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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

DEACON

We step out onto the street and stand there, completely silent. The storm hit while we were inside. Rain lashes the buildings and pours into the gutters. I stare out, not seeing, just trying to wrestle with the anger raging through my chest.

My land is the only thing I’ve ever had.

It’s where I fantasized about bringing Freya. Figuring out what makes her tick, what makes her fall for me. Coaxing her into marrying me, having babies with her, filling the empty house with a world we make together.

I know, on a surface level, an easement won’t ruin that. It’s whatever comes next when they start bringing trucks through, when I hear the trees fall and the rocks are blown from the ground.

Smoke, dust, and worse: civilization.

Slowly, I become aware that Jay is talking to me. I put my hat on.

“What?”

“Do not go after the Hatfields,” he says.

I jerk my head in a sharp nod, looking past him.

“Deacon, look at me,” he says, pointing two fingers toward his eyes. “You keep your hands off them. No fighting, no shooting, no talking to them. Got it? Any communication goes through me. ”

I work my jaw.

“So help me God, I will kick your ass myself if I hear you’ve done otherwise,” Jay says, as if he’s not half my body weight. “You get in your truck and head home. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“You got any cigarettes?” I ask.

He takes a pack from his pocket and hands me one. “I need to hear the words from you.”

I light up. “Alright, I can keep away.”

“I’ll fucking hold you to that,” Jay says. “I’ve got another meeting, so I’m heading out. You drive right home. Don’t stop or go anywhere else.”

He crosses the street, his good suit soaked. I watch him disappear back into his office before stepping out into the rain. Water sprays up around my boots as I head a few blocks down to my truck.

Inside, I take off my hat and lean back.

My eyes fall to my hand on the steering wheel, knuckles white. I’ve got a knife in my pocket and a gun hanging on the holster behind my headrest, but I’m craving the crunch of cartilage under my fist.

I think, before Jay ever said a word, my mind was made up.

Jaw gritted, I pull off the curb and head to the more expensive part of town. There’s a boutique there, and I ordered something a few weeks ago. I got a text this morning saying it was ready to pick up. Before I give somebody a beat down, I need to get it.

I go inside, the bell ringing as I walk in. The woman behind the counter balks at me for a second. She’s new, wasn’t here the last time.

“I got an order to pick up,” I say.

She glances behind me at the only escape route. “Um…what’s the name?”

“Ryder,” I say. “Deacon.”

She nods, dipping into the back. She returns with a flat gift box tied with a black ribbon. There’s a fabric gift receipt pinned to it with my name on it. I’ll take that off before I give it to Freya. Maybe it’ll make up for whatever I did earlier that had her upset .

“Was it already paid?” she asks, flipping through the receipts by the desk.

I take my card out. “No, I ordered in a hurry.”

She runs my card and puts the box in a plastic bag to protect it. When I step back outside, the rain is letting up. In my truck, I undo the ribbon and lift the lid.

Inside, on the top layer of tissue paper, sits a blue silk lingerie set. Nicer than anything she’s ever had in her life, likely, but not half as fine as she deserves.

I’m not sure there’s anything pretty enough to be on Freya.

I stare down at it, entranced by how different it is than anything I’m used to. The details are incredible. White stitching all along the edges in a complex pattern. Little gussets of some variety over the cups. I make sure my hand is clean and lift the bra to look at the panties.

Goddamn.

I probably shouldn’t have looked in the box because, on top of being livid at Aiden Hatfield, I’m now horny for his stepdaughter. Both of those things get my blood pumping in two different ways.

I take a beat. Then, I close the box, put it in the back seat, and turn the truck around. I’m not heading to the Hatfield’s anymore. I’m going to go see Jack and have a drink in the bar. Or a coffee. Jay would approve of that.

The rain has let up by the time I’m in West Lancaster. I park around the side, in the alley, like I usually do. I’ve got the door open, and I’m stepping into the wet street when I realize the truck in front of mine belongs to Aiden Hatfield. He’s in the bar right now. I slam my door shut.

The anger that rises isn’t violent.

It’s hard, like heated iron, and it burns so hot, I can’t keep it inside anymore.

Without missing a beat, I take a switchblade out of my pocket, pop it out with a metallic hiss, and stick it into his left rear tire as I walk by. The feeling is so satisfying that I wrench it out and sink it into the front tire for good measure .

Then, I go inside and the door shuts behind me.

The bar is halfway full. Jack stands against the back counter, arms crossed. There’s a blonde woman with a harshly cut bob, his sister, getting ready to head out. She puts a purse over her shoulder, hugs him, and slips through the back exit. That’s probably for the best. Jack would be pissed if I started a fight in front of Lisbeth.

I swing my eyes over the room. Aiden sits by himself in the corner. A few paces away, Ryland is trying to talk on his phone over the noise.

I see red. I shouldn’t do this. Jack is going to be pissed off if I fuck up his bar on a weekday afternoon. But right now, I don’t care. From the corner of my eye, I see a flash of Jack, his eyes widening. Then, I cross the room and drop down directly across from Aiden.

He jerks his head up, brows rising.

There’s a second where the tension vibrates between us. Then, the corner of his mouth curls.

“You really want to do this, Ryder?” he says, voice cool.

I should trade words to work this out. Instead, I pick up the table and flip it. He’s thrown back against the wall, the chairs spill out. The crash shakes the room and sends customers scurrying for the door. It’s too early to get involved in a bar fight for most people.

Not for me. I’m ready to go.

Aiden’s eyes flash like an animal as he pushes off the wall, reaching for the chair closest to him. I duck, last second, as it flies over my head and hits the floor behind me, skidding and colliding with the wall.

“Jesus Christ,” I hear Jack snap.

He’s fine. I’ll write him a blank check before I go. I’d pay a heavy price for beating the shit out of Aiden.

Recklessly, I lunge at him. He skirts around me and his fists come up. I straighten, waiting. I’m not here to fistfight this asshole for encroaching on my land. I’m here to humiliate him for the way Freya goes pale when she hears his name.

I don’t think he hits her—there’s no evidence of it—but he terrorizes her, that’s clear .

And that’s enough.

I lift my palms. “Come on, motherfucker,” I say. “Hit me.”

He cocks his head, eyes flashing. I move aside as his fist comes right at me, but not quick enough. He catches me in the corner of the jaw, and I reel, shocked. Goddamn, this asshole can punch. I shake my head once to clear it and then go for him, swinging and hitting him in the shoulder.

He stumbles, tripping over the table. We both fall like a sack of bricks, me straddling him. I take the opportunity to put him in a chokehold and flip him onto his stomach. For a second, I have him. Then, he uses brute strength to buck me off and strikes me hard in the face. Stunned, I spit, blood spraying across the floor.

We both roll, crashing into the rubble, fighting like dogs to get the upper hand.

We get some hefty hits in. There’s something wet and metallic on my thigh, but it doesn’t hurt. Or, at least, I can’t tell through the bruises that Aiden’s beating into my body.

The blood takes everything up a notch. I whirl, and we’re both on our feet again. This time, when my fist hits his jaw, he feels it. He hits the wall, gasping. From the corner of my eye, something swings. I duck, scrambling back. Ryland is a foot away. My blood surges, my lips pulling back to bare my bloody teeth.

I’m not worried about Ryland—he’s a pussy. I expel air through my clenched teeth, spraying him with blood. Shocked, he reels back.

I go after him, swinging and hitting, beating him back relentlessly until he falls against a table. It splinters. His leg swings, taking me out.

I fall over him and don’t waste any time beating him to shit while I’ve got him pinned. His face is bloody when I finally see Aiden coming at me from behind.

Aiden swings. I’m on my feet, ducking, hitting him in the chest with both arms, throwing him back. He stumbles. I swing, hitting him in the face. One, twice, three times. His head jerks, wobbling.

A gun clicks.

“Get the fuck out,” Jack says, voice hard .

Everybody freezes. Jack is on our side of the bar now, his shotgun pointed at Aiden and his handgun trained on Ryland. The chaos of a second ago vanishes, replaced by utter silence.

“Get. Out.”

Jack’s dark eyes flash. Painfully, Aiden pushes off the wall. Ryland doesn’t stick around. He scrambles like an animal through the smashed furniture and blood before getting his footing and bolting. The door swings, a gust of cold air stinging my skin.

Aiden and I lock eyes. His chest heaves. Neither of us move.

Finally, he spits blood, wiping his face with his palm. “If you thought I was coming for you before, I will fucking wipe the floor with you when this is done.”

God, if it didn’t put Freya in danger, I’d tell him what I’m doing with his stepdaughter. I’d love to see the look on his face. But I keep my mouth shut. He strides past me, back straight, shoulders back. I have to admit, I underestimated the toughness of Aiden Hatfield. Most bullies are weak, crumbling the minute someone their own size appears. But to his credit, Aiden didn’t back down. I believe he’s going to come back swinging.

That doesn’t scare me. Bring it on. It’s been a while since I had anyone serious to fuck with.

Shaking out my bruised hands, I move past Jack and reach for my hat. I don’t remember it, but I must have laid it on the bar when I walked in.

“You,” says Jack, shoving his handgun into its holster.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m leaving,” I say.

“No, you give me a blank check for the tables,” he says. “Help me put this shit back together.”

We’ve been here before a few times. He circles the counter and goes to the back closet. When he returns, he’s got a broom and a trash can. We both know the drill and get to work. Jack doesn’t criticize me for what I did, never has. As far as I can tell, he thinks that would be like telling a fish not to swim .

We clean up, and then I write him a check. Then, we both have a shot and I leave. Maybe that wasn’t the smartest choice, but, fuck, do I feel so much better getting it out of my system.

It’s dark outside as I walk through the damp alley and get in my truck. I’m halfway home when my foot hits the brake so hard, the wheels leave rubber burned behind it. My heart picks up. For the first time today, I’m scared.

Without thinking, I turn the truck around and head right for the Hatfield’s house.