“Daze.”
I look over to find Ben standing near the entrance of Chris’ spare apartment. From his frown, I can tell he’s been there for a while, watching me. And, judging from the pitying look on his face, he noticed the absence of a certain blond.
But first things first.
“Did you find him?” I ask.
Ben nods. “Found someone by that name anyway, but I think your new friends gave you the wrong intel. This man isn’t just the liaison to the cartel boss Rodrigo Cortez—he’s the man’s fucking cousin. I don’t think his death will go unnoticed—not that I agree with you turning into a contract killer.”
“Don’t have a choice.” I try to ignore the way I know he’s looking at me. Disgusted. Disappointed. Same old same old. “There always had to be a catch, or those rat bastards would have done it themselves. Besides…” I can’t help but smile bitterly at the thought. “When it comes to taking on contracts, I’ve learned from the best.”
“Is this about your old man again?” Ben asks, leaning against the doorway. “You’ve been touchy about him ever since you came back. I thought it was jealousy at first, or some shit. Then I remembered that you aren’t the jealous sort. That’s Silas’ shtick. So, tell me what’s really going on.”
I turn my back to him and stare out of the window nearby. A shitty set of blinds cuts the view of the city beyond it into equal rectangular pieces. Much like the pieces of the Saints my old man left for me to hold together, all by my damn self. “You remember when I first took over?” I ask without looking back. “After Marcus up and died?”
“Yeah,” Ben says. “And Jesus, Day. It wasn’t like the man chose to have a heart attack—”
“I never told you,” I say over him. “But things weren’t as perfect as he let you all believe. The books were a fucking mess. We owed thousands to the cartel alone. Gambling debts.”
He whistles. “Damn. Day, why didn’t you say anything?”
I laugh and eye him from over my shoulder. He genuinely seems shocked—but I wasn’t. I’d known for years by then that my old man wasn’t shit. “Do you want to know how he got us in so deep so fast? Cage fighting matches. The kind that Silas runs now. He’d bet on the fighter he knew would win and pocket the winnings. They were fixed. Every last one.”
“Wait a second…” Ben strokes his chin, fighting to process the information. “You used to fight in the ring back then. Don’t tell me—”
“Yep. I was his prize patsy,” I admit, scowling at the memory. “I used to throw fights on command. Win them. Lose. Take a beating. Whatever he fucking wanted. Until one day, I got sick of his shit and went against his bet. I didn’t throw the match like he asked me to. I fought like hell instead—and a good thing, too, because the other fighter was tough as shit. His name was Damien, though he went by Mayhem in those days—”
“Mayhem.” Ben frowns and strokes his chin. “I heard of a guy by that name. A mercenary. Bounty hunter. The kind of bastard you don’t want to cross—”
“I crossed him that night,” I counter. “But I owned up to my shit and helped him pay off his debts. When Heywood had me arrested, I ran into him in lockup, and we had each other’s backs. My old man, on the other hand? He wasn’t so grateful. He probably lost thousands that day alone. I’m sure that worsened the hole he dug for himself.”
“Fuck.” Ben must move to the couch because I hear the cushions squeal. “Why the hell didn’t you say anything?
“And ruin his perfect image?” I shrug. “I gave that man enough of my life. He could keep his secrets, but I won’t let his lies define me. Not anymore. I won’t leave a mess of lies for my son to clean up, either. Samuel can make his own way. His own name. He won’t ever be tied to some bullshit legacy.”
Lyra may not understand now, but she will. Already, Sammy’s thriving without me. The happiest fucking kid on the planet. I tell myself that every damn day. I have to.
“Damn… No wonder you’ve been so pissy lately,” Ben says after a few minutes of silence, presumably once he’s finished processing what I’ve said. “And now, with what happened last night, no wonder—”
“What happened last night?” I whirl around to find Ben sitting with his head cocked.
“Oh shit.” His eyes widen. “You haven’t heard.”
I don’t like his tone. “Heard what?”
“One of the reasons I came over here was to talk about this—” He stands and tosses something toward me that I hadn’t realized was in his hand until then—a newspaper. Plastered all over the front page is a photo of a familiar building beneath the headline.
FIRE AT COVENANT CHURCH. ARSON SUSPECTED.
“Fuck!”
“Yeah,” Ben says with a grimace. “That’s where your little girlfriend likes to pray, isn’t it? You should know that, according to the police, she’s missing.”
“What?” I picture her, dressed like a church girl, ripe for any bastard to abuse or worse. How the fuck could I leave her there?
“They didn’t write it in that paper, but I’ve done some digging. This disappearance wasn’t planned by her daddy, however. You know anything about it?”
“The fuck I do. Who the hell else could it be? Silas?”
“No. He wouldn’t be this subtle.” Ben starts to pace, wringing his hands together. “But, to be honest, I don’t know who else has the balls. Maybe the cartel? This could all be one fucking setup.”
“No… If it was any rival gang, they’d leave a mark. They’d want to take credit.”
“Your little girlfriend never ceases to be full of surprises, that’s for damn sure. Where are you going?”
I’m already heading for the door. “To find her. There has to be something you missed. She wouldn’t take off alone.”
Or maybe she did. She’d grown tired of waiting for me and ran off with another punk who promised her answers.
The sick part? Were it true, I couldn’t even blame her. “Damn it, Frey…”
“You aren’t going anywhere,” Ben says, hot on my heels. “You have to deal with this shit for the cartel first. Or do you enjoy hiding in a hole in the wall, waiting for Silas to strike you down whenever he feels like it? Listen to me, Daze—” He grabs my arm, wrenching me to face him. “We gotta keep a level head here.”
“So now you think we should carry out the hit after all? Didn’t you just point out that the target is the fucking cousin of the cartel boss?”
“A minor detail,” he says, waving his hand. “The point is, we don’t have any other options, Day. This was your idea to strike out on your own, remember? Getting men and a proper base won’t happen out of nowhere. Look—” He places a hand on my shoulder. “We need to lay the groundwork, or you might as well head over to the Saints right now and turn yourself in.”
I rock on my heels, knowing that he’s right. “I can’t just leave her out there.”
“I know. Which is why you’ll go handle the cartel, and I’ll do my best to track her down. Hopefully, by the time I do, we’ll have an actual hideout to work out of, and we can set our sights on Michael Heywood. But you need to keep a clear head, understood? You wanted to be the boss, remember? Well, you have an errand to take care of. So, I suggest you get to it.”
“I’ll give you from now until I’ve done that fucking errand,” I snarl, shrugging him off. “Then I’m going after her, regardless of what you think.”
“Don’t forget that I’ve stuck my neck out for you, too,” Ben says. “If anyone wants to see this through without winding up in a body bag, it’s me. Besides, if you don’t think I’m up to the task, why don’t you ask that crazy-ass friend of yours to do something useful.”
He has a point.
“Fine. You find Frey. I’ll have Damien track down Cortez—”
“Wait a second, you don’t mean you plan on going after the bastard alone? I meant you should do some intel. Get some weapons. Maybe recruit some backup, at least. Not go barging in to assassinate a cartel leader without thinking it through first!”
“Too late for that,” I counter with a grim smile. Then I head for the stairs, sensing him behind me. “Besides, as you said, I wanted to be the boss. I’ve got this.”
“Can I ask what your grand plan is?”
I laugh. “I think it’s better if you don’t know.”
Not because I don’t trust him.
If Ben knew how I planned to go about this shit, he’d give me another concussion just to stop me.