Page 157 of Deacon

I hear the vehicles approach and move to the edge of the driveway. A black truck pulling a horse trailer comes up first. Riding on either side of it, at an easy posting trot, are Gerard Sovereign and Westin Quinn. The silver Sovereign Mountain logos on their hats and side of the trailer glint in the barn lights.

Jensen swings out of the truck, eyes tired and shirt damp with sweat. Westin pulls his horse to a halt. He’s a tall man, a year or two younger than me, with a grim face and bright, piercing eyes. When he needed me most, I was there. Now, he’s back to return the favor.

Gerard circles him and pulls to a halt. He’s the only man I know who’s bigger than I am. Not by much though. His body is broad, his shoulders like cinder blocks. Even the horse he rides, Shadow, is a giant of an animal.

Slowly, he takes off his hat and gives me a long stare.

“Get me back alive,” he says. “I got a pregnant wife at home.”

I nod, jerking my head at the house. They both dismount, and one of Sovereign’s cowboys gets out to bring the horses into the barn. We head up to the front porch and go inside. Jack Russell is in thekitchen, taking down a bottle of whiskey and setting glasses out on the counter.

“Westin,” I say.

He glances up. Over the summer, he found himself up against some powerful men, ones who hurt his wife. I was there, helping, the night he killed them all. Since then, there’s been an unspoken bond of brotherhood. Out of anyone, he’ll understand what I’m feeling.

“Cigarette?”

He nods, following me through the side door to the porch. I shut it behind me and light two cigarettes, passing him one.

“Jack thinks Freya is in the McClaine farmhouse,” I say.

Westin inhales, eyes glinting below his hat. “We can’t attack if she’s inside.”

I shake my head. My throat feels tight.

“There’s something else,” he says. “What?”

“She thinks she’s pregnant.”

Westin glances at me sharply. “By you?”

“What the fuck? Yeah, by me.”

Desperation cracks my voice. Westin puts his hand on my shoulder.

“I get it,” he says. “We’ll get her back. They don’t say all roads lead to Sovereign Mountain for nothing—you’ve got us. Between the five of us, we can figure this shit out. Okay?”

I nod, wordless.

“You eat today?” he asks.

“Not since early morning.”

Westin stubs out his cigarette and pulls the door open. “Go shower, get some clean clothes on. We’ll make some food and get a plan together.”

He’s right—I need to be sharp and have a clear head. I move through the bodies in my kitchen without speaking and go upstairs. With the bedroom door shut, everything is quiet.

I go to the bed and sink down. The pillow, smeared with a bit of blood, stares back at me.

I pick it up and bring it to my face.

Sweet, warm vanilla. Like home, the home I never had.

The home she’ll give me.

Without her, I’m not a man. I’m a shell, a machine made of nothing but hurt and scars. I can fight, can hit back better than I know how to breathe, but to be whole, I need her. She’s the heart in my chest. She breathed life into my empty body.

I set the pillow aside. One of her fern-green ribbons sits on the bedside table. I shove it in my pocket before I go into the bathroom and strip my shirt off. The fear is ebbing away—maybe because I have the best men I can get downstairs, maybe because I know there’s no world where I don’t get her back.

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