Page 22 of Unravelling The Hitman: A BWWM Romance

“You’ve already been punished.” I cringed, noticing the bruise on his neck from where Deacon had sacked him. “We all make mistakes. And I’m sorry too. If I’d just taken a second to look where I was going, I wouldn’t have run into you and you would have been with your wife before she died.”

“I still can.”

“Huh?”

He licked his lips. “They took her to Belize City in a chopper.”

“She’s still alive?”

“Barely.” Peter shuffled. “I wanted to catch a boat back, but I lost my wallet when I fell off my bike earlier. I don’t have cash, my credit card, nothing.”

“You mean, there’s a chance she’ll make it?” Joy ballooned in my heart. The guilt that had been a heavy, pressing presence since Peter first told me his story eased.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. Hope… is not a luxury I can afford. Since the moment we met, Stace prepared me for the worst.”

“But the worst might not happen. Deacon! Quick!” I whirled on him. “Can I borrow some money?”

He frowned. “You’re helping this guy? After—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Do you have a fifty? I swear I’ll pay you back.”

The cyclist started crying again. Snot ran down his nose. “Ma’am, you don’t have to do this.”

I focused on Deacon.

Come on, Big Guy. Don’t be stubborn.

Dark green eyes narrowed, he dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, handing it over to me. I slipped two twenties out and slapped them against Peter’s hand.

His fingers clutched the cash. “Thank you.”

“Go. Be with your wife.”

“I’m so sorry.” He sniffed.

“Go!”

He nodded, turned and fled down the street.

My heart swelled as I watched his legs kick up sand. Silently, I prayed for his wife, that she’d be okay, that he’d get there in time.

With a sigh, I faced Deacon. “Thanks. I’ll pay you back as soon as I find my friends.”

“I don’t care about the money.”

I stared into his darkened eyes. How could one man be that handsome with such a severe scowl? The hard planes of his face, cut sharp and rugged by the Lord Himself, intensified in the dusk.

I wanted to both cower and provoke him.

But retreat was the safer bet.

My mind retraced the sight of Deacon slamming his elbow into Peter’s neck. He’d done so calmly, naturally. It was a practiced move and that gave me pause.

Who was this man?

A gangster?

Wariness stole into my bones. Caused me to lean back. Establish some space. Just because Deacon was unbearably hot, swoon-worthy and, apparently, a great father, didn’t mean I could trust him.

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