Page 12 of Wild Devil

“I’ll let you stew on it.” He laughs, his eyes glittering. “Bye, bye for now, sweetheart.”

When the door slams in his wake, I sink to the floor, exhausted. I never realized how much strength it takes to remain strong and unaffected by an enemy in your midst. As much as I hate to admit it, I can’t get his words out of my head.

Renna, his sister, was with Daze, and she died of an overdose that Silas seems to think was intentional. The similarities to Hale’s death are too close for comfort. Almost as if the killer were mocking him with the method.

But why?

The mystery swirls in my mind, and I’m distracted by my surroundings. I hope Daze followed up with the reporter. Maybe he’s found an answer to the many loose ends and missing threads that Hale left behind. I feel like I’m drowning in all the deception and lies, unable to find a sturdy lifeline to pull myself out of the mire.

In the end, I wind up replaying my last few moments with Daze over and over in my mind. I miss him in a way I don’t expect. It’s a physical ache that goes deeper than any pain I’ve ever felt, stealing my breath away whenever I try to decipher it. I miss his voice and the warmth of his arms around me. I crave the safety of lying beside him, feeling his heartbeat thump beneath his skin.

I miss being someone other than good, innocent, weak Frey. With Daze, I felt…powerful. A force to be reckoned with, unwilling to take shit from anyone. Deep down, I still am that woman.

Then and there, crouched on the floor, I come up with a plan that feels so reckless my heart skips a beat at the thought of carrying it out. Good girls don’t contemplate the very, very bad things I am considering.

Maybe that’s a good thing.

Being an angel is overrated. Maybe I always was a devil at heart.

It feels like another hour passes before a familiar guard appears at my door to escort me to the bathroom. I tidy up and wash my hair several times in the sink with just water and hand soap, eager to erase Silas’ musk from my skin. On the way back to my cell, my eyes are drawn to a set of glass doors near the entrance that let in a stream of pale light.

“Is my father coming today?” I ask the guard. “Or Colton?”

In response, he grunts a noncommittal sound and curtly ushers me back inside my cell. My question is answered soon after anyway by twin footsteps marching in my direction. One set is familiar, carrying the smug air of Colton. The other, I recognize as well, and my stomach churns in grim acknowledgment. My father.

Both take their time approaching my door and then wait as a few excruciating seconds pass before the door opens.

“Frances,” my father says. “I hope you’ve had time to think about your actions.”

I audibly gasp as I take him in. His blue eyes stand out even more starkly in contrast to his black suit and navy tie. To maintain his obsession with neatness, his hair is slicked back, exposing the hollow panes of his face. It’s the same impeccable image he’s always projected—minus one little flaw. It’s so obscure that I don’t think anyone else would even notice, but I’ve learned to recognize my father’s various moods over the years.

Especially when he’s furious.

As old childish fear flutters through my chest, I can’t resist taking a step back. His worst moments come when he is like this—both cruel and suave, coaxing his victim into submission. It’s strange how I never classified it as what it was before. I would attribute his mood swings to stress or pressure. The truth is, at his core, he has always been the same person.

An angry, violent man who has little self-control.

“I was fine,” I say. “In fact, I rather enjoyed having someone keep me company.”

He raises an eyebrow, but Colton speaks first.

“Company? Who do you mean?”

“The man from the gang,” I say, being deliberately vague. “He stayed with me all night, waiting just outside my door. How kind of you to ask him to look over me.”

They both trade looks—obviously, Silas’ stunt wasn’t planned. Knowing that doesn’t comfort me any, quite the opposite. He’s becoming reckless, emboldened enough to eschew my father’s rules and boundaries. Why?

“Uncultured swine,” Colton snarls under his breath. “I hope you didn’t show him the same hospitality you show to other men of his ilk.”

I smile as though his disdain were a badge of honor. “I guess you’ll have to ask him. Though I wouldn’t mind if he returned when you leave. He told me some rather interesting stories.”

My father’s eyes narrow. I’m treading on dangerous ground. Goading him into a rage now would provide a petty bit of satisfaction, but it’s far better to wait and see how Silas’ obvious defiance lands on its own.

So, I bite my tongue.

Colton looks back warily at his elder. As he returns his gaze to me, I notice a change in him that I didn’t see yesterday. He’d been angry then but restrained, as if biding his time. In the present... His energy is boundless and unsteady. He reminds me of a kid with a secret, bursting at the seams with excitement. Apprehension tightens my throat. Whatever could make him so antsy doesn’t bode well for me.

Not in the slightest.

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