Deacon (Unfinished Heroes #4)

by Kristen Ashley

  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.

  Chapter Eighteen

  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 exac
tly 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.

  With all that, I was trying not to let other things penetrate, primarily what I was feeling between my legs with the knowledge of what he was offering me (not to mention, the vision of his chest).

  “Trusted me,” he kept at me. “Trusted me completely by taking me and my shit on and believing in me. But you proved how deep that trust ran by trusting me with that sweet little body of yours, letting me give you what you needed, letting me open up a world for you. You gave me that gift. Then you let me give you a sink.”

  I blinked.

  “And a mirror,” he continued, toeing off his boots.

  “I—”

  “Not stupid enough to know I’d win every fight, but you taught me I could take care of a woman again. You taught me I could be trusted with her. You taught me I could make her laugh and smile and you gave me back what it feels like, doin’ that for a woman you love.”

  I couldn’t reply. All I could do was let the woman you love part sink deep, powerless to fight it at the same time thinking, God, what had his wife done to him?

  His hands went to his belt. “Showed me a strong woman doesn’t need keeping, but feels good to take care of her all the same. Better, you gotta fight for that privilege. You taught me a lot of things, Cassidy,” he finished and then pulled down his jeans.

  He straightened and he was hard, beautifully thick and hard, and my mouth watered.

  My eyes shot from his cock to his when he whispered, “Try me, baby.”

  “You want me to tie you to the bed?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I want you to do whatever you wanna do.”

  I stared at him.

  He’d walked out on me.

  Six months, nothing, leaving me to believe he was married and I was an unwitting adulteress, but an adulteress all the same. Took all his magnificence away and made me feel more lonely than I’d ever felt in my life, lonely in a way that feeling knitted to every muscle, every tendon, making it hard to move, go about my days, all the time forced to fight against it just to be able to breathe.

  I should tell him I wanted him to walk away and never come back.

  I listened to yours. A million fuckin’ times, I listened to it.

  He stood there, Deacon, naked and erect in front of me.

  Beautiful war.

  My voice moved through the room. “I wanna tie you to the bed.”

  Without a second’s delay, he turned and climbed on the bed.

  My knees got weak.

  I watched in shock, amazement, warmth, and excitement as badass Deacon settled on his back and turned his eyes to me.

  “Whatever you want, baby,” he said gently.

  God, was I going to do this?

  I walked to the bed.

  I was going to do this.

  I stood at the side and pulled the ropes out.

  I didn’t know what I was doing. I was too focused on other things to pay attention when he did it to me, but I climbed into bed.

  He instantly offered his arm to me.

  My insides started expanding.

  I took his wrist and tied it to the bed as best I could, tugging at it hard when I got him fixed. The knot didn’t budge.

  With no caressing, no kisses, my eyes never even hitting his face, I did the same to his other wrist and his ankles until he was leashe
d, spread out before me.

  Taking him in, his power and beauty tied there for me, I experienced the quiver to end all quivers, but I fought that too.

  I moved to my knees at his side and sucked in a breath before I grabbed his cock perfunctorily, heard his grunt, and finally looked to his face.

  I bent over him, my hair curtaining us.

  “You hurt me,” I whispered.

  “I know, Cassie,” he whispered back.

  “I can hurt you now,” I told him, tightening my fist on his cock.

  He gritted his teeth at my hold but kept my eyes and relaxed his jaw to reply, “You won’t.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Love is trust, Cassie, you taught me that.”

  My insides expanded more just as my heart started bleeding.

  “She didn’t?” I asked quietly.

  “She taught me the other way around.”

  I stared at him, right in the eyes, and read that as truth.

  And the pain of that knowledge was so immense, I shifted and my head dropped down, planting itself in his chest because I couldn’t hold it up.

  He loved her.

  She broke him.

  And then he found me.

  He fought it.

  He left me because she wouldn’t let him go.

  So he found a way to let her go and came back.

  I made my decision.

  I released him and moved off the bed. I took off my clothes while he watched.

  Then I again joined him in bed and commenced giving him what he gave me. All I could reach. Kissing. Licking. Sucking. Nipping. Stroking.

  When his body was taut, his noises hungry, I moved between his legs, wrapped my fist around his cock, and took him in my mouth.

  He growled.

  I sucked, licked, glided, pulling him in and out, giving it everything.

  “Fuck, Cassie,” he groaned.

  I slid his cock up and out of my mouth and looked up his body.

  He had his head lifted so he could watch. His arms spread wide, his biceps bulging, the veins in his forearms popping, his face filled with hunger.

  I looked into his eyes.

  Try me.

  “I want something, you’ll give it to me,” I whispered.

  “Yes,” he ground out.

  I licked my lips then moved my tongue to the base of his engorged cock, now resting on his stomach. I glided my tongue to the tip.

  The bed moved with his buck when I finished and the growl rumbled deep, sounding like it came from his gut.