Deacon (Unfinished Hero #4)(91)

“I know.”

“And that’s where I gotta be.”

Raid held his eyes.

Then he said, “Tell me her name and where she is.”

Deacon’s chest started burning. “Fuck, man, you do not get this but you’re gonna have to. I’m not givin’ you dick.”

“She’s clean, let me and my boys make sure she is. Check in on her, she’ll never know. Keep an eye on her. Make certain nothin’ from you leads to her.”

“You think I’d let that happen?”

“No. I also think you love her and you’re gonna give me her name and location so my boys and I can look after her so you can make sure she’s covered even if you know she won’t need it.”

“Cassidy Swallow, Glacier Lily Cottages, Antler, Colorado.”

“My backyard,” Raid murmured.

“Yeah.”

“You love her.”

Deacon clenched his jaw again.

“You break her?” Raid asked.

That burn in his chest spread. “It’ll be you lookin’ in on her and don’t give me your shit, Raid. I know it’ll be you, you won’t send one of your boys. You’ll take care of her personally. So you’ll see. And when you do, you’ll know she’ll find a man.”

“You break her?” Raid pressed.

Tired of this shit, Deacon gave it to him.

“You heard the song ‘Say Something?’”

Raid again flinched. He’d heard it.

“Yeah,” Deacon whispered.

He broke her. He didn’t stay around to watch. He still knew he did it.

That burn spread further.

Raid stood, saying quietly, “Give me something.”

Deacon didn’t respond.

“Come stay with me and Hanna. Give it one shot. See what it’s like when a man feels like he lost everything good, gets a second chance, and learns his future includes better.”

Deacon remained silent.

“It can happen for you if you let it.”

“You want us to remain anything to each other, Miller, your time to stop talking is now.”

He said it. He meant it.

Raid knew it.

His friend nodded.

Without another word, Raid walked to the door.

He was standing in it when he looked back to Deacon, and because he was a damned fine man, if an annoying one, he pushed it.

“Known you a long time, never knew you to be wrong,” he began. “Until now. You deserve to be happy. You don’t think you do but you’re so f*ckin’ wrong, it hurts to be in the same room with you. But even if you don’t believe that, I know in my gut you wouldn’t find a woman who didn’t deserve that too. And it’s you takin’ that from her.”

“According to you, I was wrong the first time.”

“Lesson one from Deacon when he taught me everything I know,” Raid fired back. “You got one shot to learn from your mistakes. You think you drilled that into me, I don’t know you never made the same mistake twice, you’re f*cked in the head.” His voice lowered. “But I know you’re not. I know you know she isn’t Jeannie. And I know that this time, you should kick your own ass that you’d even insinuate that about the good woman who made a dead man’s heart start beating again. A woman you broke.”

On that, he closed the door.

* * * * *

Raiden Miller

Raid stood in the trees, binoculars to his eyes trained on the brunette doing something to the window boxes at one of the cabins littered by the river and through the woods.

He got it. He got it for a lot of reasons, not least of which she was f*cking gorgeous. Unbelievable. Not a hint of makeup and she could be on the cover of Sports Illustrated in a bathing suit. If he didn’t have beauty warming his bed and making his life so sweet it beat back nightmares that would break a man, he’d want in there.

But he had that so appreciation was all that Cassidy Swallow got.

She turned and he focused in, the high-powered field glasses taking him so close he could count the strands of her hair.

He drew in breath and dropped the binoculars.

Then he walked silently through the woods to his truck.

He got in, pulled out his phone, and made the call.

“Deacon.”

“Just to confirm, she’s safe.”

No reply.

“Also to confirm, you broke her. She’s breathing, but she’s destroyed.”

On that, he hung up.

* * * * *

Deacon

Deacon moved through his hotel room, preparing to go out and initiate the extraction.

Passenger was playing on his laptop.

She’s breathing, but she’s destroyed.

“Fuck,” he clipped, stalked to his laptop, paused the song, moved his finger randomly on the mouse pad, and tapped the button.

And it started.

Forty seconds in, he stopped dead.

And listened.

Five minutes later, he was out the door.

He did the extraction. He delivered the package. He got paid.

Then he went back to his hotel room, packed up, checked out, and hit the road.

He left his wedding picture on the bed.

* * * * *

Marcus Sloan

“I’m out.”