Page 23 of The Captive (The Kelley Legacy #5)

Deacon kept his head low as he ducked into the tiny office and paid for a room.

The guy at the desk, a skinny teenager with a shaved head and a nose ring, didn’t even react when Deacon signed a fake name on the registry.

Deacon paid cash, accepted a big red key with the number 8 on it and got back in the car, steering it toward the far end of the lot.

He parked in front of room eight and turned to Lana. “We’re here,” he said gruffly.

She just nodded and reached to unbuckle her seat belt.

The two of them got out of the sedan and Deacon unlocked the room door.

He went in first, drawing his weapon out of habit to clear the room before Lana stepped inside.

When he flicked on the light, she blinked like a disoriented Alzheimer’s patient.

Her blue eyes took in the ugly orange bedspread, splintered wooden table and frayed brown carpet.

She seemed completely unaffected by the shabbiness.

“Sit down on the bed,” he said, already bending down to unzip his duffel.

He took out the first-aid kit and sat next to Lana.

She winced as he gently removed the scrap of material from her arm.

Dried blood was caked onto her fair skin, bringing a rush of fury to his gut.

Those bastards had shot Lana. As the rage-inducing revelation entered his brain, Deacon curled his fists and drew in a calming breath.

He wanted to strike something, but he couldn’t.

Not now, not until he made sure Lana was all right.

After that, though…well, he knew that he’d hunt down the man who’d pulled the trigger, even if he spent the rest of his life hunting. Echo, Tango, Oscar—he didn’t care who it was. The man was dead.

Lana made a hissing sound as he placed a piece of gauze soaked with rubbing alcohol directly on her skin. “Sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll be quick.”

He skillfully cleaned the wound, not a stranger to the task.

He’d had to self-treat dozens of times over the years.

Once her arm had been cleaned, he examined the injury, pleased to find that the bullet hadn’t even gone through.

It had simply grazed her, leaving a red streak resembling a burn on her skin.

“Almost done,” he murmured.

Lana didn’t say a word as he gently placed a square bandage on her arm and taped it down. When he’d finished, he picked up the blood-stained gauzes, threw them into the garbage can in the closet-size bathroom and returned to the room to find Lana rubbing her stomach with shaky hands.

Her blue eyes met his. “I guess I should have told you sooner.” Her voice was soft, wry almost.

“Probably,” he agreed.

He moved back to the bed and sat down. Their knees touched.

An involuntary wave of heat swelled inside him.

He forced the rising arousal down. This wasn’t the time.

The adrenaline high from the past couple of hours had succeeded in making him hard, a common affliction among soldiers apparently, but right now, he needed that arousal to go away.

“It happened the night at the Louvre.” And then, as if he’d questioned her, she added, “You’re the father.”

“I figured as much.”

A short silence fell.

“Are you…” He cleared his throat, searching for some thing to say. The right thing. Anything. “You haven’t been sick.”

“No. Maybe it’s too early.” She shrugged. “Or maybe I’ll be one of the lucky ones who don’t suffer from morning sickness.”

“Can you…can you feel it move?” The crack in his voice stunned him.

She shook her head. “Definitely too early for that.”

Another heavy silence. Deacon’s brain couldn’t keep up with the conversation, and they were barely talking. A baby. Those were the only two words he could grasp at the moment. Lana was pregnant with his baby.

“A baby,” he mumbled under his breath.

For the first time since she’d gotten hurt, a tiny smile lifted the corner of Lana’s mouth. “I know, right? I’ve known for two months, and I’m still surprised by it.”

Surprised? Try scared out of his wits.

What on earth would he do with a baby? He wasn’t equipped for this. Send him into the jungle with a machine gun, and he’d level anything in front of him. Put a baby in his arms?

His pulse sped up, panic gathering in his stomach. He’d lived up to his promise—he’d rescued her from Le Clair. Did he owe her more than that? Did she expect him to be a father to this kid? Did he want to be?

A million questions flew through his mind. The only answer he had, though, the only solid, concrete thing he knew, was that he owed her.

He owed Lana Kelley so much more than he could ever repay.

He hadn’t signed up for this. He’d been promised a quick job, a way to score a huge chunk of change.

Instead, Lana had been a hostage for months, at the mercy of Le Clair and his ruthless fists, forced to pose for videos and photos in order to scare her family.

And the entire time, she’d been pregnant. So yeah, he owed her big-time.

But he couldn’t be a father to this baby.

He had no love to give to a child, to give to anybody.

His capacity for love had died right along with his parents years ago.

Yet he knew Lana wouldn’t be able to understand why he had no place in a kid’s life.

In her life. What if he snapped one day, the way his father had?

Genetics were a very powerful thing, and his dad’s abusive DNA bubbled like acid in his blood.

As a kid, he’d always been too intense, felt things too deeply, wanted things too much. His father had been like that, too, and after his parents died, Deacon realized just how dangerous that intensity could be. How easily a person could snap.

So he’d banished emotions from his life.

Decided the only way to control them was by not feeling them.

How could he risk feeling anything for Lana or this baby?

What if that darkness inside him, the same darkness that had destroyed his father, slithered out and hurt them?

No, he couldn’t take that chance. He’d already hurt Lana enough.

The baby would be better off without him.

With Lana for a mother, the child would have everything it wanted and needed.

Money, security, love, kindness. Deacon knew without a doubt that Lana would be strong for this baby, as strong as she’d been throughout this entire ordeal.

An ordeal he was partly responsible for.

Guilt seared into him, nearly burning him alive.

“You…you’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met,” he choked out.

Lana stared at him in shock. She must have heard the raw note slicing his voice. He’d heard it. And he was just as shocked.

“What?”

Unable to stop himself, he touched her chin, tracing her delicate jaw with one calloused finger. “You survived this, all of this, with no help from me.” Remorse hung from his words. “This entire time, you were strong, for yourself, for this baby. Jesus, Lana, I’m…I’m in awe of you.”

Rather than shying away, she leaned into his touch, letting him caress her cheek. “You did help,” she said quietly. “You got me out.”

His chest ached with shame. “I got you into this in the first place.” The ache was suddenly replaced with a jolt of determination.

“But I’m going to fix it. We’re not in the clear yet, but I promise you, I’m going to take you back to your family.

One of the guys mentioned your father is in Montana, so the first thing we need to do is—”

The feel of her hand on his thigh cut him short. When he met her eyes, he knew exactly what was on her mind.

“Lana…” He trailed off, nearly jumping as she dragged her hand closer to his groin. “Stop.”

“No.” Her hand stilled. “I know there’s a thousand things we need to do, and I know that this isn’t one of them.” Her face collapsed abruptly, a look of torment and dismay entering her eyes. “But damn it, Deacon, I don’t want to stop.”

She slid closer, pressing her lips on the stubble coating his cheek.

“I don’t want to think about anything right now.

Not our next move, not the fact that we’re probably being hunted down as we speak.

” Her voice shook. “I’m scared and confused, and my arm hurts, and I’m not thinking clearly, and right now, I just want you to kiss me. ”

His breath hitched.

“Can you do that?” she asked, looking up at him with imploring blue eyes. “Can you please just kiss me?”