Page 72 of Deacon

“You got any cigarettes?” I ask.

He takes a pack from his pocket and hands me one. “I need to hear the words from you.”

I light up. “Alright, I can keep away.”

“I’ll fucking hold you to that,” Jay says. “I’ve got another meeting, so I’m heading out. You drive right home. Don’t stop or go anywhere else.”

He crosses the street, his good suit soaked. I watch him disappear back into his office before stepping out into the rain. Water sprays up around my boots as I head a few blocks down to my truck.

Inside, I take off my hat and lean back.

My eyes fall to my hand on the steering wheel, knuckles white. I’ve got a knife in my pocket and a gun hanging on the holster behind my headrest, but I’m craving the crunch of cartilage under my fist.

I think, before Jay ever said a word, my mind was made up.

Jaw gritted, I pull off the curb and head to the more expensive part of town. There’s a boutique there, and I ordered something a few weeks ago. I got a text this morning saying it was ready to pick up. Before I give somebody a beat down, I need to get it.

I go inside, the bell ringing as I walk in. The woman behind the counter balks at me for a second. She’s new, wasn’t here the last time.

“I got an order to pick up,” I say.

She glances behind me at the only escape route. “Um…what’s the name?”

“Ryder,” I say. “Deacon.”

She nods, dipping into the back. She returns with a flat gift box tied with a black ribbon. There’s a fabric gift receipt pinned to it with my name on it. I’ll take that off before I give it to Freya. Maybe it’ll make up for whatever I did earlier that had her upset.

“Was it already paid?” she asks, flipping through the receipts by the desk.

I take my card out. “No, I ordered in a hurry.”

She runs my card and puts the box in a plastic bag to protect it. When I step back outside, the rain is letting up. In my truck, I undo the ribbon and lift the lid.

Inside, on the top layer of tissue paper, sits a blue silk lingerie set. Nicer than anything she’s ever had in her life, likely, but not half as fine as she deserves.

I’m not sure there’s anything pretty enough to be on Freya.

I stare down at it, entranced by how different it is than anything I’m used to. The details are incredible. White stitching all along the edges in a complex pattern. Little gussets of some variety over the cups. I make sure my hand is clean and lift the bra to look at the panties.

Goddamn.

I probably shouldn’t have looked in the box because, on top of being livid at Aiden Hatfield, I’m now horny for his stepdaughter. Both of those things get my blood pumping in two different ways.

I take a beat. Then, I close the box, put it in the back seat, and turn the truck around. I’m not heading to the Hatfield’s anymore. I’m going to go see Jack and have a drink in the bar. Or a coffee. Jay would approve of that.

The rain has let up by the time I’m in West Lancaster. I park around the side, in the alley, like I usually do. I’ve got the door open, and I’m stepping into the wet street when I realize the truck in front of mine belongs to Aiden Hatfield. He’s in the bar right now. I slam my door shut.

The anger that rises isn’t violent.

It’s hard, like heated iron, and it burns so hot, I can’t keep it inside anymore.

Without missing a beat, I take a switchblade out of my pocket, pop it out with a metallic hiss, and stick it into his left rear tire as I walk by. The feeling is so satisfying that I wrench it out and sink it into the front tire for good measure.

Then, I go inside and the door shuts behind me.

The bar is halfway full. Jack stands against the back counter, arms crossed. There’s a blonde woman with a harshly cut bob, his sister, getting ready to head out. She puts a purse over her shoulder, hugs him, and slips through the back exit. That’s probably for the best. Jack would be pissed if I started a fight in front of Lisbeth.

I swing my eyes over the room. Aiden sits by himself in the corner. A few paces away, Ryland is trying to talk on his phone over the noise.

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