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CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

DEACON

She’s sleeping. I get up and take my phone down to the kitchen. It’s almost midnight, but I know Jensen will still be up. I’m tired, eyes burning. I call him, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder so I can pour a shot of moonshine.

He picks up on the third ring. “Yeah?”

“Do you still talk to Brothers Boyd?”

There’s a long silence.

“What the fuck do you want with Brothers?” Jensen asks.

“Kentucky, Tennessee. That’s their territory,” I say. “I want to call in a favor. I can pay.”

Jensen clears his throat. There’s a tightness to his voice he only gets when talking about back home. “I don’t fuck around with Brothers Boyd, and neither should you.”

“I know him.”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“I sold a horse to him,” I say. “It’s been fifteen years, but I think he’ll remember me. And this is serious.”

There’s a long silence.

“Fine, I’ll text you the contact I have,” he says. “Do not tell him it was me who gave you the number. Got it? ”

“I got it,” I say.

He hangs up. A minute later, a number with a Kentucky area code appears, along with a threat of what he’ll do to me if I reveal it was him who sent it. Before I lose my nerve, I hit call and put the phone to my ear. It rings.

And rings.

There’s no voicemail—it just keeps going. Just as I’m about to give up, the phone clicks. A smooth, low voice, thick with a southern drawl, breaks through the poor connection.

“Brothers Boyd,” it drawls.

“This is Deacon Ryder,” I say. “I sold a palomino mare to you over a decade ago.”

There’s a silence, then: “Well, fuck me, Deacon Ryder,” he says. “You know, I could use another one of your fantastic horses sometime.”

“I got a good crop clearing next year,” I say.

“Well, I might just take you up on that,” he says. I hear the scrape of a chair on hardwood flooring. “You’ve got good horses, Ryder, made of fine stock. Now, what can I do you for?”

“I need a hit,” I say.

There’s a slow laugh, thick as syrup. “Right to the point. I like that,” he says. “What’s the name?”

“Braxton Whitaker.”

“That’s not known to me.”

“He’s from the Kentucky-West Virginia border. He might not be alive, but he was five years ago.”

“Hmm, got an address?”

“No, but he’s from Pike County.”

“Alright, let’s see now.” His voice is a low drawl that bubbles like a stream. Through his drawl, there's a thick vein of finery, not unlike the perfectly fitted checked blue suit he wore the day I delivered his horse.

“I can pay you,” I say.

“You can pay in cash, or I can take out a favor on you,” he says. “But I need to make sure this isn’t against my best interests first. If not, I’ll have one of my boys pay him a visit next time they’re in the area.”

“I’ll pay cash.”

“That’s alright by me,” Boyd says. “Now, what did this man do to you?’

I consider telling him the story, but only for a half second. My hand tightens on my phone. No, he needs it in plain language so he understands.

“He fucked my wife.”

“I see,” he says. “Well, I didn’t know you were married, so congratulations on that account. Let me look into this, and I’ll have one of my secretaries reach out with either an invoice or a denial.”

“Thanks, I appreciate this.”

“Oh, I don’t mind it at all,” he says. “And you tell Mr. Childress that the gentleman from Kentucky says hello. He still owes me a fucking horse.”

“I don’t see him much, but I will,” I say.

He laughs. “Goodnight, Mr. Ryder. We’ll be in touch.”

He hangs up, and I stand over the sink, holding my phone. Before my eyes, through the window, the snow swirls in slow circles.

I thought I was different. I saw her at the café and I thought I could be a different man. I practiced it so hard, even I believed it for a little while. But the minute she told me about that man and how he made her feel, the old Deacon came back with vengeance.

I’m still the same person who put a spike into a man’s temple and took his land.

I return to bed. She’s on her back, all soft skin and fern-green silk. I lay down and tug the blanket. Her breasts rise and fall. A quiver goes through her belly as she sighs.

I spread my hand and lay it on her belly, between her hipbones. Hearing what that man did to her made my vision flash red.

She’s so desperate to be loved. I see how she reaches out blindly, longing for something she never got growing up. I think it’s the reason she fell into Braxton Whitaker’s arms, why she fell into mine so easily .

All she ever wanted was to be loved gently. Instead, the men who should have been gentle left her heart bruised. That’s why I don’t feel bad about hiring Brothers to pop a bullet into Braxton.

He deserves it.