Page 198 of King of Pain
His arms fly out, one nearly clipping me in the jaw. I duck back and scramble on top of him, straddling his waist and grabbing his wrists, holding them tight as he flails beneath me.
“Ant!Wake up!”
I shake him hard. His eyes fly open at the same time the bedroom door crashes open with athud as the knob slams into the wall.
I whip around, scrambling off Ant.
Deacon stands in the doorway, gun raised.
Ant jolts upright, pressing his back to the headboard, his breathing a frantic staccato. I throw up a hand toward Deacon.
“It’s okay, Deek,” I say calmly. “Ant was having a nightmare. I couldn’t pull him out of it.”
Deacon doesn’t move at first, eyes sweeping the room, calculating every shadow. I know that look—he’s good at his job. Silent, methodical. I’m grateful for his presence tonight.
After a tense moment, Deacon lowers the gun, gives a sharp nod.
“I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Deek,” I say, still catching my breath.
He closes the door behind him, and I turn back around.
Ant is staring at me with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
“What?” I ask.
He quirks an eyebrow. “Should we make room for him in the bed now? It’s big enough.”
I narrow my eyes. “Over my dead body will anyone else ever be in this bed.”
Ant’s face softens. “Except Little G.”
I let out a short laugh. “Except Little G.”
Ant glances around the room, blinking. “Speaking of… where is he?”
I sigh. “He’s with Deacon. I asked him to keep the little guy close tonight. Figured if anything went down, G would be able to alert him if he happened to doze off.”
Ant exhales hard, rubbing his hands over his face. “Fuck, Ihatethis.”
I crawl forward on my knees, settle across his lap, straddling him again. I cup his face gently, thumbs brushing the sides of his cheeks.
“Hey.” I press my forehead to his. “Never mind all that. There was a threat, yeah. But it was probably just a scare tactic—to keep you from joining the case. Deacon’s a precaution that allows me to focus on you. Nothing more.”
Ant nods slowly, but he’s still staring at his lap.
“Now,” I smirk, “you wanna tell me about that nightmare,Rocky Balboa?”
Ant huffs a small laugh. “Oh God. Was I throwing punches?”
I shrug. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
He leans back slightly, a sheepish smile pulling at his mouth.
“Come on,” I coax, “tell me about it. Shine some light on it. Might help clear it from your head so it doesn’t show up again tonight.”
He swallows hard, and for a long moment, he just sits there, holding my gaze.
