by Katie Ashley
“I can’t imagine anything I’d want more than your biscuits,” I said.
She smiled. “Then biscuits it is. Be back in a minute.”
As Willow snuggled to my side, I bent down to bestow a kiss on the top of her head. Closing my eyes, I inhaled the sweet fragrance of her shampoo. “Love you, Miss Alex,” Willow murmured.
Tears filled my eyes. “I love you, too, sweetheart. So very, very much.”
Gazing up at me, Willow said, “Oh, don’t cry!”
“It’s okay. They’re happy tears from hearing your sweet words.”
Willow frowned. “I was just going to say I wish you were my mommy, but I better not if it’s going to make you cry.”
There was the noise of someone clearing his throat in the doorway. When I glanced up, my heart surged at the sight of Deacon’s strong form. He held a tray filled with the food that Beth had insisted on me eating. “Hi,” I said softly.
“Hi,” he replied. His dark eyes then went to Willow. “Go on out to the kitchen and have your lunch.”
Her lips turned down in a pout. “But I wanna stay with Miss Alex.”
“Willow—”
“I just got to come in a few minutes ago,” she protested.
“Don’t argue with me. Go. Now,” he commanded. His no-nonsense tone had Willow scrambling off the bed, but it didn’t stop her from stomping across the room in a huff.
When she met him in the doorway, she crooked her finger at him, beckoning him down to her level. After he stooped a little, she said in a slightly hushed tone, “Miss Alex is hurt and sad, so you be nice to her.”
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What did you just say to me?”
“Don’t be mean like you usually are. Be nice.”
Deacon’s expression of utter disbelief brought a much-needed smile to my face. He stared down at his daughter like she was some alien life-form. The state of his shock took away any ability to chastise Willow for her words or tone. When he finally gave a slight nod of agreement, she breezed on past him into the hallway.
With a bewildered look on his face, he crossed the room to me. I sat up, propping myself against the pillows, as he eased down on the bed. “You hungry?”
“Not really. I just didn’t want to hurt Mama Beth’s feelings.”
“Well, you need to eat. Keep your strength up and all.”
I watched in surprise as he balanced the tray on his lap. Taking the spoon, he swirled it through some of the grits before scooping out a bite. When he brought it up to my mouth, I widened my eyes.
“What?” Deacon asked, the spoon hovering close to my lips.
“You just surprised me—that’s all.”
When I still didn’t take a bite, Deacon cocked his brows at me. “Don’t tell me you’re going to make me do that bullshit thing like the spoon is an airplane.”
I laughed and then winced from my sore ribs. “Would you really do that?”
“Fuck no.”
Leaning forward, I took the spoon into my mouth, sliding the grits onto my tongue. “Mmm. Those are so good.”
“Leave it to Mama Beth to make homemade grits. She acts like it’s some kinda sacrilege to eat packaged ones.”
“She just wants the best for her boys,” I replied with a smile.
Deacon spooned me a bite of biscuit and gravy. As I chewed thoughtfully, he cocked his head at me. “What are you thinking about?”
“That no one would ever believe that Mr. Hard-Ass biker boy was feeding me.”
With a snort, Deacon said, “Boy? I’m a man, babe.”
“That you are.”
Obediently, I took in another bite of grits. Once I swallowed, Deacon brought the orange juice to my lips. “Shit!” I cried, as the acidity entered my mouth and swished against the raw parts caused by the gag as well as me biting on my tongue and cheek.
Deacon grimaced. “I should’ve realized orange juice wouldn’t be a good choice.”
“You have a lot of experience with busted mouths?” I questioned before I could stop myself.
“Yeah, I did. Back when I used to fight.”
“Don’t you fight anymore?”
“Yeah, but it was different back when I was kid. It was a way of survival then.” Searching my eyes for any judgment, he added, “But even now, I won’t stop fighting.”
“A necessary evil,” I murmured. When he gave a brief jerk of his head in acknowledgment, I couldn’t help asking, “What happens now?” I asked.
“You stay here until you get better.”
“Then what?”
Deacon shrugged. “Then you stay here until I get tired of you.”
I laughed. “I think you need to work on your hospitality skills.”
He grinned. “What’s with all the questions? I thought we took care of all this touchy-feely shit last night in the shower.”
“We did. But I’m a little OCD when it comes to having a plan for the future.”
“All your pretty little head needs to worry about is healing.” With a pointed look, he added, “Because that bastard will never hurt you again. I swear it.”
As Deacon brought the spoon to my lips, I pushed his hand away. At his raised brows, I asked in a whisper, “You killed him. Didn’t you?”
Deacon let out a ragged sigh. “Don’t ask me about my business.”
I shook my head. “And don’t pull a Michael Corleone Godfather moment on me, Deacon. I know I said I would stay, but I do have my conditions. Honesty is one of them.”
“The only reason I would keep things from you would be to protect you. The less you know about the Raiders’ dealings the better. Then you can never be made to testify in a RICO case.”
While that made sense, I couldn’t leave well enough alone. “Did you kill him?” I repeated.
The spoon clattered noisily into the bowl. The cold and calculating expression on Deacon’s face caused me to shrink back against the pillows. “Yeah, I fucking killed him. When someone hurts the people I care about, I don’t wait for a judge and jury—I take matters into my own hands.”
While I’d had my suspicions about Deacon’s dark sins, as well as having his confession about killing his father, nothing could compare to actually hearing the words come out of his mouth. He was beyond just a dark-dealing outlaw. He was a killer—he’d even killed for me.
When it all came down to it, I was in love with a murderer. Suddenly, it became hard to breathe as I struggled to comprehend how Deacon fit into my ethically and morally sound world.
“Say something,” he commanded.
Staring down at the faded quilt, I replied, “I don’t know what to say.”
“That you can see past the blood on my hands to the real me.”
“Is that side of you so easily compartmentalized?”
“Probably as well as yours with the baby,” he countered.
I pinched my eyes shut at the mention of my own sins. I suppose to the world I looked like I would have a clean conscience. To some people what I had done so many years ago wouldn’t be an issue. After all, there was no finite moral compass that we adhered to. Every individual, every faith, every culture often picked and chose what was right and wrong in their eyes. Depending on where you looked from, light was dark and dark was light, leaving many hues of gray. Maybe everyone fought his or her own struggle to keep the dark side from overpowering them. Maybe we were all fighting a secret war within, while Deacon just chose to fight his in the open battlefield without shelter.
With the feel of Deacon’s intense stare on me, I opened my eyes. His expression told me he was sorry for bringing my past into the discussion. I knew apologizing wouldn’t be easy for him. It wasn’t his style. “Maybe I need a little time to process all of this. Just like you needed time to open up to Willow and to me, I need the same when it comes to your world.”
“I get it. It’s hard imagining yourself actually caring for someone like me.”
“That’s not it.”
“Are you so sure? Ha
ve you given any thought to how you’ll explain me to your aunt and uncle? What about the teachers you work with? How will good little Alexandra be taken when she’s dating a thug?”
“Don’t presume that I’m so shallow. The moment my parents were killed, I gave up giving two shits about what people thought of me. No one wants to be labeled the orphaned freak or always have someone whispering about them. It’s the one reason I went away to college and never stepped back in my hometown. I never wanted to be a martyr to the tragedies in my life.” Pushing myself up in the bed, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Yes, we’re from very different worlds. Just like people might question me about my choice of you, I don’t doubt for a minute that some in the Raiders will question you as well.”
“It’s none of their fucking business.”
“You know as well as I do that they’ll make it their business. That’s what people do.” Reaching out, I took his hand in mine. “At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what anyone else says. It’s about you and me.” I stared down at his hand, running my fingers over his. It should’ve been frightening to hold the hand that dispensed malicious justice. But it was also the hand that had so gently washed me last night, the fingers that had tenderly put ointment on my wounds. Warmth pulsed through me at the thought of another talent his fingers and hand had.
Deacon brought his other hand to my cheek. “Just you and me.”
Leaning in to his palm, I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of his callused fingers against my cheek. The brief moment of intimacy ended with a voice from out in the hallway. “Can I come back in now?” Willow asked.
At Deacon’s grunt of frustration, I giggled. There was something so endearing about seeing Mr. Rough and Tough be utterly clueless when it came to a pint-sized girl. “Yes, you can come back in now.”
Willow bounded through the open doorway, coloring book and crayons in hand. “I thought we could color together.”
“I would like that a lot.”
After placing her stuff on the nightstand, she crawled over Deacon and wedged herself between us. I grinned at the appalled look on Deacon’s face. “You know, you could have gone to the other side,” Deacon said.
“It would be harder to share crayons, then.”
His brows shot up. “What?”
“Don’t you want to color with us?”
Deacon opened his mouth to protest, but I gave a quick shake of my head. “Sure he does.” When he stared at me like I had lost my mind, I said, “I need the company.”
Unable or unwilling to argue with me on that point, Deacon merely exhaled a long whoosh of air. Glancing between Willow and me, he asked, “So what are we coloring?”
“Ballerina Barbie,” Willow answered.
“I should have known,” he mumbled.
As he held up a simple purple crayon, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that, no matter what other acts that hand might have been responsible for, I loved Deacon with all my heart.
The heave and sigh of Beth’s old porch swing almost lulled me to sleep. With my e-reader resting in my lap, I stared out over the railings to the woods beyond the compound. When I leaned forward to get a better view of a deer nibbling on some grass, pain shot through my back, and I sucked in a harsh breath.
Three days had passed since my attack. While the belt lashes had begun to scab over and heal, the soreness in my bones and muscles seemed to be taking a little longer to mend. Emotionally I was getting stronger. I hadn’t had to take anything to sleep the last two nights. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Deacon slept by my side, making me feel secure and protected.
I hadn’t been back home, and I dreaded the thought of facing my kitchen again. When I closed my eyes, I could still see Atticus’s lifeless form and the horrible man who had attacked me. Deacon had promised to take me home when I thought I was ready, but I wasn’t sure when that would be.
It had worked out almost too perfectly that school was out for our weeklong October break, so I didn’t have to worry about making an excuse to my principal about my absence. I certainly couldn’t have gone in to work bruised and battered. It would have raised too much suspicion and discussion about what was happening in my private life.
Deacon’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “Hey,” he said, an impish grin on his face.
“Hey to you, too.”
He walked down the length of the porch with a large wooden crate in his arms. Jerking my chin at the box, I asked, “What’s in there?”
“A present for you.”
My brows shot up in surprise. “You got me a present?”
“You act like I would never do something so thoughtful.”
I giggled. “I am a little surprised.”
With a scowl, he said, “I do have a few decent bones in my body, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
After setting the box down at my feet, he scratched the back of his neck. It was endearing because I knew he usually did it when he was nervous. “I’m hoping you’ll like it. If you don’t want it, I can give it to someone else.”
I shook my head at him. “Oh no, you don’t. Besides, I’m sure I’ll love it.”
Once again, he tugged on the hair at the base of his neck. “I hope you do. I mean, I hope it was the right thing to do.”
With my curiosity at a fever pitch, I leaned forward in the swing so I could open the box. The moment I loosened the lid, it popped open, and something lunged at me. I squealed and jumped back in the swing. When I glanced down, a wriggling, whining, black pit bull puppy sniffed at my feet.
I stared at Deacon in surprise. “You got me a dog?”
His hand started for the back of his neck again. If he kept that up, he was going to have a bald spot. “I know how much you loved your dog, and well, after what happened to him, I thought you might like another one. Boone’s dog had a litter of puppies a while back, and he’s the pick of them all.”
As the puppy nibbled on my bare toe with his baby teeth, I laughed. “Hey, now, those aren’t for eating,” I said, bending down to pick him up. He stared at me with deep blue eyes, and it was instant love. “Aren’t you a pretty boy, huh?”
His response was to open his mouth and yawn, bestowing the wondrous smell of puppy breath on me. I snuggled him to my chest, kissing the top of his head. When I glanced up, Deacon was eyeing me curiously. “Does that mean you like him?”
“How could I not? He’s adorable.”
“So I did good?”
I crooked my finger at him. With his brows furrowed, he leaned down. “You did great, Jesse James,” I replied before I brought my lips to his. When I flicked my tongue against his mouth to deepen the kiss, he jerked away. My heart sank a little at his reaction, but I plastered a smile to my face to hide my disappointment. Three days ago he might’ve been doing wicked things to me with his tongue, but after my attack, he couldn’t bring himself to touch me sexually. I might as well have been labeled “damaged goods.”
The screen door banged, and Willow skipped out onto the porch. The moment she saw the puppy, her eyes widened. With a squeal, she ran over to me. “You got a puppy?”
“Yes. Your daddy got me one.”
Willow scowled up at her father as she swept one of her hands to her hip. “You said I couldn’t have one.”
“That’s right. I did. Miss Alex is an adult and can take care of a puppy, while you can’t. Besides, her dog got …” Deacon winced, and I knew he was trying to find the most delicate way of saying what happened to Atticus. “Well, he, uh … He went to heaven the other night, so this is to take away some of her sadness,” he answered.
“Oh, Miss Alex, I’m so sorry about your dog,” Willow said, her lips turning down.
“It’s okay. Want to hold him?” She nodded emphatically, so I passed the puppy over to her. He proceeded to go wild in licking her face, which caused her to burst into a fit of giggles. I couldn’t help laughing at the sight. Deacon also started chuckling. It felt good to be around laughter again.
“What are you going to name him?” Willow asked in between dodging the puppy’s long swipes with its tongue.
“Hmm. I don’t know. Why don’t you name him?”
“Really?”
I nodded. “Then maybe you can help me with him and show your daddy that you’re ready for a puppy of your own.”
Deacon scowled at me, but when Willow looked at him to confirm his intentions, he nodded. “Oh boy, I can’t believe I get to name him.” Holding the puppy up, she gazed into his eyes. “Walter,” she announced.
With a laugh, I asked, “Walter? Wherever did you get that name from?”
“Mr. Walter lived down the hall from me. He used to come into Mrs. Martinez’s apartment for flan.” Lowering her voice, she said, “I think he was her boyfriend, but they pretended to just be good friends.”
I grinned. “I see.”
“Sometimes I wished he was Mommy’s boyfriend because he always treated me nicer than hers did.”
A low growl came from the back of Deacon’s throat. I knew if he could track down each and every one of his ex’s former boyfriends, he would put them in the ground for hurting Willow. To change the subject, I said, “Then I think we should honor Mr. Walter by naming this fine specimen of a dog after him.”
“Can I go show him to Grandma?”
“Of course.”
Grinning, she turned and ran down the porch. “Why do I have the feeling that I’m not going to see very much of Walter?” I asked with a smile.
Deacon shook his head. “He’s your dog, not hers. You both better remember that.”
“Oh, I’m sure the first time he poops in the house she’ll remember he’s my dog.”
With a laugh, Deacon replied, “Yeah, probably so.” When his gaze met mine, his expression turned serious. He held out his hand to me. “Come on. You need to eat something.”
“If you recall since you were at the table with me, I did eat some breakfast.”
He shook his head. “Barely enough to keep a bird alive. You’re never going to regain your strength unless you eat.”
