Page 160 of Deacon

I lean in. He doesn’t break eye contact.

“When this is done, you’re going to rehab,” I say. “You’re getting help, getting whatever is fucked up in your lungs taken care of. And if you try to leave wherever the fuck I lock you up before you’re stone cold sober, I’ll put a bullet between your eyes. We clear?”

His lack of reaction tells me everything I need to know.

He fears death, but he loves Freya enough to face it. I admire him for that, and I’ll keep my promise and do my best to save him.

“I got it,” he whispers.

I stand up and pour a shot. “Alright, let’s make a plan.”

He clears his throat, hitting his chest with his fist. “There’s one more thing you should probably know about Aiden, Freya, and me,” he says. “Everything makes a little more sense in light of it.”

I sit back down. “Go on.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

FREYA

I’m on my side, palm on my lower stomach. If I press my eye to the boarded windows, I can see a sliver of the sky. By the position of the moon, I think it’s around midnight. The men in the house haven’t slept. I can tell there are a lot of them, maybe a dozen. They pass the hallway outside my door frequently.

Deacon once said he didn’t want to have to choose between his land and me, but I’m afraid he’s going to have to. And I know what he’ll choose, even if it breaks him.

My finger traces over my belly.

He’ll pick us.

I squeeze my eyes shut and open them. There’s a little glow from the nightlight in the corner, and it brings me back to my childhood.

I don’t have many memories of my mother, but I do remember her putting me to bed. She’d sit on the other side of the crib bars while I fell asleep. I remember the nightlight on the wall. It was a single bulb, the cover made out of a mason jar.

I wonder if she was as scared as I am now.

The floor creaks outside the door. Slowly, I sit up. It sounds different than the heavy tread of the men. It’s cautious, quiet.

The knob turns. My stomach tightens, my mind going right back to when Aiden grabbed my arm and touched my face.

I push back against the wall. The door swings, and I let out a harsh gasp as Bittern steps in.

“Bittern,” I whisper.

He shuts the door. “We have to go,” he says.

A tingle shocks through me. “What?”

“There’s a man waiting for you at the strip of Deacon’s land between ours and the McClaine’s,” he says.

“Deacon’s Hill,” I whisper. “Who’s waiting?”

“His name’s Jack,” he says. “He’ll take you to safety.”

“And Deacon?”

“Deacon is going to…stay behind to clean up.”

The ceiling creaks, boots move. We both freeze, but nobody comes downstairs. Bittern runs a hand over his face, wiping the layer of sweat off his forehead. I wonder if Aiden gave him his pills today.

“I need you to help me get the boards off the window,” he says, reaching into his pocket and taking out a small hammer. He crosses the room and kneels by the windowsill.

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