Page 148 of Deacon

The test burns a hole in my pocket. I take it out with unsteady fingers, chest heaving as I stare down at it. In the distance, I feel something snap deep inside. It’s the same thing that happened the night Henderson stabbed me. The man drained out of me, and all that was left was the animal.

I want my family back, and I’m going to make it everyone’s problem until she’s safe in my arms.

Dust settles slowly around the broken bed. I take out my phone.

It’s time to call in that favor.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

FREYA

I can tell I’m in the back seat of Aiden’s truck by the familiar oil and leather scent.

I was asleep. Then, I was ripped from our bed, my eyes covered with a rag. All I remember clearly was Stu yapping his head off. Hands were on me, gripping hard enough to hurt. I heard my own voice, begging those hands not to hurt me. The only thought in my head was the baby who might be waiting in my belly.

I was dragged across the bed. Then, they slung me over their shoulder, and right away, I knew it was one of two people by the way they walked.

Deacon or Aiden.

And only one of those men wants to hurt me.

My arms prickle with goosebumps. After Deacon left, I changed into my black slip so I could take a nap, and it’s freezing outside. I’m still wearing the chastity harness without that strap underneath. Deacon doesn’t take it off unless I have a reason for it.

My nose drips. I’m cold, exposed, and scared. Every time the truck goes over a bump, I jostle and my stomach flops. My hands are bound behind my back with what feels like cloth. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s jarringly different from when Deacon binds my wrists.

The truck goes until I feel it shift from the road to gravel. I brace my feet on the floor, my body flopping from side to side. My center of gravity stabilizes, and we’re going up a hill. I lean my head against the rest.

“Aiden,” I whisper.

“Shut up.”

His voice is gruff.

“Please don’t do this,” I say, keeping my voice sweet and low.

He doesn’t answer. The truck comes to a halt and the door slams. His hand wraps around my elbow, and he drags me out, slinging me back over his shoulder. All the blood rushes to my head. It’s disorienting to move without knowing where we’re heading.

A door slams. Boots ring out. Another door opens. I’m laid on a bed, and the door shuts again.

I keep perfectly still. The room smells faintly of whiskey and dampness.

My heart beats like it’s trying to jump from my chest. In the darkness, I try to figure out what this horrible feeling is knotted in my belly, creeping through my veins like cold.

I thought it was terror, but it’s something worse—acceptance of my fate.

I always knew this would come.

Aiden taught me that violence is inevitable. The same cycle that forced him into the factory, that forced Bittern down into that mine, has brought me here.

Desperation.

We’re all just clawing over each other, trying to get a leg up, hoping for relief that never comes. The deck was stacked against all of us, some of us more than others. Now, we’re all trying to figure out how to play a game we’re bound to lose.

The door creaks. Boots sound on the floor, and the bed sinks. Unsteady fingers pull the blindfold up, and the light blinds me for a second. Bittern’s haggard face swims into view. He looks so much older than thirty, and the heavy, dull expression in his eyes is worse than usual.

“Hey, Frey,” he says.

“Bittern.” The word bursts out.

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