Deklan

by Shay Savage

  I still don’t have the nerve to ask him about his scars.

  “How many languages do you speak?” Deklan asks suddenly.

  “Speak? Just three, really. I can get by in a couple more and read a few more than that.” I try to brush it off, but Deklan stares at me until I offer more. “English, French, Spanish. I can make polite conversation on specific topics in German, Russian, and Arabic.”

  “Arabic? Really?”

  “Why not?”

  “Hardly Latin based.”

  “Neither is Russian.”

  He gives me a half nod, conceding the point as he walks over to sit on the other side of the couch. I pull my knees up to give him more room.

  “How did you learn?” he asks.

  I consider how to answer without sounding snarky. Besides, the whole truth could lead me to a topic I’ve wanted to discuss with him but hadn’t yet built up my nerve.

  “After…everything that happened my first year of high school, I studied at home. I didn’t go out much. I got bored.”

  “So you learned more languages?”

  “I studied a lot of things.”

  “Sounds lonely.”

  “It was.” I lick my lips and glance at him through my lashes. “Kind of like now.”

  “I bore you, do I?”

  “Not you, no.” I swivel around, discard the e-reader on the coffee table, and place my feet on the floor so I can snuggle closer to him. “But you aren’t here all the time.”

  “I wish I didn’t have to leave you all day.” Deklan places his hand on my thigh, running it slowly from my knee farther up and under the hem of my robe. “I’d much rather stick around.”

  I feel his fingers crawling farther up my leg, and I know exactly what that means. Deklan only has about fifteen minutes before he has to leave, and he’s not even dressed yet. He’ll get me all wound up and then leave with a smirk on his face, but I need to keep my focus.

  “I wish I…Oh!” I moan as Deklan’s fingers reach their goal. He silences me with his mouth as his fingers circle, and I tilt my hips to press against his hand, rocking slowly.

  He kisses down the front of my neck, opening my robe to get to my breasts. He licks my nipples as he keeps working at me with his fingers, and I groan loudly. He moves his mouth back up, licking between my breasts and up over my chin. He kisses me lightly and then stares intently as he slows the rhythm of his fingers and grins.

  “Gotta get dressed.” He leaves me panting as he heads off to the bedroom. I can hear him going through the closet while my thighs clench and my nipples tingle. A few minutes later, he’s back in the living room with his shirt hanging open, and I’m still frustrated.

  He grins from the kitchen as he starts to button his shirt.

  “Ugh! Why do you do this to me?” I cry as I lean backwards on the couch. My robe opens completely, and I hope it’s enough of a temptation to make him chance being late.

  Deklan comes up behind me, wraps an arm around my waist as I squeal. He pulls me up until my butt is on the arm of the couch and my back is against his chest. His shirt is still mostly unbuttoned, and I can feel his warm skin on my neck. He reaches under my robe again to stroke me.

  “Because I want you to start every day with my fingers right here.” He punctuates the words by sliding his fingers inside me, stroking them in and out slowly. He runs his nose along my neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply. “I want you unsatisfied. I want to be the only thing on your mind. I want you hot and wet and so frustrated that all you can think about is my cock throbbing inside of you.”

  With a quick kiss on my neck, he removes his fingers and lowers me back to the couch. I’m completely unable to speak as he finishes buttoning his shirt, grabs his jacket, and heads for the door.

  “Wait for me.” Deklan looks at me over his shoulder as he turns the doorknob. “No masturbating today.”

  I groan, and he winks and snickers as he walks out of the apartment.

  “Bastard,” I say quietly when he’s gone. I shake my head and resist the urge to finish myself off. I’ll have to go the cold shower route for now, but I’m going to make him pay for that when he gets home.

  I shower and dress. I make the bed and do the breakfast dishes. I try to watch daytime television but quickly get disgusted with every show on every channel and turn it off. I stare at my phone for a long minute, wishing it would magically turn into something that wasn’t easily traced so I could use it. I’m actually starting to miss Facebook drama.

  Strangely enough, I do not miss my parents—at all. Other than the one nasty text from my father using my mother’s phone, I haven’t heard a peep from either of them—not that they could have called since my phone is always off, but I wonder if they still think about me.

  The day drags.

  Every inch of the apartment sparkles. I even polished the shower fixtures. I’ve done my nails—fingers and toes. Dinner is in the oven and should be done just as Deklan arrives home. The kitchen island is set with dishes and silverware.

  Though it had seemed very important to me at the time, I no longer care that I don’t live in a huge mansion. Deklan’s apartment is simple, and I rather like it this way. Of course, if it were bigger, I’d have more rooms to clean. It would make the time pass more quickly.

  I stare out the window that overlooks the street and watch for someone to head down the sidewalk, but the apartment is an out-of-the way place, and there isn’t a lot of foot traffic. A few cars pass by, but the angle is wrong for me to see the people inside.

  Sighing, I resolve to finish the book. I only have a couple of chapters left, which I want to savor. I settle myself on the couch with the e-reader and a glass of water, wondering if boredom is why housewives turn to wine and vodka.

  I browse the previous chapter so I can remember what was going on and lose myself in the story after only a few minutes.

  A knock on the door breaks me from my trance. Automatically, I stand and head over to open it when it occurs to me that no one has ever knocked on the door before.

  I freeze as Deklan’s words about enemies rattle around in my head, making it impossible for me to think rational thoughts. All I know is that I’m not going anywhere near the door. Who could possibly be knocking, and what do they want? Is it someone looking for Deklan? If so, what do I tell them? Do I just ignore the knocking, which is getting louder, or tell whomever it is to go away? What if they try to break down the door?

  My arms and legs tense with fight or flight notions, but I don’t even know which one to choose. I wrap my arms around myself as I look around the apartment, wondering where I could hide, but there’s only the bedroom closet, which is the first place an intruder would check. Maybe Deklan has another gun hidden somewhere, but I don’t even know where to look.

  “Phone,” I whisper to myself and tiptoe over to the kitchen drawer where the burner phone with Deklan’s number on it resides. My hands shake as I try to find the right button to turn it on.

  The voice from the other side of the door startles me as much as the knocking.

  “Kera? Kera! It’s Brian.”

  “Brian?” I grip the phone in my fist and walk softly to the door to look through the peephole. Brian is standing on the other side. He glances down the hall as he hops from one foot to the other. His leg must have healed, because there is no sign of the crutch he was using when I first met him. I lean against the door. “What are you doing here?”

  “Dek sent me.”

  I lick my lips and narrow my eyes at the distorted figure through the hole. It is definitely Brian, but why would Deklan send him here without telling me first? Something is wrong.

  “He didn’t tell me you were coming.”

  “You don’t have to let me in,” Brian says. “He’s just gonna be late and didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Where is he?” Deklan has been late plenty of times and never felt the need to notify me before. What’s changed?

  “Um…” Brian dances on the balls
of his feet again. “He um…”

  “Out with it, Brian.”

  “He got hurt.”

  “Hurt? Hurt how? Where is he?”

  “He’ll be all right,” Brian says. “Just zigged when he should have zagged, I guess. He’s in surgery, but they said he’d be f—”

  “Surgery?” I grab the doorknob and throw the door open. “Surgery for what?”

  “Just a little mishap.” His words are obviously meant to soothe, but the lack of real information has the opposite effect.

  “What happened to him?”

  “He…uh…He got mugged.”

  “Mugged?” I glare at Brian. No one in their right mind would see Deklan as a viable target for easy mugging. “What kind of bullshit is that?”

  “Really,” Brian says, “he’s fine—cursing and pissy, but fine. Surgery is too strong a word. He just needs a few stitches.”

  Apparently, I’m not going to get a straight answer out of Brian. Better to get it from the horse’s mouth.

  “Where is he?”

  “County Hospital.”

  “Take me.” I reach over and grab my jacket from the hook and pull it on.

  “He didn’t say anything about bringing you there.” Brian rubs his hand over his mouth and chin as he shakes his head slightly. “I dunno if I should.”

  “You are going to fucking take me to him right fucking now!”

  Brian’s eyes go wide, and he wipes the palms of his hands on his jeans. He stares at me with his mouth hanging open, and I can see the debate going on in his head. I take a step forward and point my finger at his nose.

  “You are going to take me to the hospital right this fucking second, or I’m going to tell Deklan you made a pass at me.”

  “I…I didn’t! I would never!”

  “But I’ll tell him you did. Who do you think he’ll believe?”

  Brian licks his lips, and his shoulders fall slightly.

  “Do we have an understanding?” I ask.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chapter 14

  The smell of bleach burns my nose as I pace outside the large double doors leading to the operating room. Brian stands off to one side, muttering to himself about how much trouble he’s going to be in with Deklan and refusing to give me any details about what happened.

  “Mrs. Kearney?”

  I flip my head toward the sound of the doctor’s voice and head straight over to her.

  “I’m Dr. Henry, your husband’s surgeon.”

  “I’m Kera,” I tell her. “How is he?”

  “He’s going to be fine,” she says. “It’s a serious injury but not life-threatening.”

  “What happened?”

  Dr. Henry narrows her eyes at Brian and then glances back to me. She takes a long breath.

  “Your husband was stabbed with a six-inch serrated knife, the kind that’s pretty popular with the gangs in the area. Luckily, there isn’t any major organ damage, but the knife nicked his lower intestine. It was a small cut, but we had to take care of it or there would be a risk of the contents of his bowels leaking into his body cavity. That can be very dangerous, but we got to it in time.”

  A tear tries to escape my eyelashes, but I quickly wipe it away.

  “When can I see him?”

  “He should be in recovery in just a few minutes,” the doctor tells me. “I’ll have a nurse come get you as soon as he wakes up.”

  She gives me a reassuring pat on the arm before she walks through the double doors and out of sight. I turn back to Brian with a glare.

  “Stitches, huh?”

  Brian shrugs and tries to smile. I consider punching him in the face.

  “It’s not like he was shot or anything,” Brian says.

  “You are not making me feel better.”

  “Sorry, Mrs. K.”

  I sit down on an uncomfortable plastic chair and cross my arms over my chest. Brian sits beside me and leans over with his elbows on his knees.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” he says, “the guy that did it is in a freezer in the basement of this place.”

  “It doesn’t.” I speak the words casually enough, but a cold knot forms in my stomach. Brian hasn’t actually said that Deklan killed his attacker, and I don’t want to ask. “Who was he?”

  “Just some guy on the street.” Brian can’t even look me in the eye as he says it.

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  I glare at the cold, white floor. My stomach is still all twisted up, and there are too many thoughts running through my head. What really happened? Was he going to have a big scar? Would he have to stay in the hospital for a long time to recover, or would he be able to come home?

  Above all other questions in my mind, one keeps blaring at me like a military bugle: What if it had been worse? What would happen to me if Deklan were to die?

  The automatic doors at the entrance open, and two police officers walk into the waiting area and go up to the nurse at the counter. I can’t hear what they say, but they both turn to look at me.

  “Mrs. Kearney?” The tall, blond cop walks up to me.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Officer Jim Longbow,” he says. He motions to the other uniformed man, also blond but slightly shorter. “This is my partner, Allen Sloan.”

  “Congratulations on the marriage,” Officer Sloan says. “I didn’t realize Deklan was married.”

  “Thank you,” I say softly. “It was just a month ago.”

  “We need to ask you a few questions, Mrs. Kearney,” Longbow says. “Were you with your husband when he was injured?”

  “No,” I say with a shake of my head, “I was at home.”

  “Can you give us an idea of what occurred?”

  “I…I don’t know what happened. I haven’t seen him yet.”

  “How about you, Brian?” Longbow places his hands on his belt as he turns to my companion.

  “I wasn’t there,” Brian says. He maintains eye contact with the officer with cold, blank eyes. “I don’t know anything.”

  “You brought him to the hospital?”

  “Not me. He must’ve got himself here.” Brian leans back in the seat and crosses his arms.

  “And how did you know he was here?” the officer asks.

  “I’m clairvoyant.” Brian continues to stare but refuses to offer any more information.

  A nurse emerges from the double doors and heads in my direction.

  “Mrs. Kearney, your husband is awake. Would you like to see him?”

  “We need to speak with him,” Longbow says.

  “Family first.” The young nurse smiles and leads me away from the police officers. She takes me through the doors and down a hallway to a room shielded with a large curtain. When she pulls the curtain back, I see Deklan lying on the bed with a tube running out of his arm and an oxygen feed in his nose.

  Deklan’s gaze meets mine. He doesn’t smile, not even after the nurse leaves.

  “Who brought you here?”

  “I was worried about you.”

  “Brian wasn’t supposed to tell you anything, let alone bring you here.” Deklan sighs and looks away.

  “I made him bring me,” I say. I walk over to the side of the bed and pull up a round, rolling chair.

  “Held a gun to his head, did you?”

  “Figuratively.”

  Deklan snorts. I reach over and take his hand.

  “I was worried. He wouldn’t tell me what really happened, and he’s a terrible liar.”

  “It was nothing.”

  “You just came out of surgery. How, exactly, is that nothing?”

  “Just a scratch.” He looks down at our hands and twines his fingers around mine. “I’m fine.”

  “What happened?”

  “Misunderstanding.”

  “That’s vague.” I squeeze his hand slightly.

  “What happened?” I ask again, but Deklan just stares at our hands, ignoring m
y question. “You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”

  “No,” he says succinctly, “I’m not. I don’t want you involved. It’s taken care of.”

  “So I hear.”

  Deklan turns his head swiftly, his eyes narrowed.

  “Tell Brian that he’s a dead man.”

  “Leave him alone.”

  “Are you giving me orders now?”

  “Maybe.”

  He finally cracks a smile, but it quickly turns to a wince. I reach over with my other hand and stroke his cheek. He leans against me for a moment.

  “Go home,” Deklan says. “The doc said I can leave in the morning. They just want to watch me overnight.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Deklan. If something happened, they wouldn’t even be able to reach me.”

  “God, woman” he shakes his head and closes his eyes, “you are frustrating.”

  “Well, you left me pretty frustrated this morning. I’m just returning the favor.”

  “Don’t make me laugh anymore.” He gives me a half smile, and his eyes soften. He gives my hand a squeeze and closes his eyes briefly. “I hate the way painkillers leave my head feeling.”

  The curtain moves, and Dr. Henry walks in with a smile.

  “How are we doing?” she asks.

  “I’ll be fine when you get rid of the painkillers in the IV.”

  “You just came out of surgery,” Dr. Henry says. “You’re going to need that for a while.”

  “Bullshit.”

  She checks his vitals, adjusts the IV, and asks him to rate his pain on a scale from one to ten.

  “One,” Deklan says. “Ditch the morphine.”

  “Would you like a bullet to bite on instead?”

  “Yes.”

  Dr. Henry rolls her eyes.

  “There are a couple of officers here who want to ask you about the mugging. Are you up for that?”

  “No,” Deklan says definitively. “I won’t be later, either.”

  “If you aren’t in pain, I’m not sure I can refuse them. I don’t think they’ll leave until they talk to you.”

  “I don’t have anything to say.”