7. Daze

SEVEN

DAZE

Love can utterly fuck you up. You think you're on the right path, and you know what's best. Then, before you know it, you're pussy-whipped, shackled by someone else's morals and ideals. You can't react out of anger and impulse like you used to. You can't barge in to save them either, spraying bullets and dropping bodies. You'd rather die than have them hate you.

Or worse.

Fear you.

So, to prove your worth to them, you strangle your worst impulses. As soon as I saw Sam for the first time, I knew I would die for him. In Frey's case, however, there is no parental bond to hide behind. The sex alone doesn't seem to justify this change that I can feel warping me from within. No, it's like she's altering me on a cellular fucking level, and the worst part?

I like it, to some extent, the shit she does to me. Fuck, she's more potent than a drug, making me feel like more than a worthless piece of shit. She makes me feel alive again. Powerful.

And she makes me terrified to lose that high.

"You seem tense," Ben says. The irony is he's the one hunched over a table scattered with journal pages, trying to make sense of Hale's lost, rambling words. "Shouldn't you be relieved? You heard from her. You know she's still alive and able to type, at least. Shouldn't that be a good thing?"

It is.

But then it isn't.

If she's taken the risk to steal a phone, then she's desperate. I'd be a fool to just twiddle my fucking thumbs out here, following the breadcrumbs she's dropped.

Deep down, though… I suspect that's exactly what she wants me to do. Trust her. Lay the groundwork to make sure her father can't fuck with her or anyone else ever again.

So, I'll play. I'll be fucking Hansel and Gretel and keep unraveling the mystery of Michael Heywood and whatever the fuck he's up to.

"She said that something's happening tonight," I say to Ben, who's still watching me. "We should keep an eye on Heywood."

"I bet it has something to do with the meeting last night," Ben agrees.

"But that isn't all. Something's off. I can feel it. She's keeping something back from me. I know her."

"Do you really?" Ben counters. At the look I shoot him, he immediately throws his hands into the air. "Look, all I'm saying is that, what? You've only known her for two weeks. I get the whole Romeo and Juliet thing is sexy, but let's not go overboard."

"That's not what I mean," I snap. "There's more to it. I can tell when she's afraid, even without seeing her face. Something is wrong. I'm just not sure what."

"You know the drill," Ben says. "We keep an eye on Silas and Heywood. We continue to build the crew. Then you get to be the hero and rescue your damsel in distress."

"Were you able to track down that reporter?" I ask a figure lurking at the back of the room. Skinny, with a mop of black hair, he looks at home seated before a mess of computer equipment that seemingly appeared overnight. I can't imagine him holding his own in an arena, but I've heard the rumors. His speed and size are two weapons he's adept at using to his advantage.

"Almost," Lex replies. "He's a squirely one, and he knows how to cover his tracks. The bastard's been posting status updates to social media but using an IP spoofer to disguise his?—"

"I think I can follow, but you might want to dumb it down for the others," I interject.

"Yeah." The man laughs. "It means that he's a tricky fucker to pin down. He has a listed address registered with the paper, but I doubt he'd be lying low there. No, if it were me, I'd be hiding in plain sight. The only way to hook someone like this is to draw them out. We need bait."

"Why can't we just say that we got his name from Frey?" I suggest.

"A guy this wound up? He probably won't believe it," Lex counters. "We gotta lure him to a meeting—and it's gotta be juicier than a simple meet and greet. Something he'd risk his life over."

"What about knowing what went down during Heywood's little get-together last night?"

He winks. "That'll do it. But how to set the bait? If we're hunting him down, you can bet that Silas and Heywood have already caught on. They could be trolling the same fucking database, ready to ambush any meeting we might set up. Plus, this dude is far too paranoid to take a risk without knowing there'll be a payoff. We'll get one shot at messaging him, and we gotta make it count."

"Fuck that. I don't do cloak-and-dagger shit. We lay it on the table, and maybe we can kill two birds with one stone."

"So what do we do?"

"We send them a fucking picture."

He raises his eyebrows. "That's not exactly subtle."

"We send a message. One so juicy that the reporter won't be able to resist, and if Heywood and his goons are watching, they won't be able to ignore it, either. All we have to do is wait and see who comes to nibble."

"I wouldn't exactly call that a smart plan," Lex says. "But it's crazy enough to work, if only to get us all killed. Count me in."

"And what should we do in the meantime?" Ben asks. "Just in case we all don't die, and this turns out to give us the leverage we need."

"Well then…" I shrug, thinking it over. "Then times up, and if Frey isn't free by then, we'll blow that fucking church to hell and back. I don't give a damn."

"That's the Day I know," Ben says, chuckling. "I thought I'd lost you there for a moment. But there is one more thing we need to worry about," he adds. "Something that, if you don't take care of it now, might kill you before Silas or anyone else gets the chance."

"And what is that?"

He shrugs and raises an eyebrow as if to say, what do you think? "Your sister."

She's lived in the same house for the past ten years, and it's fucking easy to break into. All you have to do is find the spare key under the mat in the backyard and unlock the door.

Usually, I could sneak in through the kitchen and help myself to whatever leftovers she had in the fridge before she ever noticed I was there.

Today seems no different. The place is unguarded, and when I enter the kitchen, I'm tense at the silence I hear inside. The TV isn't on, and I don't hear Sam's usual chatter. Then I feel the pressure against the back of my neck, and I realize the awful truth.

I've fucked up.

"I'm going to warn you bastards one more time," Lyra snarls. "I don't know where the fuck Daze is, and if Silas wants to look for him, he's more than welcome to come pull up a fucking chair, but the next time he sends some fucking stranger into my house, I won't be so nice?—"

"Thank fuck," I say, holding my hands up in surrender. "You aren't entirely goddamn stupid. You kept the gun."

She scoffs and pulls back. I turn to see her holding a shotgun—one that I bought for her years ago and one she'd sworn she'd gotten rid of. It looks well maintained, and I can tell it's loaded. Good.

"Daze? Have you lost your fucking mind? Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"

"Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm sorry. How's Sam?"

"Terrified," Lyra admits, her voice soft. "He keeps saying that it's his fault ‘Ms. Lady' had to go away. How the fuck could we ever let him get involved in this mess?" She clutches her forehead and leans against the counter for support, still holding the gun in her other hand. "It was supposed to be different with us, you know? We were going to break the cycle and all that shit. You were meant to end up off the streets and out of jail, and I was…" She tilts her head up toward the ceiling and sighs. "I don't know. Maybe a doctor or something. But look at us. You got your druggie girlfriend knocked up after three months of dating, nearly got your ass thrown in prison, and I got pregnant in my first semester of community college. What a pair we make, huh?"

"A pair of fucking warriors," I say. "Look at us. Life hasn't beaten us down yet."

"Yeah." She looks at me and shrugs. "I guess you could say that. Warriors or fucking nutcases."

"Either way, we stick it out," I say. "We stay together. It's always been the two of us against the world. That won't change any time soon."

"Yeah, until the world blows up with us in it. Then that doesn't sound so nice, does it?"

I shrug off the comeback and pay attention to the obvious signs underneath. All my life, Lyra has been the strong one. The sole unbreakable force in our fucked-up family, forced to shoulder even my responsibilities when my world went to shit. I never even thanked her for all she's done, but I can see the toll it's taken on her. She's hunched over the counter as if it's the only thing holding her up. Her hair is a mess, her outfit wrinkled. I can note the purple bags under her eyes, even from across the room.

"You look wrecked, Ly."

She scoffs. "Gee, thanks, Daze. It wasn't like I was up all night, worried sick about your silly ass, or anything." She pivots to face me, her expression stern. "Tell me that you understand the mess you've gotten yourself in, because I sure as hell don't."

"It's my fault," I say. "I take full responsibility. Sam never should have been involved in this shit."

"That's uncharacteristically noble of you," Lyra points out. "But it wasn't entirely your fault either. You were right. Those were the people Silas was involved with."

I nod.

She hisses through clenched teeth and punches the counter. "Fuck! Ow!" Cradling her arm against her chest, she leans against the nearest wall and sighs again. "Damn him. You'd think that when his nephew's life is on the line, he'd at least show some restraint. The fucking cocky son of a bitch. I will never forgive him for that."

"I don't think he thought Sam was ever at risk," I admit, not that I enjoy coming to the bastard's defense. "He knew I wouldn't take the chance."

"I don't give a shit what he thought." Lyra stands tall, and I've never seen her look so damn tired. "I've protected that bastard for long enough, and this is how he repays me? No more. I'm done."

"Protected…" My guard instantly goes up at the careful way she said that word. "What do you mean?"

She bites her lip and shrugs. After raking a hand through her hair, she turns her attention toward the back window overlooking the small yard and a garage.

"I mean that when you asked me about what Silas was into, I lied," she says.

I grit my teeth to remain silent. I fucking knew it. She let that bastard into her home, but just how bad was the extent of her cooperation? Trust Silas to put not only his own life at risk but everyone he claims to love as well.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Lyra snaps. "I'm not as stupid as you think. I told him no illegal shit—he promised. But he said that any little way I could help would be helping Sam, and he's done so much for him while you were locked up?—"

"Don't blame me," I snap, unable to control myself. "I warned you about that bastard. I warned you."

"I know." She looks so young standing there that I drop the anger—for now.

"Just tell me what he had you do. All of it."

"It's not like he had me drawing up heist schematics, Day. Jesus, I'm not that much of a fucking idiot."

"Then what? Just tell me now."

"He had me store some stuff for him," she admits. "Before you panic, it's not fucking drugs. I made sure of that. But otherwise, I have no idea, and I wanted to keep it that way."

"Store stuff. Lyra…" I form a fist, and it takes all the restraint I have to keep from slamming it into the wall. "What the fuck do you mean, store stuff? Don't you realize that's the oldest trick in the fucking book? Jesus Christ! If your name is tied up in any of his mess, don't you understand how that's going to look? Fuck, you could have just put your entire life on the line for that piece of shit?—"

"Don't lecture me about the risks of trusting a gangbanger, alright?" she snarls. "I trusted you once, remember? And we both know how that turned out. Silas promised me that he had shit under control, and for what he paid me, I wasn't about to ask. My hours were getting cut, and the bills won't pay themselves. Not to mention that putting a kid through private preschool is fucking expensive."

"I gave you money. Whatever I could spare. Don't put this on me."

"I'm not, and I know you tried. But it wasn't enough," she shakes her head sadly. "It wasn't enough, and Silas offered to fill the gap. Besides, when he showed up with just a few boxes it didn't seem like such a bad deal to make. Don't blame me for taking him at his word. Besides, it seemed harmless enough, and he hasn't asked about it again. I bet he probably forgot he left them with me."

"Left boxes of what? Come on, Lyra, tell me you weren't that fucking stupid."

"As I said I never looked in them. I just had a friend I know in the police department do me a favor and bring a drug-sniffing dog around. It didn't so much as twitch, so whatever it is, it isn't drugs."

"But it could be weapons," I snap. "Or fucking body parts, for all you know!"

She shrugs. "Well, the dog would have picked up on that, wouldn't it?"

"Where?" I ask, fighting to keep my tone in check. "Just tell me you rented a storage shed someplace, and you weren't na?ve enough to store whatever the fuck it is in your house."

She rolls her eyes in exasperation. "This is fucking rich. You think you have any right to give me the safety speech?"

"Where, Lyra?"

She inclines her head toward the window again. "I didn't let him store it in the house per se. It's out there in the garage, but it's always locked, and Sam knows better than to play around there. Besides, like I said, I doubt Silas even remembers it's there. It's been years since he left it there and he hasn't asked about it since. He just made me promise to never touch it or even look in the boxes without his permission. They're locked anyway, so it's not like I could have. I'm sure it's probably paperwork. He said they were an insurance policy?—"

"And you believed him? Fuck, for all you know, there could be a bomb hidden out there!"

"Well, after the stunt he pulled, I don't feel obligated to protect him anymore, do I?" She narrows her eyes. "You can have whatever the fuck it is. I don't care."

"You can't stay here. You pack your shit, and you come with me. I'll put you up for a few days."

"And what about Sammy? You think he can just hide in a bunker and miss school for however long your little pissing contest goes on for?"

"I don't plan on it taking very long at all," I mutter.

"Daze. Tell me you aren't planning to do what I think you are. Please. Silas is a dick, but think about Sam. He wouldn't want you doing anything that could jeopardize your freedom?—"

"Go pack your stuff, and I'll handle whatever the hell it is you have in the garage. But I mean it, Lyra. From now on, you have to trust me. I care about Sam more than anyone—even you," I add before she can argue. "He's all I have left, and I'll be damned if I let Silas rope him into some dangerous bullshit. Just trust me."

"Fine, but I'm sure he has people watching the house. They probably already know you're here. I'll go pack up Sammy and the van. Then I'll get you the boxes from the garage. You think I hate you, but I don't Daze. I have always looked out for you from day one, but it's been nearly impossible to trust you. Don't let me down."

"I won't. You get your stuff, and I'll get Sam's."

I find him in the living room, watching a cartoon on low volume. He beams when he sees me and throws his arms around my waist. Then he scans the room as if hunting for someone else. "Where is Ms. Lady?" he asks. "I wanted to show her my room. Can she come and play?"

"Not right now, buddy." I crouch to his level and smooth the hair back from his face. I'll never get over just how much he looks like Renna. He may have my eyes, sure, but the innocence in his expression is all her. That enduring hope in whoever they look at, as if you're the most important fucking person in the universe, and they have no doubt about that. They'll follow you to the ends of the earth if they have to. Their love is just that fucking pure.

"Where is she?" he asks. "I want to play."

"She's… Away for a little while. You and I are gonna help get her back."

"Okay!"

"To do that, we're going to need to go on a little adventure. Would you like that?"

He nods.

"Good. Let's go pack your favorite clothes and toys."

"Okay, Daddy!" He takes my hand and leads me upstairs. I haven't been in this house in a long damn time, but his room is the largest, decorated in his favorite colors with more toys than most stores have stocked. Lyra may be a hard-ass, but I don't question for a second just how much she loves my kid. He's as much hers as he is mine, and I can't blame her for wanting the best for him.

Or at least that's what I tell myself as I shove Sam's prized belongings in a tiny suitcase and carry it out to the van. She's already waiting there, arguing with someone else who arrived just in time.

"What is this Daze?" Lyra snaps. "You think I need a fucking escort? I can drive myself."

"Ben will get you where you need to go," I say. "And he'll make sure that nothing happens along the way. Now show me where you've kept those boxes."

She heads into the backyard while I follow. I have no doubt that her suspicion is probably correct. Silas must have someone watching the house, but if one of his boys hasn't shown up yet, it could only mean one of two things.

Either what's in those boxes isn't important enough for him to give a shit about.

Or it's extremely important, enough that he needs more than one man to protect it. He needs backup.

"It's in there," Lyra says. "But I'm counting on you, Daze. Silas loves Sam, but I'm not as stupid as you think. I know what going against him means. Just make sure I don't regret it."

"You won't," I say. "Now get in the van and let Ben drive. He'll get you someplace safe, and then I'll meet up with you."

"Okay. I do love you, you crazy son of a bitch," she says, pulling me into a hug. "I do. And when it comes down to you and anyone else in the world except my kid, and Sam, you know that I will pick you every single time."

"Don't get all mushy on me now," I say, pulling back. "Just get on the road. I'll meet up with you when I can. Keep Sam safe."

She sighs, eyeing me up and down. "You never have to ask me for that. Take care of yourself, Daze."

"I very much intend to."

Standing on the curb, I watch her until the second she's in the van, and it takes off—with Ben behind the wheel—and turns the corner a few blocks away. Then I approach the garage, unsure of what the fuck I'll even find. As skeptical as I am, I doubt Silas would store anything illegal here. He has the Saints' warehouses for that and a network to funnel any shit out of the city. So, what in the hell could he want to hide in the garage of a residential neighborhood in the suburbs?

A part of me wants to suspect that it's nothing valuable. Just something small to test Lyra's willingness before he used her house to smuggle dope later down the road.

But…

The rest of me isn't quite that convinced. That part is why I'm armed with at least two weapons, just in case. Silas has the entire Saints' network to launder his dirty work, but he would only hide something in Lyra's that he wanted guarded. Something he didn't trust to keep in his own house or with any of his lackeys. Something, perhaps, he wanted to keep hidden even from Heywood himself.

And there are very few things in the world that could be.

I'm already stiffening with dread as I unlock the door and enter the dusty space. She has shit from decades ago in here. Dad's old bike. A cradle from the Stone Ages. At the very back of the room, behind an old stereo system, is a large old-fashioned military-style trunk with a key lock. I lift it, expecting it to be heavy, but it's light. Too light to be a shipment of illegal weapons, at least. Still, I'm curious the longer I stare at it and try to figure out what the hell Silas could have inside it.

He didn't leave Lyra the key. Luckily for me, she kept some tools in here apart from the museum of old memories. I find a crowbar and make short work of the lock. As I crouch to lift the lid, I start laughing to myself. After all this trouble, it would be fitting if all I found inside were some old mementos that Silas was too embarrassed to leave lying around his house. An old teddy bear or some shit. Maybe actual insurance paperwork like Lyra thought.

When I finally heft the lid open, a stack of bureaucratic documents isn't what I see. Neither is it cocaine or heroin.

In a sense, I suspect it's something far worse than all those things combined.

And it's the one tool I can use to take down Heywood.

Incredulous, all I can do is laugh louder at the sight. "Well, fuck."

I don't know what I expected. A murder weapon tied to some series of unsolved crimes? Silas' soul, for fuck's sake?

Anything but a bunch of old newspaper clippings, detailing possible cartel hits, along with a stack of documents in a folder with the Heywood name stamped onto the front. I flip through it, unsure of what I'll find. Then I spot one page in particular that makes me freeze. It looks like a fairly-new copy of a much older will. The name at the top? Abagail Heywood.

"…the bastard's already inside." The unfamiliar voice comes from outside, accompanied by a set of heavy footsteps traipsing through Lyra's overgrown garden.

Fuck. Just my luck. I could leave the documents behind, but at the last minute, I decide to tuck them under one arm while opening the door with the other hand.

From the corner of my eye, I catch movement flicker around the side of the structure. Paired with the still-advancing footsteps from the other end, I count at least two potential attackers. Apparently, Silas has his boys watching Lyra's place after all.

But why choose now to strike?

In all honesty, I don't fucking care for their reasons.

I lunge as the first motherfucker comes into view. He barely manages to choke out a grunt before I have him pinned to the ground with a knife at his throat. He gapes at me wide-eyed, scrambling to reach for his hip. I beat him to the punch, finding a pistol holstered just beneath the fall of his leather jacket.

Silas isn't playing around, it seems.

But neither am I.

Pulling the weapon free, I ram the butt of it against the bastard's skull, rendering him unconscious. Then I lurch upright and pivot just in time to catch the second punk racing from around the garage.

"You fucked up, Daze," he tells me, his face contorted in a snarl. I don't recognize him, meaning he signed up with Silas long after I left the Saints. He's even wearing our patch on the sleeve of his leather jacket, and I feel disgust wash over me. "Just leave it alone and bounce," he demands, his hands in the air. "You don't want this smoke, trust me."

"Fuck you," I counter, aiming at his head. "And fuck Silas. I'm not going to kill you, though. I want you to deliver a little message for me—I have what he's been hiding. If he wants it, he can fucking come for it."

I wait until the bastard makes the mistake of trying to reach for his own gun. Then I do pull the trigger, striking him in the leg. He slumps over, howling like a goddamn animal, but I only pause long enough to pick up his gun from where it fell and take off through the alley before one of Lyra's neighbors calls the cops.

Somehow, I managed to keep the documents tucked under my arm all this time, but I feel a growing sense of dread at the prospect of discovering just what they contain.

Namely, why in the hell is Silas interested in Frey?