Page 44

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

DEACON

I’m stretched out beside Westin, on the rise of the hill that overlooks McClaine Ranch. He’s the best sharpshooter I know. It’s why they call him Gunslinger, and it’s pissing him off that I won’t let him just pick Aiden off through the window.

Behind him, Sovereign waits with a rifle over his shoulder. He’s going to spot us going down the hill and take out Aiden if, God forbid, I lose against him and he runs.

“I can fucking see him,” Westin whispers, breath frosty. “An inch to the left, and all your problems are gone.”

“Down boy,” I say.

“Yeah, fuck you.”

I glance over at the hillside, where Jensen is waiting to signal the second Jack has Freya safe on his horse. It’s dark, just the outline of the trees visible. In the distance, I can hear horses pounding through the woods.

My heart is in my throat.

Jack swore he’d keep her safe. If anyone can, it’s Jack Russell.

But that doesn’t mean it’s not killing me that I’m the executioner in all this, not the savior .

There’s a faint thud to the north. We both turn our heads at the echo. Hooves pound. Then, I see it—a light flickers three times through the trees.

“Jesus fuck,” I breathe, relief flooding through me.

“Let me do it,” Westin says, flitting his eye to the sight again. “She’s safe. Let me take out this motherfucker.”

I shift off my stomach and into a crouch. “No, I need to do it. With my hands.”

I stand and head to where Bones waits just below the rise of the hill. Sovereign stays where he’s at, arm crossed, rifle against his thigh. He’s like a rock. He won’t move until it’s time. Westin sighs, getting up and following me to where his horse stands and mounts up. I do the same, and we head east, taking the long way around Deacon’s Hill to come at the house from the other side.

We just have to wait until the men come back to the house. They’re not dumb enough to follow Jack into the mountains. They couldn’t catch up with Exile if they tried anyway.

We move through the shadows until I can hear the faint sound of talking in the house.

Horses thunder down the hill. I see Aiden leading the way. They all pull to a halt in a spray of dirt and frozen grass. He’s livid—I see it in the way he moves to the house. He walks like me when I’m angry, jaw set and fists clenched. It’s no wonder Freya was scared of me at first.

“They go inside, we move,” I say. “You got my back?”

Westin jerks his chin in a nod. “Don’t tell my wife, but it feels good to be back in the saddle, even just for a night.”

I laugh. “Won’t say a word.”

There’s a short silence. Westin clears his throat and checks his rifle.

“What’s it feel like, knowing she’s pregnant?” he says. “I think Diane and I… We’ll start trying soon.”

“I don’t know, but more likely than not, she is,” I say.

“What’s it feel like?” he repeats .

I clear my throat, tapping my chest. “Feels like all this is on the outside now.”

There’s a long silence.

“Makes sense,” he says gruffly. “Alright. They’re in. Let’s move.”

“Remember, your job is to cover me and get me to Aiden,” I say. “Pick anybody else off who shoots at you. It’d be best if you let the randoms just run. Less paperwork that way.”

He jerks his head, adjusting in his stirrups as his horse prances. I click at Bones, and he starts trotting up the hill, breaking into a canter. Westin keeps pace beside me. The sound of our approaching horses doesn’t reach the men circled by the door and on the porch until we’re breaking out of the field and into the yard.

Then, they hear us, and everything is chaos. Someone starts shouting, trying to raise the alarm. Westin lifts his rifle and fires a row of warning shots over the house. I let Bones take me right into the middle of it and swing off, slapping his hindquarters hard enough so he knows to keep moving. I don’t want anybody killing my horse.

A man with a rifle bursts from the front door. Westin spins and shoots, and the man crumples before he can lift his gun. Through the haze, I hear another set of hoofbeats behind me, and I know Jensen is here. It takes a half second before I see him barreling around the corner and running right over someone with a sickening crunch.

Jensen dismounts, taking a pistol out, and starts shooting like he’s got no fear in his body. That’s the thing about these people from the eastern hills: they’re fucking scrappy, Freya and Jensen both.

A bullet flicks past my ear. Blood trickles down my neck. Through the screaming and the doors slamming, I hear someone’s voice shouting orders.

Aiden.

Gripping my gun, I move through the men, knowing Westin is picking off anybody who tries to shoot at me. My boots clatter up the steps. Through the screen door, I catch a glimpse of Aiden disappearing down the hall .

Rage floods my veins. He took my wife and my baby.

Time to pay up.

One-handed, I grip the door and rip it to the side, shattering the hinges. The interior door hits the wall so hard, the knob sinks into the drywall. I step inside, just in time to see Ryland come around the corner with his gun raised.

I freeze for a beat.

There’s a coat rack to my left. I pick it up and launch it down the hall so quickly, Ryland can’t move. It hits him across the chest and sends him flying into the kitchen beyond.

Another man takes his place. I flip up my rifle and pull the trigger, and he falls on top of Ryland’s squirming body. There’s a stomach turning crunch. Then, they both go still.

Unphased, I step over them and look to the left. It’s a big house, but if I had to guess, Aiden went upstairs because the back door is still locked by a hook and eye catch on the inside. I veer to the right, moving through the living room.

Pain explodes in my shoulder, and I spin, falling to my back so hard, the house shudders.

Aiden stands over me, a rifle in his hand. There’s a second where we look at each other, and we both know where this ends without saying a word.

Someone walks away.

Someone doesn’t.

I lift my boot and shove my body down the floor hard until I’m close enough to kick as hard as I can into his shin. It’s so quick, he can’t sidestep before he swears, falling back against the wall. The glass cabinet behind him shatters, spraying the floor around us.

I roll to my stomach, blood trickling from my palms, and get up. Aiden picks up a chair. I see it like a flash, and then it’s flying toward me before I can duck. Hands up, I catch it and slam it down on the floor, ripping the leg off.

This time, I sling it hard. It hits his arm, knocking the gun from his hand. I kick it back, leaving my gun with it. Now, we’re both unarmed .

“You’re fucking insane,” he breathes.

I tilt my head and take a step closer. We’re locked in, wolves circling.

“She’s gone,” he breathes. “Get out.”

I shake my head. “No, I’m going to make you pay for every fucking thing you’ve ever done to her, you sick fuck.”

He takes a step back. Before I can react, he spins and bolts toward the back of the house. I take off after him, our boots thundering. He disappears around the corner. I follow, catching a glimpse of him at the top of the stairs as he turns.

I go after him.

I’m not scared of Aiden Hatfield.

There’s nobody there. I kick in the first door, tearing it from the hinges. Empty.

And then the second. And the third.

I move down the hall, putting my boot through every door and leaving them a mangled mess. They crash, one after the other, shooting up dust. At the last one, I turn the corner and bam —Aiden comes out of nowhere, colliding with me.

The wind knocks out of my lungs. Pain explodes.

We hit the ground, and he draws back, punching me in the side of the face.

Motherfucker, he’s got a right arm like a mule’s kick. Pain bursts right after the impact, like white heat. My eyes are unfocused, and I blink, his contorted face swimming over mine. His eyes are burning, raging.

That’s the advantage I have over him. I can hold my shit together and he can’t.

I think that’s what makes us different.

I stop moving and spit, hard enough that it hits him. He freezes. Blood and saliva drip from his face. My mouth must be bleeding, I can’t tell. Everything tastes the way it does in a fight, like the raw end of a gun.

“You got any last words?” he seethes, lifting what looks like a chair leg .

Clearly, he underestimated the amount of times I’ve had the shit beat out of me if he thinks this is the end. I tighten my hips and thighs, wrapping them around his free leg, and flip him to the side. Before he can react, I grip him by the collar and slam him into the floor.

“Yeah, how’s it feel to be a little bitch?” I pant.

He gnashes his teeth, slams them together, foam gathering at the corner of his mouth.

“You want that whore, you have her,” he spits. “She’s fucking ran through.”

I hit him hard enough to stun him for a second. My fingers dig into his hair, pushing his head back against the floor. I lean in, our breath mingling. Blood drips from my mouth and hits his chin.

“Is that why you never touched her?” I say, teeth gritted.

His eyes widen.

“What? You think I don’t know?” I spit. “You thought you’d be the first, huh? Couldn’t stand it when you weren’t.”

I’m just shit-talking based on my assumptions, but I’m clearly right, because the deepest rage mixed with self-loathing floods his eyes.

“Oh, yeah, Bittern spilled everything,” I say. “How he’s not your boy. Does it eat you up that you’re the same as his father?”

His throat moves as he swallows. My blood slips down his jaw.

“Do you look in the mirror and see him?” I whisper, getting closer. “And then think about touching her anyway? Filthy fucking pervert.”

He snaps into action, whipping his head back and butting me in the face. My nose crunches for the third or fourth time in my life, and I feel it snap. Blood surges down my chin and over his face.

The tension, the blood spattering over us, throws my balance. Aiden flips, scrambling to his feet, and runs. This time, he’s not trying to do anything but get away. I scramble upright, the room swaying.

My hand finds my nose through slippery, metallic red and pinches it hard, pulling it down and back into place. Pain hits me so hard, my eyes cross for a second. I lean over and spit, trying to get the blood out of my sinuses so I can run like hell after him.

He’s disappearing through the back door. There’s nowhere to go. It takes my eyes a second to adjust, before I clock his shadow moving toward the barn. Then, it appears in full color as the motion activated lights come on, flooding the yard.

I sprint after him, stopping only to grab the table leg off the living room floor. Neither of us were made for this kind of running. We’re both big and carry a lot of muscle. I can fight, but not for longer than a reasonable amount of time.

That’s why I prefer to finish my fights within fifteen to twenty minutes. After that, I need a beer or something.

We enter the barn, and he spins, hands up. The whites of his eyes flash.

“Walk away,” he pants. “This doesn’t have to end like this.”

“Yeah, it does,” I say.

He shakes his head. My blood is all over his face, making his teeth stand out starkly as he struggles to get his breath.

“Just fucking take her,” he says.

I cock my head. “And my land?”

“We’ll talk.”

Every time Freya has brokenly admitted bits and pieces of her past runs through my mind. She came to me shattered, too scared to look me in the eye sometimes. Aiden did that. He made her afraid. Abuse is complicated, I know that. He might not have hit her, but he abused her for years over things that were never her fault.

That pisses me the fuck off.

Abuse against those who can’t fight back is unforgivable. The people who perpetuate that are evil, sick fucks just like Aiden. He’s weak inside, tied up in knots over his hatred and lust for what he wants but doesn’t understand.

I take a step closer. He backs up.

We’re a dozen feet from the back wall of the barn. On either side are shadows. The outside light cuts through and hits Aiden like a spotlight. Blue light, black shadows, and red blood drench his body .

“She’s all fucked up,” I say, voice dropping.

His eyes dart over me. “Who?”

“Freya,” I say. “She’s all fucked up from the shit you did.”

“No one laid their hands on that girl.” His jaw flexes, pushing out defiantly.

I take a step closer. “So if it didn’t leave a bruise, she’s alright, huh? You think she’s okay after what you did, smashing all her shit?”

I take another step. He doesn’t move back this time. He drops his hands, letting them hang by his sides. His shoulders go back, squaring. I get closer, until we’re a few feet apart. Eye to eye.

“You want to bully somebody, bully me, motherfucker,” I say, voice dropping. “I’ll bet you won’t because I’m not half your size.”

He lurches like he’s going to skirt around me and make a run for it. In that millisecond, I think of Freya in tears, in my arms, trying to cover all her wounds because, deep down, she’s still afraid she’ll be punished for reacting to her pain. I know that doesn’t go away. I can give her safety for the rest of her life, but she’ll still always cringe inside every time she messes up, expecting to be abused.

She can sort it all out. She can go through therapy.

She can put it in boxes with the right labels.

But she can’t change that it happened.

Not any more than I can erase my past and make myself anyone but Deacon Ryder. Our pasts are set in stone. I’ll be picking up the pieces of what Aiden did for the rest of my life. I’ll sleep beside it, hold it in my arms, talk around in circles about it past midnight.

I love her enough to hold her pain forever, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get some good, old-fashioned revenge for it.

My arm shoots out, blocking Aiden. Before he can move, I pull the metal stake from my pocket and body him so hard, we both smash into the barn wall. It shudders with a colossal bang.

Our eyes meet, his wild. Our faces are inches apart.

“You’re getting off easy with this,” I whisper. “This is just for fucking with her bugs. ”

All the rage in my body explodes into inhuman strength. My hand comes up, and I drive the stake into his chest, stabbing halfway through and ripping it out.

His eyes widen, his body convulsing.

I’m right back where I was twenty years ago. Blood on my knuckles. Life draining away in front of me. This time, I don’t have regrets. Aiden needed fucking put down. After what he did to my woman, I’m happy to be the one to rid the world of one more asshole.

I bring the stake down as hard as I can. It rips through his chest, going between his ribs, and sinks into the soft wood, pinning him like one of the bugs in her collection. Satisfaction floods me.

Justice tastes good.

Chest heaving, I step back. He hangs from the wall, eyes glazed. He’s gone. Maybe I went too easy on him, maybe it was too painless, but it’s done.

I stand, bloody chest heaving. Aiden and I were similar, Freya was right about that. But somewhere along the way, our paths broke apart. I don’t know what makes that happen. It’s not fair. It’s an unbalanced world.

A part of me is sorry for him.

But not sorry enough for mercy.

Exhaustion hits me like a freight train. Limping, I leave the barn and start across the yard. My body aches. I’m wet from head to foot with blood. There’s a soft, hot heartbeat in my nose. Now that I’m calming, I can feel the icy air biting at my bloody skin.

It smells like something new, like the eve before a new year.

Morning after a long night.

I’ve walked a hard road, and it made me a rougher man than I set out to be. But if she’s at the end of it, I don’t mind what brought me here.

All water under the bridge, as they say.

My left leg hurts like hell. I think there’s something jammed in it, but I keep walking because my heart feels her distant presence and my feet will get me there eventually. Up ahead, the yard is empty. There are two bodies on the porch. Jensen sits on the steps, elbows on his knees, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Westin’s gone to get Bittern,” he says.

I stop, one foot on the bottom step. “You think we’re getting too old for this shit?”

He sighs, taking in my bloodstained face. “I don’t think Deacon Ryder’s ever too old for this shit. Me? You got me thinking about settling down.”

The yard is silent. He hands me his cigarette, and I take a drag, leaving a bloody stain on the white paper.

“Really?”

He nods. “Yeah…this whole home thing is starting to sound good.”

I pass the cigarette back. “Nobody to keep you warm, huh?”

His eyes rest on the mountains. In the distance, we can see the shape of Westin riding back. He smiles in the dark. The cigarette glows as he inhales.

“Nobody waiting for me at home,” he says.

Westin draws near and Jensen stands. His hand claps my shoulder as he heads toward him. I follow, drawing close enough to see the limp body thrown over the back of Westin’s horse. My stomach drops, and I lift Bittern's head by the hair, pushing my finger beneath his nose to feel his breath.

He’s alive.

“Let’s get him back to Ryder Ranch,” I say. “He needs the hospital.”

“Where we headed?” Jensen asks.

“Sovereign Mountain,” I say.

“You know what they say,” Jensen says, putting on his hat and looking around for Godspeed. “All roads lead to Sovereign Mountain.”

“Speak of the devil,” Jensen says.

Sovereign appears, spurs jingling. He draws up beside us, Shadow’s giant hooves shaking the ground.

“We ready to haul ass out of here?” he asks. “I think we’re done.”

“Yeah, I need to get to Freya,” I say .

“Just…don’t tell our wives about this,” Westin says firmly, glancing around. “They know we’re helping out, but not the particulars. It’s just not necessary that they know.”

“Nobody tell Freya I stuck Aiden to the barn wall,” I say. “Let’s just pour some gas, light a match, and get the fuck out of here.”

Everyone nods in agreement. I go inside and pause just outside the kitchen. Ryland is on his back, the coat rack still lying across his body. I kneel, placing two fingers against his neck. He’s gone—still warm, but without a pulse.

Maybe I killed him when I hit him with the coat rack. Maybe it was a stray bullet.

It doesn’t matter anymore.

The house is ravaged. I walk through it as Jensen pours gas and steps out the back door. Westin is by the barn, standing in the doorway. I limp to him, pausing. At the back hangs Aiden, chest mutilated, head down. Blood drips black on his boots.

“Remind me not to cross you,” he says.

I look away. “Let’s light this motherfucker up. I got somewhere to be tonight.”

We stand on the hill for a moment, watching fire blaze through the windows of the house and eat up the open barn. The ground is too cold and wet for it to travel beyond the buildings. When the police get here tomorrow, there will be nothing left but a shell.