by Laura Wright
“Oh, God,” Deacon hissed. “Fuck! Too tight. So damn hot. You’re creaming around me, darlin’. Your walls won’t stop vibrating.”
His mouth lowered and crushed hers, and as he came, as hot jets of seed rushed into her sex, he kissed her hungrily, desperately, almost violently.
Tears snaking down her temples, Mac pumped her hips, meeting him with every last stroke, taking every bit of him inside her until they slowed. Still kissing her, Deacon rolled his hips easy and gentle. Mac clung to him. Everything she could get wrapped around him, she did. She’d never felt so safe, so satisfied, and God . . . so in love. As he continued to kiss her, kiss away the blazing heat between them for something softer, gentler, and infinitely more vulnerable, Mac rubbed his back. Nothing intense, just sweet, soft strokes up and down, real lazy as she moaned her pleasure and contentment into his mouth.
This man made her happy. The happiest she had ever been in her life, and she never wanted to let go.
It was when her fingers brushed something strange that a thread of that contentment, that ease, retreated. It was something she hadn’t noticed before. Maybe because the room was dim except for the moonlight. Maybe because she’d been so damn worked up. But there was something on the back of his shoulder . . . The skin was raised and scarred. Curious, she dragged her fingers over it.
“What are you doing, Mackenzie?” Deacon asked, his voice still thick with arousal.
“What is this?” she asked him. She brushed her fingers over it again. It felt familiar somehow. “Do you have a scar?”
Deacon went suddenly rigid and slipped out of her. He sat up, his eyes wide and the darkest green she’d ever seen. Like a forest on a moonless night.
Mackenzie’s heart started to pound. Not out of sexual need anymore, but out of concern.
“Deacon?” She sat up, too.
“Yes, Mackenzie?”
He looked . . . caught. His nostrils were flaring. Why wasn’t he looking at her anymore?
“What’s going on?” She scrambled to her knees.
“Nothing,” he ground out.
Her mouth went dry. She’d never seen him like this. Fear clinging to him, and something else . . . embarrassment? Shame? Her fingers twitched, the fingers that had just moved over the raised skin on his back. “Let me see it.”
“No. It’s nothing. Just a tattoo.”
“A tattoo,” she repeated.
“A hawk released from a cage. I got it right after I left home. The guy who did it was a newbie to ink and he scarred my skin.”
Why didn’t she believe him? “I want to see it.”
His eyes flipped up to meet hers. “No.”
The look he gave her chilled her to her bone. She started to move around him. “Why not?”
He blocked her way. Like an animal snarling over his dinner. What the hell was going on?
“Deacon, you’re scaring me. Please tell me what’s happening. Why you’re reacting like this.”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I do! Goddammit. Look what we just did. How close we were. Stop hiding from me.”
He was silent for a moment; then he said in the darkest of voices, “Fine. You want to see it? You want to know the real reason I’m taking down the Triple C, Mackenzie?”
Heat, prickly and oppressive, slammed into Mac, and tears welled in her eyes. She couldn’t explain why or where they’d come from. They were just there. She held her breath captive inside her lungs and nodded.
Slowly, Deacon turned around, gave her his back. Eyes slightly blurry with moisture, Mac swiped at them, then focused on what was before her. Lean, tan, and muscular, Deacon had smooth skin everywhere except his left shoulder. The tattoo was indeed a hawk, but it wasn’t the ink that had her flinching, had her stomach churning. Had her eyes going so wide, they hurt.
“Oh my God,” she whispered hoarsely. “Oh, dear God, Deacon. Who did this?” Bile rose in her throat as a terrible thought came into her mind. “Not Everett.”
“No,” Deacon said. “Not Everett. But he may as well have.”
What? Oh, God . . . “What does that mean?” she rasped. Her reached out and ran her fingers over the damaged skin on his shoulder.
“He didn’t stop it,” Deacon said, his tone so black, so bitter, it hurt her ears. “He knew how deep my mother was falling, how angry she was becoming. He knew how she blamed us for what happened to Cass. How she punished us for it. Day after day. With anything she could get her hands on.”
Tears streamed down Mac’s cheeks. Oh, God . . . “Your mother . . .” That’s what she’d felt under her fingers. She’d known that mark. Had felt it on the hide of every head of cattle . . . “She branded you.”
Diary of Cassandra Cavanaugh
May 1, 2002
Dear Diary,
I met someone today!
He was buying penny candy at the dime store, too. I can’t tell you much about him yet because he said we should keep things a secret. I’ve never had secrets from my family or from Mac before, but it feels kind of good. Like for once I know something they don’t know. For once I feel special and wanted.
Maybe I’ll just tell Mac. She is my best friend. Let her know that she’s not the only one with a crush on an older boy in River Black.
Or maybe I’ll just tell her his name. What I call him anyway.
Sweet.
Off to eat some ice cream on the porch,
Cass
Seventeen
Lying on his side, his head propped up on his hand, Deacon watched Mackenzie sleep by the light of the moon spilling in through his wall of windows. She was the most beautiful sight he’d ever beheld. On her back, her dark hair spread out on the pillow behind her, the sheet pulled only to her waist, her hands clutched to her heart, she breathed deep and easy. A flash of possessiveness hit him. Directly in the heart. His once cold, dead heart.
Sleeping alone had been his norm, his way of life, and he’d never had thoughts to the contrary. But now, as he dropped to his back and eased her closer, as she sensed him there and turned, cuddled into his side and sighed, he couldn’t imagine his life any other way.
But things were going to be different now. It couldn’t be helped. Now that she knew the truth—the black, painful, hideous truth. He’d felt the shift inside her, seen it in her eyes.
After he’d told her about how his mother had blamed him the most because he was the oldest and knew better, how she’d started with beatings, then ended up with that burning-hot iron in her hand, Mac hadn’t been able to speak. She’d just wanted him to hold her. Hold her while she cried against his chest, then dropped exhausted into sleep. He knew she was angry, sickened, and that she probably pitied him. But what he didn’t know was how this new knowledge might change things between them. He had no intention of abandoning his plans for the Triple C. Would she understand his passion now? Would she support him in his cause? Or would this chasm between them widen?
Alarm spread through him, threatening to steal the virginal joy in his heart, but even in her sleep Mackenzie wouldn’t allow that. She wrapped her arm around his chest and pulled herself even closer, the heat off her body slowly melting the aggressive blasts of cold apprehension and fear of what was to come in his cells.
• • •
Standing before a dirty mirror in a near-closet-sized room just outside the makeshift area, Cole taped his hands. Normally, someone else did that. Along with massage and stretching and mental prep. But tonight he was doing everything himself. There was going to be no one in his corner, no one slapping his ass if he won, no one carrying him out if he got that ass kicked.
It was like the old days, and it was perfect.
After being back at the Triple C for nearly a week, he was starting to experience some strange shit. Competing feelings inside his body. It was like the place he’d run from all those years ago both invigorated him and tore him up deeper, and as he was pushed into making a decision about its future, he found himself angrier and mo
re volatile than ever.
Thank God he had friends in the underground. It was the one place volatile wasn’t feared but encouraged.
Hands taped, he opened the door, heard the deafening sounds of the crowd and welcomed the wash of relief it brought as it simultaneously strengthened his blood and cleared his focus.
A guy he didn’t know stuck his head in the door. “You ready?”
“Beyond.” Cole moved past him and down a short hallway.
He needed this. To keep himself sharp and sane. And though it had become an addiction of sorts, it was the only way out of his guilt. For an hour or two, anyway.
The sea of faces and the booming sounds of their catcalls and cheers were suddenly erased from his consciousness, and all he saw was the guy in the ring. Though he’d never seen the man who took Cass, who took her life—and who was never brought to justice—every opponent he faced took on the role of his twin sister’s killer.
Christ, there wasn’t a day that went by that Cole didn’t think of her. Not a day that went by that he didn’t sweat or bleed and push himself to the point of pain to distract himself from his never-ending guilt over her abduction. Because in his mind, he would always be to blame. She’d asked him to come with her, stand outside the bathroom door. She’d hated to go places alone. But he’d wanted to stay and watch the movie. He’d told her she’d be fine. He’d been a weak-hearted shit.
He ducked and moved through the ropes.
He wasn’t weak anymore.
His eyes connected with his opponent. “You ready to go?”
Like Deac, he, too, had needed to get away from the Triple C and its memories for a few hours. Not with a woman who should be off-limits to him, a woman he couldn’t stop himself from lusting over, but for the sweet relief of blood sport.
• • •
As she floated in the pool, her arms crossed and resting on the stone edge, Mac went through the events of the night before in her mind. Hell, the events of the past week. It was like a bomb had exploded, and all the pieces were still up in the air, floating around, some soft and harmless, many with fiercely jagged edges.
Her poor Deacon. She couldn’t even imagine what he’d been through. What they’d all been through. How those boys had been completely unprotected. And she’d been home grieving. She should’ve been there, no matter what Everett had said.
Her stomach clenched. Was that why Everett had wanted her to stay away? He knew what was happening and didn’t want her witnessing. Or interfering.
Did he blame the boys, too?
Her heart was no longer soft for him. Yes, he’d taken her in and given her a job, and she was grateful for that. But what he’d allowed to happen on his watch, to his children, turned her stomach, and she would never champion him again.
“How long you been in here, darlin’?”
Instantly, her body hummed with awareness. Still resting on the lip of the pool, she glanced over her shoulder to see Deacon, clad only in a pair of swim trunks, stepping into the water.
Her gaze moved over his tanned skin and waves of muscle. He was so beautiful. “Not long.”
“I woke up and you were gone.” He swam up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I didn’t like it.”
“I’m sorry.” She leaned in to him, every part of her growing warm at his touch. “I just needed some time to think.”
With a growl, he turned her around to face him. His dark hair was bed-tousled and so sexy, and his eyes, those beautiful green eyes, were wary. “About?”
“Everything,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “God, I understand now, Deacon.”
His brows lowered in confusion.
“Why you want to destroy the C. All that Everett created.” Her throat tightened and tears pricked at her eyes. “Because he destroyed you.”
His face paled and his eyes went raw with emotion. He didn’t answer, just pulled her closer into his arms.
Mac clung to him, ran her hands up his muscular back, ran her fingers over his scarred skin. Anger poured through her. She should’ve been there. She should’ve been there to protect him . . . them . . .
“Did she do this to James and Cole?”
He shook his head. “We were all whipped on a regular basis, locked in our rooms or the barn at times. And the terrible things she would say . . . They pretty much destroyed Cole. But the branding iron, it was an impulsive moment with me. Her eldest son. The one who should’ve protected his little sister.”
His words were like a blade running her through. Goddammit. She pulled back to look at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she implored him, blinking back tears. “Why didn’t any of you tell me? I could’ve helped. I would’ve wanted to help. I would’ve stopped her. Somehow.”
His eyes softened and he took her face in his hands. “You were still a kid, with your own shit to deal with. You couldn’t have done anything. And hell, we didn’t want you to know, never wanted to burden you with this.”
“Everett knew,” she said, as much to him as to herself.
“Yes.”
“You blame him more.”
“My mother lost her mind the day Cass’s body was brought home. And her reason. She was just a shell. I have to believe she didn’t know what she was doing.”
Mac shook her head, fierce, painful anger coursing through her. “Don’t defend her, Deacon. I never will. Or Everett either.”
His eyes moved over her face. From her cheeks to her eyes to her mouth. Then he leaned in and kissed her. A slow, sensual, emotional, almost drugging kiss. “Thank you, honey.”
“For what?” she breathed against his mouth, her heart squeezing inside her ribs.
“Getting angry.” He kissed her again, so softly, she sighed.
“Oh, Deacon,” she breathed.
A small smile appeared on his lips, and he pressed her back against the edge of the pool and slipped his thigh between her legs. “You have no idea how much it means to me. How much you mean to me,” he said, soft and hungry as his eyes flickered up to connect with hers. “But I could show you. Will you let me show you, darlin’?”
Her entire body shivered in the heated pool and under the heated gaze of this man who had captured her heart so long ago and now held it gently, firmly, capably in his hands.
“Why are you wearing all these clothes?” he whispered between one deep, dragging kiss then another.
“It’s a bathing suit,” she whispered back, smiling. “You bought it for me.”
“Right. And you look sexy as hell in it. God, I love you in blue.” His eyes dropped to her mouth. “But I need it off you right now. I need you naked. I need you.”
Her pulse quickened, and she glanced up at the sliding glass door. “Here? You gave Carol the night off, not the morning, remember?”
“I’m going to give her the week off.” His hands encircled her waist. “Wait. No, forget that. She needs to get used to this.”
“This?” Mac repeated, her heart squeezing at his words and their possible meaning.
He tilted his head and kissed her again. Took her mouth so soft, so sensual. “This.” His right hand broke from her waist and ran down her belly, slipping beneath the thin waistband of her bikini bottom. “And this.”
She gasped as his fingers brushed over her sex. “You’re bad, Deacon Cavanaugh,” she whispered against his mouth, lapping at his top lip with her tongue.
He groaned. “And you’re hot.” He cupped her. “And wet.” Then slid one thick finger inside of her.
Blood rushed to her sex, and she instantly wrapped her legs around his waist. She wanted him, yes. Hell, her skin was on fire. But more than that—any of that—she wanted him to know she understood him now. That his secrets were safe with her and she would never hurt him.
His eyes came to rest on hers. And as she stroked his shoulders and the scar beneath his tattoo, he gently thrust inside her.
“Tell me you don’t have to go, Mackenzie,” he said, his jaw tight, his breathin
g kicking up. “Tell me work can wait, but this can’t. We can’t.”
She opened her mouth to speak, to answer him, but only a moan of pleasure escaped.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he continued, changing the angle of his hand and going deeper inside of her. “Tell me you know you’re mine.”
The sound of the courtyard door opening made Mac freeze. She released a soft gasp and tried to move away from Deacon. But he held her fast. Hell, he didn’t even flinch.
Out of the corner of her eye, Mac saw Carol at the doorway. She was far enough away not to see what was happening under the water but smart enough to know something was probably up. She remained where she was and called to him.
“Sir?”
Deacon’s eyes pinned to Mac’s, he said in a completely normal voice, “Morning, Carol.”
Mac’s eyes widened. Oh, Lord, he wasn’t . . .
“There seems to be a situation,” she said.
Deacon slipped a second finger into Mac’s sex. Oh, Lord, yes, he was! Her eyes bulged and her breath caught.
“What is it?” he called back, his eyes glittering with wicked heat.
“Online gossip sites are all buzzing with the news of you and Ms. Byrd.”
His mouth curved into a sexy grin. “That’s pretty quick, but not completely unexpected.”
Her nipples hardening beneath her swimsuit top, Mac bit her lip to stop another moan from escaping.
“The news is not very favorable toward Ms. Byrd,” Carol continued. “About her background, clothing, manner, that kind of thing.”
Background, Mac thought, her head dizzy as Deacon kept thrusting into her—so gently the water remained calm around them.
“I wonder who could’ve written something so scandalous,” he said, giving Mac a wink.
At that moment, Mac didn’t care. About who wrote what, or Carol or the past, future . . . Her body was screaming for release.
“Must be someone intimately acquainted with Ms. Byrd and my fashion choices,” Deacon continued, his voice completely unaffected by what he was doing to her. “I knew Pamela loved the paparazzi, but damn, she works fast.”