Page 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

FREYA

I wake slowly. Stretching around the suffocating warmth draped over me. My eyes flutter open, and then they widen as everything floods back: the ropes, the hook, the mirror over the fireplace, below the engravings of the bear.

The agreement we made.

Slowly, I turn over to face him. His thick, tattooed arm is laying across my body. I try to wriggle out, but he grips my waist in his sleep and doesn’t let go. He rumbles in his chest. His eyes are closed, but I can tell by the sound that he’s slowly waking. I nestle deeper into his chest.

There’s something hard pressing into my thigh. I lift the cover and peer down and quickly pull it back up. He’s rock hard.

Before I can react, he pushes me onto my back. His eyes are open now, dark and sleepy. His stubbly face scrapes up my neck as he kisses the little dip beneath my ear.

“Spread your legs,” he says, voice husky.

I pulse twice, checking my soreness. The ache is sweet, remote. He doesn’t wait. No, he pushes my legs open and slides inside me. Our bodies sink together. I’m crushed under the heat of his body, the firm curve of his bicep against my cheek .

It doesn’t take long for either of us. He plays with my clit, and I orgasm silently, biting my lip. His body responds with deep, short thrusts. At the last minute, I shove him back, and he comes on my inner thigh.

“No coming inside,” I murmur.

We lay still, letting our breathing even. He brushes a strand of hair from my cheekbone. “Look out the window, sweetheart.”

I turn and my stomach swoops. Outside, the world is covered in a few inches of snow, thick flakes still whirling from the sky. It’s the middle of October, the trees barren now. I can see the hills for miles, dusted in white, hunkered down.

“It’s so pretty,” I whisper.

I glance over. He’s looking at me with a strange expression. Heavy lids, like he’s longing for something, like he’s a million miles away. I roll back over, even though I’m dying to go look out. He rumbles as I snuggle up against his chest.

He brushes a kiss across my forehead. There’s that new feeling again—safety.

Slowly, I become aware of something else—something I thought he just took care of. It’s wide awake again, pressing into the inside of my left thigh.

“You’re still hard,” I whisper. “When does that slow down?”

His head falls back. “Sweetheart, I’ll be eighty and still ready to go the minute I see you naked in my bed.”

He’s laughing, I’m smiling, but inside, all I hear is that he intends to be eighty and still sleeping with me. Trying to square that away is too much.

My fingers trial over his shoulder, where there’s clearly a scar under the ink. “What happened here?”

The smile melts off his face. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just…he’s made me open up, knows all about me, but I don’t know anything about him except for the shocking piece of information he chose to drop the other night.

“Is it about what you did to get the farm?”

“Are you asking to hear the whole story?” he says, voice rough .

I nod, my thumb tracing his scar. “I want to know you. All of you.”

“I ended up in the system because nobody knew who my biological parents were. My mother dropped me at a hospital,” he says, eyes lowered. “There was a ranch that took me on as a foster kid, and the guy…he was a piece of shit. He had a piece of shit son. His wife liked me, always wanted two boys, so it was her idea to foster.”

He pauses. I can tell he doesn’t like recalling his past, so I stay quiet.

“Her husband, Phil, he, uh…could have been worse,” he says. “He was an asshole, but he did adopt me. Anyway…I was grateful to be out of the foster system, and I tried to show Phil and Amie that by working hard, making a shit ton of cash for them.”

He pushes himself up, leaning against the headboard. I lay my cheek on his thigh, gazing up at him.

“Their son, Henderson, didn't like that,” he says. “We butted heads. Fought at school, fought over girls, fought over attention. It escalated when Phil got sick and died. Amie was gone by then too. He left the land to me and Henderson.”

My eyes trail over the scar, remembering the first time we talked about this. “So Henderson stabbed you with the fence stake.”

His jaw is hard, his eyes fixed out the window. “Everything just came to a head one night when we were about nineteen. We fought over this girl he liked. She was sleeping with me. Sorry, I don’t mean to talk about this shit in front of you.”

“I’m not jealous,” I say.

Truthfully, I am, a little. But I know it’s ridiculous to pretend he hasn’t slept with other women before me.

“Are you sure you want to hear all this?” he asks.

I nod. “I think it’s only fair.”

He clears his throat. “Alright. We got into it one night. Henderson and I had gone out to fix the fence line. We argued, and he took one of the fence stakes and fucking stabbed me with it. He put one through my shoulder and one in my thigh. I think he was going for an artery. ”

The room is blanketed in silence. Outside, the wind whistles. I glance over, watching as flakes start swirling in the pale blue light.

“You didn’t die,” I whisper.

He shakes his head once. “I ripped the spike out of my shoulder, walked back to the house, and put it in the side of Henderson’s head. Then, I burnt the house down with him in it.”

My stomach tightens. I’m a little sick, like the floor is tossing.

“That’s how you got Ryder Ranch,” I whisper.

He nods. “I got it by killing the son of the man who took me in.”

My tongue darts out to wet my dry lips. I push myself into a sitting position. His dark eyes are dead, disconnected, like pulling back into his shell is the only way he can say those words out loud.

I don’t know what to feel.

“Did you want to?” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “In the moment, yes. I thought I was in love with this girl. We fought over who had the real birthright to the land. He was so fucking angry that Phil left half to me.”

“What was your name before?”

He shrugs. “On the hospital records, I was John Williamson. There was a nurse who named me. Guess she wasn’t all that creative. Phil had this prize barrel racer called Deacon, and I was his rider. He changed my name to Deacon Ryder when they adopted me.”

“Henderson was angry they adopted you?”

“That was just one brick in a whole wall,” Deacon says. “When he stabbed me, he said I stole everything, his land, his future. And he wasn’t wrong. But he was an asshole first.”

There’s a long silence. His story changes things, for better and for worse. I never wanted to fall for a man with blood on his hands, but I swear, every time I look at him, my heart goes weak.

Deacon runs a hand over his face.

“I think…maybe the reason I’m so angry about the easement is about this,” he says. “I killed my brother. I hated him, but he was my brother. If I let that land be used like that…I’d think it was all for nothing.”

“Deacon,” I say gently. “It sounds like he tried to kill you first. ”

He nods once. “All I’ve ever wanted was a home. Phil gave me that, and I killed his son. They were both assholes, but the point stands.”

“Do you regret it?” My voice is barely a whisper.

“No,” he says.

His words hang heavy. It’s obvious he doesn’t like talking about this. He’s cagey. Slowly, like I’m approaching a big animal, I crawl onto his lap and settle my thighs around his hips. He touches my naked waist, encircling it with his broad hands.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, low, like he’s marveling to himself. “I don’t want to go out for chores.”

I touch his temple, where he has a few graying hairs.

“You scared me,” I whisper. “At first.”

He releases a sigh. “I know, sweetheart. I tried not to.”

The words I never meant to say slip out. I know they’ll cut him like a knife. Maybe they’re necessary. It’s hard to tell.

“You reminded me of Aiden,” I say, voice shaking. “I’m trying hard to break out of this cycle. I don’t want to be my mother, running from a man like him. I want a good future.”

He winces before he picks up my hand and weaves his big fingers through mine.

“I’m trying to show you I’m not,” he says.

My lashes are wet. A tear etches out. I cry so easily nowadays.

“I know you’re not,” I whisper, touching my temple. My fingers graze down over my chest. “I know that now.”

The wind picks up. I glance over my shoulder at the snow swirling. He leans in, breath spilling hot as he kisses the side of my neck. I’m back, out of the cold in my mind, in his arms with the fire warm against my skin.

“The horses are hungry,” he says. “Fuck me one more time, sweetheart. I’ll make it quick.”

Just like that, the door is shut. We both said our piece and neither of us walked away. Instead, I slip between the sheets with him and we work our pain out without saying a word.