea of a riddle, it sucks. No wonder you resorted to a life of crime rather than poetry."

His grin doesn't even waver. "Cute. I'll rephrase—why don't you go back to the beginning, Frances?"

I hate him. Still, I'm not stupid enough to refuse to play along. If he wants to make this a game, so be it—I'm eager to know any scrap of information he'll throw my way. "The beginning," I echo. "With Hale's death?"

He chuckles, apparently enjoying this. "You've been so caught up in the saga around your dear big brother that you never stopped to think, why not you? If your daddy wanted to get him in line, why didn't he threaten you ? I'm sure a boy scout like Hale would jump at the chance to play hero. But your daddy chose a different course of action. Why? And why hasn't he stuck a needle in your arm yet? Your brother caused him a lot less trouble, I can tell you that. Ask yourself why. And I want you to think about what other reasons that pretty boy could have for marrying you. None of them do with love, or even lust, that's for damn sure."

"What do you mean?" I hate how easily he's gotten inside my head. Already, I find myself rethinking everything I thought I knew. The scary part? He has a point—why have I been spared my father's wrath while Hale wasn't?

Even more alarming to consider, what is his real purpose for me?

"That's the point of a riddle, sweetheart," Silas explains. "Figure it out. Though, I will give you one clue to get you started. Your daddy has a trail of bodies in his wake. Start there, with his very first victim—" A sudden burst of noisy static cuts him off. I'm confused until I see him withdraw something from his pants pocket—a walkie-talkie. Holding it one-handed, he strikes a button on the end with his thumb. "What is it?"

A guttural voice comes from the other end. "…Disturbance outside. Might be an intruder."

A beaming smile spreads across Silas' face as he lowers the device. "Wonderful. Looks like I won our little bet. Your boyfriend is here, ready to come to the rescue. I'm more than willing to give him a nice, cozy welcome. Maybe I'll even let you watch."

"Wait!" Despite knowing I cannot physically stop him, I step forward. God, I hope they're wrong. Please, Daze… I pray that he didn't come. "What did you mean about my father?"

He winks. "We can chat more later. In fact, tonight, I'm going to be your special friend. We'll be arm-in-arm when Daze comes. In the meantime, how about I tell you a story? The story of the first woman Daze Keaton fucked over and destroyed."

Jaw clenched, I brace myself for what he might say next—this isn't the first time he's brought up this certain topic. Daze was once in love with a woman named Renna—Silas' sister.

"I don't think you're ready yet," he croons, his breath hot on my face. "But soon, little girl. I'll teach you how a real man is supposed to be."

"Like you?" I scoff. "In that case, I'd choose a so-called piece of shit like Daze any day."

He grunts, but doesn't react with the violence I expect. His touch is gentle as he bats a piece of stray hair from my face.

"Oh, sweetheart. One day, you're going to eat those words, and I'll be waiting."

He turns and enters the hall, slamming the door behind him.

And if Daze is really somewhere on the property, I pray that he stays out of sight.