Deacon (Unfinished Heroes #4)

by Kristen Ashley

  Her parents put that shit on about beloved wife.

  She was.

  Then she wasn’t.

  “You broke me,” he whispered to the headstone.

  If she was there, she’d start crying. She’d mean those tears. She felt hard, when she let herself feel, which was why she did everything in her power to stop feeling.

  She succeeded.

  Spectacularly.

  “Let me go.”

  He closed his eyes and waited.

  He saw her on that barstool trying not to let him catch her watching him. He saw her walking down the aisle, smiling at him so big, already crying happy tears and she hadn’t even made it to his side. He saw her bending to the oven, taking out yet another fucking tray of cookies.

  And he saw her hanging from the hook, suspended in the sling, taking another man’s cock.

  “Let me go,” he repeated.

  She didn’t let him go.

  The bitch never did.

  * * * * *

  Deacon sat in a dingy, old roadside diner, a cup of black coffee in front of him, the place deserted because it was three in the morning, his eyes out the window, focused on the dark sky.

  It never happened so he didn’t know why it did then. He didn’t give a shit about music. He didn’t give a shit about anything. Jeannie taught him that just as Cassie did everything she could to teach him something else.

  But the song playing in the diner hit him, every word, each stabbing like a knife in his chest.

  He didn’t know why he did it but he picked up his phone, the real one he never gave Cassie the number to mostly because he was going to dump it when he left the life and get a new one.

  He hit the Shazam button, an app he’d never used. An app Raid’s woman, Hanna, loaded on to it, teasing him, “Everyone has Shazam, Deacon.”

  Shazam listened and told him the song was Passenger, “Let Her Go.”

  Let her go.

  Let.

  Let.

  That’s what he’d done. He’d done it. He’d let Cassie go.

  He took a sip of his coffee, leaned forward, pulled out his wallet, threw some bills on the table that would make the night of the lonely waitress in her short skirt and ridiculous cap, who, by the look of her, needed to retire twenty years ago.

  He left the diner, got in his Suburban, and drove away.

  * * * * *

  For some fucked up reason he didn’t get, the minute he got to a place that had Wi-Fi, he went out, bought an iTunes gift card, and downloaded “Let Her Go.”

  He listened to it often, every word defining him in a way that was troubling, as if the man who wrote that song read the words carved into his soul.

  It was torture.

  But it was a break from the torture of playing Cassie’s song.

  And he’d take that.

  Because it was all he deserved.

  * * * * *

  Knight Sebring

  Knight hit Raid’s contact and put the phone to his ear.

  “Yo,” Raid answered.

  “Yo, Hanna good?” Knight asked and heard Raid chuckle.

  “Yeah, man, so am I, in case you’re wondering.”

  Knight wasn’t in the mood.

  “You hear from Deacon?” he asked.

  The humor was gone and Raid’s voice was alert when he answered, “No.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Talk to me,” Raid bit out, now not just alert, but uneasy.

  “Got word, coupla sources, he’s keepin’ bad company.”

  “Name of the game, Knight.”

  “Deacon had boundaries and we both know that. Now, it would seem he doesn’t.”

  “Names,” Raid demanded, now curt.

  Alarmed.

  Knight gave him the names.

  “Jesus,” Raid murmured.

  Yeah. Jesus.

  Bad company.

  “You gonna find him and talk to his ass, or am I?” Knight asked.

  “I gotta talk to Hanna then I’m on the road.”

  That was good because Knight could afford the best and the best at finding people were Deacon and Raid and if either one of them didn’t want to be found, there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of finding them.

  Unless one was looking for the other.

  “You need me, I’m there,” Knight told him.

  “Gotcha. Later. And Knight?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  Raid disconnected.

  Knight threw his phone on his desk and got back to work.

  But as he did it, he was uneasy.

  * * * * *

  Deacon

  Deacon should have pulled his gun just to put the fear of God into him when he opened the door to his hotel room, but he didn’t. He didn’t, partly because Raid used his own vehicle because he wasn’t hiding shit and partly because it’d take a fuckuva lot more than a gun trained on him to put the fear of God in Raid Miller.

  He closed the door and Raid switched on the light by the chair he was sitting in.

  “Fuck, seriously? Drama?” he growled.

  “Hear you’re not keepin’ good company, Deacon,” Raid returned.

  Deacon crossed his arms on his chest. “Was wonderin’ why you were here. Now I’m wonderin’ when you thought my shit was any business of yours.”

  “You’re not messy,” Raid pointed out.

  “Money’s better messy,” Deacon replied.

  “Since when did you need money?” Raid asked.

  “Since I decided to buy an island and move there with my favorite volleyball,” Deacon shot back, watched his friend’s lips twitch, ignored it, and moved into the room, shrugging off his coat and throwing it on the bed.

  “You’re off the grid,” Raid said, his voice suddenly low. “Then, hear word you’re not off the grid, you’re fuckin’ vapor. Weeks on end.”

  His time with Cassie.

  Deacon cut his eyes to him barely turning his head.

  Raid knew why.

  “What was her name?” he asked quietly.

  Deacon looked away, shoving his hands into his pockets, tossing keys and change onto the bureau, saying, “None of your fuckin’ business.”

  He’d made a mistake years ago. He let Raid Miller in. He started liking him. He let the guy get to know him. He picked a guy who was not stupid and he got to know Deacon. Now Deacon knew he couldn’t hide shit from Raid Miller.

  So he didn’t bother to try.

  “What’s her name?” Raid pushed.

  Deacon turned and leaned back against the bureau, stretching his legs in front of him, crossed at the ankles, arms crossed on his chest. He gave the man his eyes but said nothing.

  “You keep her clean?” Raid asked.

  “She’s clean.”

  “No one knows about her?”

  “No one.”

  “She burn you or you burn her?”

  “Are you not gettin’ I don’t wanna talk about this?” Deacon asked.

  Raid studied him.

  Then he remarked, “Man’s burned by a woman, he moves on. He burns a good woman, he kicks his own ass until he finds another woman and learns not to do that shit.”

  There was no other woman for him.

  Not one.

  Deacon said nothing.

  “The way you’re kickin’ your ass, Deacon, could get you dead.”

  “And that matters how?”

  The air in the room went static.

  “Are you fuckin’ serious?” Raid demanded to know.

  Deacon decided on more silence.

  “One of the best men I’ve ever met,” Raid told him and that was good to know. Raid was a good man and it was good to have that back.

  He still didn’t reply.

  “Hanna likes you,” Raid stated.

  “No. Your woman loves you. She loves you so much she can’t see straight. She likes me ’cause you like me. She’d like Hitler if you liked Hitler.”

  When he was finishe
d talking, he clenched his jaw, the Hitler reference cutting close to the bone and he’d done it to his damned self.

  “You believe that, you’re whacked,” Raid returned.

  “Never said I was sane, brother.”

  “Who said you couldn’t be happy?” Raid retorted, impatience in his tone.

  “I’m poison,” Deacon reminded him.

  “She did it to herself.”

  “I didn’t see it happening.”

  “She did it to herself,” Raid repeated.

  “I didn’t protect her.”

  “She did it to herself,” Raid said again and Deacon lost it.

  Uncrossing his arms and curling his fingers around the edge of the bureau, he leaned toward his friend. “Ass in a sling, brother, hangin’ from her hands on a hook, legs tied wide open, pussy offered, mindlessly takin’ cock. And they were lined up for her, Raiden, lined up to take their turn. All that so she could get her fix.”

  Raid flinched, muttering, “Deacon.”

  “Charged in there, got her down from that hook, she looked at me, had no clue who I was. No fuckin’ clue. She sold the rings I gave her to buy heroin, but I gave her those rings, man. She walked down the aisle to me cryin’, she was so happy, and she didn’t know me. Tried to get her out of there, got the beating of a lifetime, took it, fought it, nearly died from it. Through that, she wandered back into that fuckin’ hellhole to be strung back up, fucked in the cunt, up her ass, jacked off on, my wife covered in dozens of men’s cum, that shit dripping out of every orifice they could reach, not feelin’ shit but the high or the need for another needle filled with junk. Her husband outside, left in the alley, near dead, and she didn’t give a shit. ”

  “That’s it, man, she didn’t give a shit.”

  “She was my wife.”

  Raid leaned in to his elbows on his knees. “By then, your wife was dead. That piece was nothing and she did it to herself.”

  Deacon shook his head. “We’re done talkin’ about this.”

  “You said she had good folks. All that was on her.”

  “Good folks?” Deacon asked. “Fuck, man, they hid that shit from me. Three stints in rehab before she was twenty. They didn’t say shit. Jeannie sure as fuck didn’t. I put that rock on her finger, they broke the record plannin’ our wedding, tyin’ her to me so I’d take on her shit. And they didn’t clue me in to any of that.”

  “And that’s your problem?” Raid asked. “You told me they were decent. That doesn’t say decent, Deacon. That says they’re bullshit liars, just like she was. They knew you were a good man. They tied your hands. You didn’t know what you were dealing with. How could you do shit for her if you didn’t know she had a problem?”

  “Money went missing.”

  “And to stop it when you noticed that, she was turning tricks before she got in too deep and sold her soul to the devil. Or in her case, her body.”

  “I should never have told you any of this shit,” Deacon ground out.

  “You did. Deal with it and explain to me how that means, since she threw herself in the pit of hell, you have to live there with her even when the bitch is dead.”

  “She’s my wife.”

  “Was your wife.”

  “I loved her,” Deacon clipped. “Fuckin’ loved her. Visualize Hanna on a hook, takin’ cock that’s not yours, and tell me you would not take that on, that she was with you and you were happy then she was on that hook and you didn’t stop it.”

  Raid shut his mouth. He’d visualized and Deacon hated himself for giving his friend that but he had no choice.

  So Deacon was going to give all of it to him so he’d shut the fuck up.

  “You want it all?” Deacon asked but didn’t let him answer. “Told you what I told you but didn’t give it all to you, brother. You got grit, but no man has that much grit, I fuckin’ know. So I saved you from the nightmare, but here it is.”

  He took in a breath and held Raid’s eyes.

  “I went back. Twice. Tried again to get her out. Twice. Once, got my ass shot at. By the time I got the firepower to take my back and made a plan to extract, my informant inside told me it was too late. She died on that hook, Raid. Overdose. They reckon she took cock from at least two guys in her dead body before someone figured it out and pulled her down.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Raid whispered.

  “Yeah. Pretty picture, isn’t it?”

  “Brother.”

  “Cleaned her with fuckin’ bleach, dumped her in a ditch. Made the news. Missing woman found dead. Grieving family still relieved because they now have answers. Bullshit. Her parents were relieved the nightmare she made of her life was over. My parents were relieved, hoping the nightmare she made of my life was over. I was not relieved. Buried her, walked away. Walked away from her parents who did not give me the knowledge to find the tools to help my wife. Walked away from everything.”

  “I know.”

  “And that’s where I gotta be.”

  Raid held his eyes.

  Then he said, “Tell me her name and where she is.”

  Deacon’s chest started burning. “Fuck, man, you do not get this but you’re gonna have to. I’m not givin’ you dick.”

  “She’s clean, let me and my boys make sure she is. Check in on her, she’ll never know. Keep an eye on her. Make certain nothin’ from you leads to her.”

  “You think I’d let that happen?”

  “No. I also think you love her and you’re gonna give me her name and location so my boys and I can look after her so you can make sure she’s covered even if you know she won’t need it.”

  “Cassidy Swallow, Glacier Lily Cottages, Antler, Colorado.”

  “My backyard,” Raid murmured.

  “Yeah.”

  “You love her.”

  Deacon clenched his jaw again.

  “You break her?” Raid asked.

  That burn in his chest spread. “It’ll be you lookin’ in on her and don’t give me your shit, Raid. I know it’ll be you, you won’t send one of your boys. You’ll take care of her personally. So you’ll see. And when you do, you’ll know she’ll find a man.”

  “You break her?” Raid pressed.

  Tired of this shit, Deacon gave it to him.

  “You heard the song ‘Say Something?’”

  Raid again flinched. He’d heard it.

  “Yeah,” Deacon whispered.

  He broke her. He didn’t stay around to watch. He still knew he did it.

  That burn spread further.

  Raid stood, saying quietly, “Give me something.”

  Deacon didn’t respond.

  “Come stay with me and Hanna. Give it one shot. See what it’s like when a man feels like he lost everything good, gets a second chance, and learns his future includes better.”

  Deacon remained silent.

  “It can happen for you if you let it.”

  “You want us to remain anything to each other, Miller, your time to stop talking is now.”

  He said it. He meant it.

  Raid knew it.

  His friend nodded.

  Without another word, Raid walked to the door.

  He was standing in it when he looked back to Deacon, and because he was a damned fine man, if an annoying one, he pushed it.

  “Known you a long time, never knew you to be wrong,” he began. “Until now. You deserve to be happy. You don’t think you do but you’re so fuckin’ wrong, it hurts to be in the same room with you. But even if you don’t believe that, I know in my gut you wouldn’t find a woman who didn’t deserve that too. And it’s you takin’ that from her.”

  “According to you, I was wrong the first time.”

  “Lesson one from Deacon when he taught me everything I know,” Raid fired back. “You got one shot to learn from your mistakes. You think you drilled that into me, I don’t know you never made the same mistake twice, you’re fucked in the head.” His voice lowered. “But I know you’re not. I know you know she isn’t Jeann
ie. And I know that this time, you should kick your own ass that you’d even insinuate that about the good woman who made a dead man’s heart start beating again. A woman you broke.”

  On that, he closed the door.

  * * * * *

  Raiden Miller

  Raid stood in the trees, binoculars to his eyes trained on the brunette doing something to the window boxes at one of the cabins littered by the river and through the woods.

  He got it. He got it for a lot of reasons, not least of which she was fucking gorgeous. Unbelievable. Not a hint of makeup and she could be on the cover of Sports Illustrated in a bathing suit. If he didn’t have beauty warming his bed and making his life so sweet it beat back nightmares that would break a man, he’d want in there.

  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.”