Page 111 of Vicious Cycle
“Reasons? You handcuffed me to a bed, went behind my back with a club member, and then risked your own life trying to take down my greatest enemy. That seems without any fucking reason to me.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Is it always only aboutyouandyourown personal revenge and vendettas, Deacon? Can you for a moment think about what it was like for me when I found out Sigel murdered my parents? The way I see it I had just as much reason to take him out as you did.”
“You sure as hell didn’t! After what he did to Preacher Man, I deserved to take him out, not you. Dammit, Alex, you knew how much this means to me!”
“If we’re tallying up body counts for revenge, he took out both my mother and father. I think I have a greater claim.”
“They were just civilians. We had a club history that?—”
His words cut off as my palm cracked against his cheek. “You unimaginable bastard. How dare you stand there and spout that bullshit to me. Yeah, my parents weren’t in your precious club. They were honorable and decent people who lost their lives simply for standing up for what was right—a kid who was being abused.”
I shook my head. “You know, I expected you to be fighting mad when you saw me again, but this is beyond my realm of comprehension.”
“When I saw you again, that bastard had his hands around your throat choking the life out of you. So please tell me again how you had the situation handled.”
Leaning closer to him, I hissed, “Don’t fucking expect me to thank you.”
“Unfuckingbelievable,” Deacon muttered.
“Here’s the thing. I stabbed a man tonight. With my own hands. Hands that used to cut construction paper hearts and point out sight words to innocent children. I did it for my parents, but I also did it for you. If I had died tonight taking out Sigel, you would still be alive for Willow. I made a sacrifice for you. And even though you’re an undeserving asshole, I would do it again so that sweet little girl wouldn’t be parentless.”
As Deacon continued staring at me, I held up my hands. “You’re right. I was wrong to handcuff you and risk my life. But you have to believe me when I say it was from a place of love.”
When he remained unspeaking and unmoving, I added, “And from that same place of love, I’m begging you to let me do this with you.” With a shake of my head, I said, “Don’t you get it? Things will never be the same between us if you don’t.”
Deacon’s broad chest rose and fell with harsh pants. His grip on the knife turned his knuckles white. Just when I thought he was about to lunge forward for Sigel, his shoulders drooped in defeat.
His agonized gaze locked with mine. With a shake of his head, he said, “I’m not trying to keep you from doing this because I’m a selfish bastard. I know what it means to kill someone. I’ve known it since I was a fifteen-year-old kid.” He shook his head furiously back and forth. “I never wanted that for you.Ever.You’re the pure and clean light in my dark, sinful world.”
Tears stung my eyes. “I know you don’t want it for me. But the outlaw life has rubbed off on me, Jesse James.” Jerking my chin at Sigel, I said, “And this issovery personal.”
“I’m afraid…” He swallowed hard. “I’m afraid that one day when all this PTSD is gone, you’ll despise me for soiling you like this.”
I shook my head. “We’ll never make it to that point if you don’t let me do this.”
Deacon stared at me for a long moment before he finally reached for my hand. When I slipped it into his, he jerked me to his side. Sigel had stopped trying to crawl. Instead, he remained unmoving in a fetal position.
After letting go of my hand, Deacon grabbed Sigel’s shoulder and rolled him over. His eyes were glassy and unfocused. “Is he…?” I asked.
A rasping gurgle echoed back in response. “Almost,” Deacon replied. He then jerked his chin at me. “Get on your knees.”
I quickly obeyed him by kneeling down on the ground. Staring at Sigel, I eyed the mutilations on his body that I’d inflicted with my borrowed knife—I’d had no idea such a ferocity was hidden within me. In a way, it frightened me more than consoled me, and I couldn’t help thinking maybe Deacon had been right.
But then my parents’ faces flashed before my eyes, and adrenaline once again surged through me. Deacon reached over to place my hand in his. Without taking his eyes from mine, he placed my hand on the handle of the knife. The warmth of his skin on mine radiated through me.
“Together,” he murmured.
Nodding, I replied, “Together.”
Without another word, Deacon guided our hands to Sigel’s throat. My breath hitched as I waited for the knife to once again pierce his skin. “For Preacher Man,” Deacon gritted out.
“For John and Vivian,” I whispered.
The words had barely left my lips when a wet, sticky spray of Sigel’s blood coated my fingers. As Deacon dug our knife across muscles and tendons, my vision blurred as my stomach lurched and rolled.
Pinching my eyes shut, I willed myself not to vomit or jerk my hand away. I don’t know how long I stayed like. In some ways it felt like an eternity and in others it felt like just seconds.
Only Deacon’s voice drew me out of the darkness.
