Page 143 of Deacon

“Hatfields?” Jensen asks.

I nod. “Let me get my shotgun.”

Jensen nods, reaching into the holster at his belt and taking out his pistol. He checks it, keeping it down. Inside, I’m deadly quiet as I go into the living room and take my shotgun down from above the mantel. There’s an ammo case under the couch. I kick it out, pocketing a handful of slugs.

“Don’t shoot,” I say, walking past Jensen in the hall. “Not unless they shoot first.”

“Never thought I’d hear those words from Deacon Ryder,” Jensen mutters.

I elbow open the door and step onto the porch. Chicken is going crazy, his feet braced on the floorboards and his head thrown back. I put two bullets in my shotgun but let it hang open over the crook of my elbow.

Aiden gets out. He’s got a pistol on his belt, but nothing bigger that I can see. Ryland jumps out the other side and circles the truck to stand by his father. I don’t see Bittern, to my relief. If this escalates, I don’t want to shoot the only brother Freya cares about.

I swing my gaze over to Aiden. I get what Freya was saying about us being similar. Aiden is me on the outside, just a meaner version.Maybe he’d be me if I hadn’t had people like Andy, Jensen, and Jack to keep me in check.

“You got some kind of nerve standing on my ranch, Hatfield,” I say.

He shifts his weight to one leg.

“You got some kind of nerve kidnapping my daughter,” he says.

That gets me going, but I keep my composure. Freya isn’t his daughter. To be that, he would be required to treat her like a human.

“Didn’t seem like you wanted her around,” I say.

“How’d you figure that?”

I snap the shotgun shut with a quick thrust. “How’d you figure getting a bullet between your eyes, motherfucker?”

“Alright now,” Jensen says, holding up an arm. He sends me a look, warning me to calm down. I know he’s right—we’ve been out here less than a minute, and I’ve already made a death threat. Honestly, I thought I’d snap in seconds having to look at Aiden’s assbackwards face.

“The fuck you here for?” I ask. “Chicken, you quit.”

For the first time in his life, Chicken listens and sits down. He’s on high alert, the hair on his spine spiked. I swing my gaze back to Aiden.

“Better start talking,” Jensen says.

“I came to give you these,” Aiden says, taking an envelope from his pocket and tossing it onto the bottom step. Jensen leans down and picks it up, handing it to me.

I open it. Court summons.

I keep quiet—not for long, but long enough for everything Jay Reed told me to run through my head. Maybe those were more suggestions. I don’t want to keep quiet. I want to put my shotgun down and give this man what he deserves.

I think that’s probably his problem. Nobody’s ever beaten him so bad that he thinks twice before bullying women a third his size.

My mind goes to the fence stakes in the blacksmith shop. I can’t stop fantasizing about pinning this asshole to a wall like one of those bugs in Freya’s collection.

He’d deserve it.

“If you don’t appear in court for this, we will sue,” Aiden says. “If you want to clear this up, you’ll sign off on the easement.”

I keep quiet. Jensen’s watching me like he’s waiting for a gunshot. Even Chicken is staring up at me, one jowl tucked in his teeth. Slowly, I fold the paper in half. My boots are the only sound in the damp, cold air as I descend the steps.

I stop a foot from Aiden. Behind him, Ryland is raring to go, shifting his weight back and forth.

He smells like some kind of soap with a hint of liquor. Up close, I can see his tattoos are just as fucked up as mine. We’re both shaped by years of hard living on the outside, but that’s where the similarities end.

“Does it bother you?” I ask quietly.

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