Vicious Cycle (Vicious Cycle #1)(57)

“Hi,” he replied. His dark eyes then went to Willow. “Go on out to the kitchen and have your lunch.”

Her lips turned down in a pout. “But I wanna stay with Miss Alex.”

“Willow—”

“I just got to come in a few minutes ago,” she protested.

“Don’t argue with me. Go. Now,” he commanded. His no-nonsense tone had Willow scrambling off the bed, but it didn’t stop her from stomping across the room in a huff.

When she met him in the doorway, she crooked her finger at him, beckoning him down to her level. After he stooped a little, she said in a slightly hushed tone, “Miss Alex is hurt and sad, so you be nice to her.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What did you just say to me?”

“Don’t be mean like you usually are. Be nice.”

Deacon’s expression of utter disbelief brought a much-needed smile to my face. He stared down at his daughter like she was some alien life-form. The state of his shock took away any ability to chastise Willow for her words or tone. When he finally gave a slight nod of agreement, she breezed on past him into the hallway.

With a bewildered look on his face, he crossed the room to me. I sat up, propping myself against the pillows, as he eased down on the bed. “You hungry?”

“Not really. I just didn’t want to hurt Mama Beth’s feelings.”

“Well, you need to eat. Keep your strength up and all.”

I watched in surprise as he balanced the tray on his lap. Taking the spoon, he swirled it through some of the grits before scooping out a bite. When he brought it up to my mouth, I widened my eyes.

“What?” Deacon asked, the spoon hovering close to my lips.

“You just surprised me—that’s all.”

When I still didn’t take a bite, Deacon cocked his brows at me. “Don’t tell me you’re going to make me do that bullshit thing like the spoon is an airplane.”

I laughed and then winced from my sore ribs. “Would you really do that?”

“Fuck no.”

Leaning forward, I took the spoon into my mouth, sliding the grits onto my tongue. “Mmm. Those are so good.”

“Leave it to Mama Beth to make homemade grits. She acts like it’s some kinda sacrilege to eat packaged ones.”

“She just wants the best for her boys,” I replied with a smile.

Deacon spooned me a bite of biscuit and gravy. As I chewed thoughtfully, he cocked his head at me. “What are you thinking about?”

“That no one would ever believe that Mr. Hard-Ass biker boy was feeding me.”

With a snort, Deacon said, “Boy? I’m a man, babe.”

“That you are.”

Obediently, I took in another bite of grits. Once I swallowed, Deacon brought the orange juice to my lips. “Shit!” I cried, as the acidity entered my mouth and swished against the raw parts caused by the gag as well as me biting on my tongue and cheek.

Deacon grimaced. “I should’ve realized orange juice wouldn’t be a good choice.”

“You have a lot of experience with busted mouths?” I questioned before I could stop myself.

“Yeah, I did. Back when I used to fight.”

“Don’t you fight anymore?”

“Yeah, but it was different back when I was kid. It was a way of survival then.” Searching my eyes for any judgment, he added, “But even now, I won’t stop fighting.”

“A necessary evil,” I murmured. When he gave a brief jerk of his head in acknowledgment, I couldn’t help asking, “What happens now?” I asked.

“You stay here until you get better.”

“Then what?”

Deacon shrugged. “Then you stay here until I get tired of you.”

I laughed. “I think you need to work on your hospitality skills.”

He grinned. “What’s with all the questions? I thought we took care of all this touchy-feely shit last night in the shower.”

“We did. But I’m a little OCD when it comes to having a plan for the future.”

“All your pretty little head needs to worry about is healing.” With a pointed look, he added, “Because that bastard will never hurt you again. I swear it.”

As Deacon brought the spoon to my lips, I pushed his hand away. At his raised brows, I asked in a whisper, “You killed him. Didn’t you?”

Deacon let out a ragged sigh. “Don’t ask me about my business.”

I shook my head. “And don’t pull a Michael Corleone Godfather moment on me, Deacon. I know I said I would stay, but I do have my conditions. Honesty is one of them.”

“The only reason I would keep things from you would be to protect you. The less you know about the Raiders’ dealings the better. Then you can never be made to testify in a RICO case.”

While that made sense, I couldn’t leave well enough alone. “Did you kill him?” I repeated.

The spoon clattered noisily into the bowl. The cold and calculating expression on Deacon’s face caused me to shrink back against the pillows. “Yeah, I f*cking killed him. When someone hurts the people I care about, I don’t wait for a judge and jury—I take matters into my own hands.”

While I’d had my suspicions about Deacon’s dark sins, as well as having his confession about killing his father, nothing could compare to actually hearing the words come out of his mouth. He was beyond just a dark-dealing outlaw. He was a killer—he’d even killed for me.