Page 162 of Deacon

He goes still, lids lowered.

“I think because…he was always one wrong move from becoming just like Lady’s stepfather,” he says finally. “He was really fucked up from what happened. I’m sorry he took it out on you.”

He’s right, but my brain is so tired, I can’t absorb his words. The board eases off, and I dart forward to catch it before it clatters to the ground. The window is halfway exposed.

“Take the next board off,” I say, gripping his arm. “Please. For me.”

His jaw works. A second etches by. Then, he pushes the hammer underneath and starts tugging. This one is the easiest. It comes off cleanly, and he sets it aside. Behind it, the window is grimy, like it’s been closed up for a while.

“Alright, let’s go,” Bittern says, digging his fingers in and pushing the glass up. The wood squeaks, but he keeps going until it’s big enough for him to get his broad body through.

Working quickly, he unlatches the screen and puts his head out. A gust of cold air tears through, raising goosebumps on my arms.

“All clear,” he says.

He wriggles himself halfway out, swinging both legs over the edge. Our eyes meet, and then he falls. Heart in my throat, I lean out.

Thank God, it’s barely five feet off the ground. He’s standing there, unscathed, holding his hands up.

“Come on, Frey,” he says. “We gotta go before someone comes out on the porch.”

I swing the lower half of my body out, the cold air biting my bare skin. All I have to cover me is my slip and the chastity belt underneath.

“What if they chase us?” I whisper.

He looks up at me, and for a second, I see him the way he was before the mines—quiet, sweetness in those blue eyes.

“I got a gun in my belt,” he says. “I’m ready to go out in a blaze of glory.”

He says it with a smile, but my heart aches. I drop into his arms, and he sets me on my feet, taking my hand. The ground is cold on my feet, but I don’t have a choice. We get across the yard to the edge of the woods when Bittern stops. He pulls his flannel shirt off, leaving him in just his undershirt, and wraps it around me.

“I got no shoes,” he says.

“It’s fine,” I say. “We just have to get to Jack.”

The front door slams open. Bittern doesn’t wait. He takes my arm and drags me into the shadows. The moon casts enough glow to highlight the worn path ahead, but I cling to him as we move quickly through the dark.

My feet are ice cold when we break from the woods. In the distance, I think I see a figure on horseback. My heart flutters at the thought of it being Deacon, even though I know it’s not.

Click.

My heart leaps. Bittern spins and shoves me behind him.

Aiden stands behind us, pistol up. He’s carrying his father’s revolver, the one he kept his entire life. It’s old, but it works. I know because I’ve seen him use it. His chest heaves, the buttons of his shirt mismatched, like he got dressed quickly.

“Don’t fucking move,” he snarls.

Bittern raises his hand. “Don’t point that at her.”

Aiden’s eyes flash. “What is she to you? Why’re you always sticking your neck out for her?”

Bittern doesn’t speak for a long time. I see Aiden’s patience wearing thin. Bittern’s hand lowers. He’s sweating so hard, there’s no doubt he hasn’t gotten his pills in hours.

“It wasn’t right, what you done,” he says finally.

“What I did?” Aiden repeats. “What did I do but raise you all?”

“You smashed it,” Bittern says, voice shaking. “You smashed all her shit.”

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