Caged (Mastered, #4)(32)
“You think you’re so smart,” Brandi sneered.
Doesn’t take a whole lot to be smarter than you, dumb-ass.
Molly had reached the bottom step when she glanced up and saw Deacon leaning against her car.
It took every bit of resolve not to break into a run.
When she reached him, he pulled her into his arms and softly kissed her lips. “Hey.”
“Hey. How’d you know where I was?”
“Only so many churches in this town, babe.” His gaze searched hers. “You okay?”
“Not really. This sucks. But I’m better now that you’re here.”
“You ready to hit the grocery store?”
“I’m ready to hit something,” she muttered.
Footsteps sounded behind them, and Deacon’s gaze moved over her shoulder.
“Who’s your friend, Molly?”
Molly turned, and Deacon stood beside her, keeping his left hand on the small of her back. “This is my boyfriend, Deacon McConnell. Deacon, this is my uncle, Bob Calloway.”
Deacon offered his hand and Bob shook it.
Jennifer slunk forward. “Molly didn’t tell us she had a boyfriend.” She held out her hand. “Jennifer Calloway. Molly’s cousin.”
He lifted his chin and ignored her outstretched hand.
Then Brandi horned her way between her father and sister. “Molly did mention a boyfriend, but I didn’t take her seriously.”
Deacon cocked an eyebrow at Brandi. “Why not?”
“Because she was flirting her ass off at the bar last night.” Brandi sent her a triumphant look.
“I let you outta my sight one day and other guys are already sniffing around you. Will I have to bust some heads?”
“You know you have nothing to worry about. Save your head busting for the ring.”
Her uncle had been watching the exchange. “Ring? What do you do for a living, Deacon?”
“I compete as a mixed martial artist.”
“You don’t say. Karate and such?”
From the corner of her eye, Molly saw her cousins exchange a look and then give Deacon a slow perusal.
Eat your hearts out, bitches. He’s mine.
“Not karate. I’m a jujitsu instructor at Black Arts in Denver.” He pulled Molly more firmly to his side. “We met in my kickboxing class.”
“So that’s where Molly has tried to lose some of her weight,” Brandi said.
“I’d watch the insults or you might be tasting blood,” Deacon warned.
Brandi’s mouth dropped open. “Are you threatening me?”
“Not me. Molly. The woman’s got a mean right hook. And I oughta know, since she learned how to throw a punch from me.”
Molly sent Deacon a look of adoration. “Of course, I’d never hit someone out of anger.” Then she looked at Brandi. “Besides, if I used my fists on you every time you insulted me, you’d be black-and-blue from head to toe.”
Without another word, Deacon opened the passenger door for her.
Then he skirted the front end and climbed in the driver’s seat. “Keys.”
She dropped them in his hand. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“Showing up.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead.
When she buckled her seat belt, she noticed Brandi glaring at them before she got into her father’s car.
“What is up with those bitch cousins of yours? Jesus. I’ve always had a ‘no hitting women’ policy, but they’re tempting me to break it.”
“They’ve been that way to me my whole life.”
“And your grandma let them get away with it?”
She ignored his probing gaze and stared straight ahead. “Everyone let them get away with it, claiming they’d outgrow it. They never have.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“As a kid, I had no power. As an adult, I moved away. I’d always been so malleable . . . until I wasn’t. I’ve had minimal interactions with Jennifer and Brandi since I went to college. After all this is over, I’m done with them.”
“Good. No one needs bad people in their lives that make them question who they are.”
Sounded like he was speaking from experience, but she knew better than to ask.
The trip to the grocery store was uneventful—weird as it was shopping with Deacon.
At the checkout she said, “Am I missing anything?”
Deacon peered at the meat, veggies, bread, canned goods, and fruit in the cart. “Where’s the ice cream?”
“I didn’t buy any.”
His eyes turned shrewd. “You aren’t lactose intolerant or something?”
“No. I’m intolerant of fat on my belly, hips, and ass after I’ve worked so hard to keep it off,” she said dryly.
“We’ll share. What’s your favorite kind?”
“Coffee or vanilla,” she lied. Both those flavors would be safe from her.
He strolled to the frozen-foods section while she unloaded the cart.
The last item that rolled off the conveyor belt was a carton of rocky road.
Deacon put his mouth on her ear. “You’re a shitty liar, babe.” Then he deftly shunted her aside and handed the clerk his credit card. His death glare meant she’d be wise not to protest.