Page 8 of Wild Devil
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?