Page 144 of Deacon

We’re about the same height. He’s looking me dead in the eye.

“That you won’t give up that easement bullshit? Yeah, fucking bothers me,” Aiden says.

I shake my head. “No, does it bother you that I fuck your stepdaughter?”

His face turns to stone. The only thing that moves are his pupils, blowing to fill his eyes. The thought that has poked at my subconscious for weeks resurfaces: Aiden cares a little too much about who’s fucking Freya.

“Does it bother you that her mother left? That that one’s mother left too?” I jerk my head at Ryland. “But my girl, she stays…enthusiastically.”

Ryland surges forward. I whip up the shotgun and point it at him.

“Stay right there, you son of a bitch,” I say, keeping my voice low.

Everybody freezes. A few stray bits of snow fall, and I swear, I can hear them drift down. Slowly, I take the envelope and tuck it into the front pocket of Aiden’s coat.

“The problem with you is, you’ve never met your match,” I say. “So nice to meet you. I’m not a little girl you can scare by breaking shit. Hit me, and I’ll curb stomp your sons into the ground and bury them in my compost pile. Now, get off my land.”

His jaw works. His hatred is so intense, it turns his eyes black.

“Alright,” he says. “We’re doing this the hard way.”

He steps back, jerking his head at Ryland to get in the truck, and starts backing up. Behind me, the door slams open, and by the sound of stockinged feet, I know it’s Freya. Chicken lets out a low growl.

Aiden’s eyes fix behind me. I see it then: intense disgust. Quick as a flash, I lift the shotgun.

“Say a word to her, and I’ll shoot you,” I say.

It’s eating him up not to get the last word in, but he gets into his vehicle. But not without hitting the side of my truck hard as he walks by—that makes my blood boil. They peel out, spraying mud and gravel behind them. I’m so fucking angry, I have to take a beat to compose myself before Freya sees my face.

She’s standing by the door, arms wrapped around her body. The wind whips her hair around her pale face. Her eyes are wide and wet, a single tear etching down her cheek.

Chicken lets out one last bark and sits. Freya’s eyes fall on him as another tear slips out.

“Chicken is a fucking stupid name for a dog,” she snaps, yanking open the door. “You should name him something better.”

She disappears into the house like a storm cloud. The door slams so hard, it echoes through the yard. Jensen’s jaw hangs loose. He turns on his heel and throws his hands up.

“What the fuck did I do?” he says.

I hand him the shotgun, shaking my head, and follow her into the house. It’s not Jensen she’s mad at. I’m not positive it’s me either, not unless she heard the comment about her staying with me. Still, that was barely risqué.

There’s something else going on.

Her feet patter overhead. I follow her upstairs, turning the corner just in time to see her disappear behind the attic door. I cock my head, listening to her flip the deadbolt and patter up the steps.

She’s feeling feisty this morning. I try the handle, and it’s locked. Sighing, I go into our bedroom and take the jackknife from mybedside table. Back in the hall, I kneel and push the blade in the crack to pop it open.

Good. I’d rather not scare her by kicking the door in. As I climb the stairs, I hear Jensen’s truck head down the drive. Apparently, he’s not sticking around, and I don’t blame him.

She’s sitting in the reading chair, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around her legs. There’s a pout on her lips and a crease between her brows. Tears glitter on her lashes. She glances up as I step into the room and looks away, fixing her eyes on the floor.

“No, thank you,” she says.

“No, thank you…what?” I cross the room and crouch down to look up at her.

She tilts her chin, looking me dead in the eyes.

“No, thank you, daddy,” she says coolly.

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