Unfinished Hero 04 Deacon (36 page)

But he had that so appreciation was all that
Cassidy Swallow got.

She turned and he focused in, the
high-powered field glasses taking him so close he could count the
strands of her hair.

He drew in breath and dropped the
binoculars.

Then he walked silently through the woods to
his truck.

He got in, pulled out his phone, and made the
call.

“Deacon.”

“Just to confirm, she’s safe.”

No reply.

“Also to confirm, you broke her. She’s
breathing, but she’s destroyed.”

On that, he hung up.

* * * * *

Deacon

Deacon moved through his hotel room,
preparing to go out and initiate the extraction.

Passenger was playing on his laptop.

She’s breathing, but she’s destroyed.

“Fuck,” he clipped, stalked to his laptop,
paused the song, moved his finger randomly on the mouse pad, and
tapped the button.

And it started.

Forty seconds in, he stopped dead.

And listened.

Five minutes later, he was out the door.

He did the extraction. He delivered the
package. He got paid.

Then he went back to his hotel room, packed
up, checked out, and hit the road.

He left his wedding picture on the bed.

* * * * *

Marcus Sloan

“I’m out.”

Marcus sat in his chair in Knight Sebring’s
office at his nightclub, Slade, Raiden Miller and Sebring sitting
with him, his gaze on Deacon, his surprise at these words
masked.

“Out?” Knight asked.

“Out. No more. I’m here askin’ you to spread
the word and cover my tracks. The man who worked the life is
gone.”

Marcus caught Raiden grinning at his lap.

“Out?” Knight repeated and Marcus looked to
him.

“Out,” Deacon grunted.

Marcus turned his attention to Deacon. “Cover
your tracks to where?”

“Antler, Colorado. Got a war on my hands. I
win it, I’m there until I die,” Deacon answered.

With great interest, Marcus Sloan studied a
soulless man resurrected.

And he did it gladly.

“What’s in fuckin’ Antler, Colorado?” Knight
asked.

Deacon pushed his chair back, stood, looked
down at Sebring, and replied, “Beautiful war.”

On that, he walked out of the room.

The door closed on the soundproofed room
before Raiden burst out laughing.

Beautiful War

Cassidy

I heard the shouting from the kitchen and
ran, Bossy on my heels, to the door.

I held my big girl back with my calf, slipped
through the door, clicking it shut behind me, and stopped dead.

This was because, just past my house, up the
lane, Milagros’s SUV was at an angle, cutting off a black
Suburban.

My breath burned in my lungs.

Milagros was out of the car.

So was Deacon.

Deacon.

“You are
not
here!” Milagros shouted,
jabbing an angry Mexican American woman’s finger at him, meaning
even Deacon was screwed.

Deacon said nothing, not because he had
nothing to say, but because his eyes were on me.

My insides expanded so much, I thought they’d
burst free.

Just as quickly, they shriveled to
nothing.

That was the feeling I’d become accustomed
the last six months, so it didn’t affect me.

“Go!” Milagros demanded. “Go! You’ve done
enough! You do no more!”

Deacon continued to stare at me for long
moments before he got in his truck and slammed the door.

It was a good thing my insides shriveled or
seeing that would hurt like a bitch.

I stood there and watched him through his
windshield as he put the Suburban into gear.

He reversed.

Then he stopped, shifted to drive, and my
mouth dropped open when he drove up over the boulders that lined
the side of the lane, likely gutting his undercarriage, his SUV
bouncing into the snow as he drove until he stopped across from my
house.

I’d quit breathing at the boulder maneuver
and my breath came raspy as Milagros dashed down the snowy gravel
to the foot of my steps.

Deacon was out, the handles of a plastic bag
in his fist, and stalking her way.

She lifted a hand.

“Not another step, John Priest!” she
yelled.

“Name’s Deacon Gates,” he replied calmly and
I saw her body jerk.

As for me, my knees buckled and I had to lock
them or I’d go down.

He’d surprised her so he got by her.

She recovered quickly and chased him up the
stairs.

“Cassidy, get inside,” she ordered.

I was staring into Deacon’s eyes, my head
tipping back to keep hold of them when he stopped nearly toe to toe
with me.

“I’m calling Manuel!” she threatened, like
five foot seven, at-least-seventy-pounds-less-weight-than-Deacon
Manuel could help.

But he’d try.

And I couldn’t let that happen.

I pulled my eyes from Deacon’s and looked
around him to my friend.

“I’ll take care of this.”

“Cassidy—”

“Honey, go home. I’ll take care of this and
call you later.”

“This man, whatever his name is, hu—”

“I’ll
take care of it
, Milagros,” I
interrupted her to say. “Love you, appreciate the support, but
please, honey,
go
. Go on. Go home. I’ll call you later.” I
drew in breath and finished, “Promise.”

Milagros glared at me, knowing me, knowing I
was stubborn and ornery and even she couldn’t talk me down if I was
intent on doing something. Then she stomped to our sides, eyes up
to Deacon.

“You damage her more, only God will have
mercy on your soul,” she snapped, glared at me again, did it a long
time, then stormed to the steps. She stopped at the bottom and
yelled up. “You call me, Cassidy! I don’t hear from you, I’m coming
back, and I’m bringing every man I know with me!”

I sighed.

She tramped to her car.

I watched her get in and start to drive off
before I looked up to Deacon. “You’ll give me a minute then you can
come in.”

He said nothing, just stared into my eyes,
face impassive.

He was good at that.

Nothing had changed.

So why was he here?

I didn’t ask.

I turned with difficulty since there wasn’t a
lot of room for me to move between Deacon’s big body and the door.
I got it open, slid through, and immediately corralled my confused
and whining dog.

Bossy wasn’t going to see Deacon. If she
remembered him, I didn’t want to get her hopes up. She thought he’d
been gone for a job and he’d come back. She had him less time than
me and was devastated as the weeks turned to months and he didn’t
show.

I felt her pain.

For a while.

Now I didn’t feel anything.

Or, at least, I told myself that.

I got her in the kitchen, whispered, “Be
good. Be quiet. And stay.” She looked up at me with her sweet brown
eyes and sat on her furry booty.

My Boss Lady.

I closed the door, shored up my defenses, and
stood in my foyer with eyes to the front door.

Moments later, Deacon walked in, closing the
door on the cold behind him.

Bossy heard him enter and barked, deep and
resonant, no longer a puppy (well, still my puppy but mostly she
was a dog).

Deacon’s eyes went to the kitchen door.

I shouted, “Be good, Bossy!”

She quit barking.

I launched in immediately and his gaze shot
back to mine.

“I think you know there’s nothing to say. But
since you’re here, I figure you think there is. In order not to
upset Milagros, and get Manuel involved, you’re here. But now that
she’s gone, I’d request that you be the same.”

“My wife is dead. She’s been dead for ten
years.”

I fought falling back on a foot, his words
feeling like blows, staring in his face, seeing nothing but
believing every word he spoke.

But why hadn’t he told me that before?

“She died ugly. I didn’t protect her from it.
I didn’t save her from it. I loved her. She died but she didn’t let
go. I left you, I broke you, and my man Raid reamed my ass, but it
didn’t penetrate.” He dug in his pocket, pulled his hand out, and
it was sheer reflex that I lifted my hands to catch the flash drive
he tossed my way. “That penetrated. You taught me to let it
penetrate. Listen to that, Cassidy. I’ll be upstairs waiting.”

He’d be upstairs waiting? Was he high?

He walked my way.

He
was
high.

I moved quickly to bar the stairs.

He stopped in front of me.

“You’re going the wrong way,” I informed him.
“You need to use the front door, Deacon, or I’ll call the cops, and
we both know you don’t want that.”

“Don’t give a fuck you do, except that’ll
prolong this and I wasted enough time.”

He didn’t care that I called the cops?

“Deacon—” I started.

“Listen to what’s on the drive, Cassidy.”

“I’m not listening to anything.”

“I listened to yours. A million fuckin’
times, I listened to it. You can give me once.”

He listened to mine.

A million times?

No.

No, he was not getting in there.

“You left me, Deacon, time and time again,
left me empty, broken-hearted, lonely, and you did it for seven
years,” I reminded him. “And you know exactly what I’m talking
about.”

“Listen to it.”

“I’m not letting you do it again.”

“Listen to it.”

I shook my head. “You let me get used to you
and clean gutters and someone to get me a beer and go grocery
shopping with and sleep beside at night, and it’s easy, Deacon, so
fucking
easy
to get used to that. But it’s hard,
unbelievably fucking
hard
, to get used to losing it. Now I’m
used to it so you need to go.”

I got in there. I knew because he winced.

I didn’t let that penetrate either.

“I’m sorry your wife is dead but clearly it’s
fucked you up in a huge way and clearly I’m not the woman to sort
that out.”

He dipped his face to mine. “Listen to it,
Cassie,” he whispered.

But I was struck dumb by the look that had
entered his eyes.

Eyes that were making me feel exactly what he
wanted me to feel.

I struggled to fight it.

He kept talking before I could win.

“Listen to it, baby,” he kept whispering.
“Then meet me upstairs.”

He said no more and didn’t let me say a word.
He edged around me and took the stairs.

I turned stiltedly and watched him do it,
willing my body to go to my cell and call the police. Then I begged
my body to do it.

But instead, my head bent, my hand lifted,
and my fingers opened.

The flash drive was silver.

The one I gave him was pink.

“Call the police, Cassidy,” my lips
whispered.

My eyes went to the stairs.

Then my stupid feet took me to the
office.

I shoved in the drive and just to be ornery
(because that was me), I opened my desk drawer and nabbed my
headphones, plugging them into the computer so when I listened, he
couldn’t hear me doing it.

When I pulled up the drive, what I suspected
was there. I didn’t understand the file name, but I knew that would
be the extension.

BeautifulWar.mp3

I could listen then call the police.

Or I could listen, walk upstairs, and tell
him he needed to go. He no longer meant anything to me. We were
done. I was taking no more of his crap.

If he didn’t leave,
then
I’d call the
police.

I put my headphones in, brandished my mouse,
and hovered over the file.

“Damn the man,” I whispered and clicked on
the file.

iTunes came up and the song started
playing.

I listened.

I did not call the police.

I listened again.

On the third go, I went to
Google
and
looked up “Beautiful War” lyrics.

It was by Kings of Leon.

I read them.

Then I listened again.

After the fifth time, I popped the buds out
of my ears and straightened woodenly from my chair. I walked the
same way up the stairs.

I went straight to my bedroom.

Deacon was standing, holding the sheers back,
looking out the window.

I vaguely wondered if Milagros had returned
and was standing vigil.

I didn’t get a chance to ask. Deacon moved
and I braced.

He went to the bed where the plastic bag he
was carrying was resting. He grabbed the handles and walked to
me.

I didn’t move a muscle.

He stopped two feet in front of me and lifted
the bag between us.

“Anything you want, I’ll give it to you.”

My heart seized.

“Don’t,” I whispered.

“You listen?” he asked.

I said nothing.

“You listened,” he stated and jerked the bag
at me. “Anything you want. Try me, Cassidy.”

My hand lifted and I didn’t tell it to.
Before I could snatch it away, Deacon hooked the handles on my
fingers and they curled, catching the bag. Then he stepped backward
toward the bed.

“Look in the bag and try me, Cassidy.”

My head bent and I looked in the bag. I
stifled my reaction in the varied ways it came to me (and the ways
were
varied
) as I saw the velvet ropes in the bag.

I looked to him to see he had his coat off,
it was on the floor, and he was unbuttoning his shirt.

“They’re stronger than yours, hold a man like
me,” he stated.

“You can’t heal anything with sex, Deacon,” I
shared.

“Wanna bet?” he asked.

“Yep,” I answered.

“You healed me.”

I clamped my mouth shut, shocked, moved, and
trying not to let the latter penetrate.

“Gave me what I’m about to give you,” he went
on, pulling his shirt off his shoulders, exposing his amazing
chest.