Page 16 of Deacon

Tinker Belle:

You do know that this is childish right? The club is starting to worry about you, and I’m seconds away from giving them your address. Call me bitch.

Sighing, I burrow deeper into my blankets while moving the page up on the book I’m reading. I’ve been avoiding Tinker Belle by default because I don’t want to talk about Deacon or what he said. I also don’t want to look at him, and since she is capable of lying to me and then taking me to the clubhouse, she’s a casualty in my one-sided war. I’m generally not an avid reader, but I needed something to keep me busy while I ignore my best friend and the band of club members she calls her family. Unlike the day I stood in the dark in my kitchen, I have my lights and TV off in my apartment, so no one suspects me of being home. I’ve also been keeping my bike and car in the assigned garage, included in my rent. Moving strategically and like a spy for the past two weeks has me believing I obtained the wrong degree.

*bzz, bzz*

Shifting my eyes to my phone, I unlock it to see a new message that spikes my blood pressure while causing my pulse to race.

The Heathen:

You must have missed the part where I said there wasn’t a place far enough to keep me off your ass. Either you show your face or I show you my hand, Squeak.

*gif attached*

The gif of Judge Judy tapping her watch and pointing has me gritting my teeth at the message coming from Deacon. Unlike Tinker Belle, who has been relentless in her messages, this is the first communication from the culprit of my avoidance. Despite what he thinks, Deacon’s message only makes me want to change my location before he pops up. Allowing Tinker Belle to give the officers of Baxtown Iron my phone number might not have been a great idea at this point. The day after Deacon and I had the conversation that sent me running, I changed his name in my phone to a more suitable one. Hell, Deacon had practically called himself the devil, so my calling him a heathen is light in comparison.

What Tinker Belle has forgotten, and Deacon doesn’t know, is that I’m no stranger to hiding out while attempting to move discreetly. Chelsea’s killer had me not only fleeing the state but moving stealthily for ten years. I’m still unsure how he found my location, but this present period of moving in silence comes as second nature to me. I’m used to being by myself, and thankfully, neither of my parents has petitioned for my presence. I believe they, too, forget that I’m in the city where I was born. When the light on my Kindle dims, I tap the screen and resume the task at hand.

“Dang, Monica, you’re doing your good writing with this storyline. Hell, maybe Deacon ain’t the only heathen with some church affiliation.” Rereading the line inThe Devil Goes toChurch Toohas me adjusting my position in bed while deciding to give Mrs. Monica Walters my undivided attention for the foreseeable future.

Until I’m ready to resolve my mind to what I’m willing to allow where Deacon is concerned, I guess I’m going to employ a new hobby. While researching, I discovered that a few other books go with the one I’m reading. Therefore, I should be able to occupy myself with something other than Deacon, Baxtown Iron, and the things they do for enjoyment other than partying. Also, to my absolute delight, Mrs. Monica has an extensive catalog of books that should entertain me until I no longer need to distance or distract myself.

The next day…

Of all the cities you decided to plant roots in, I’m happy as a mothafucka that it’s the one that’ll bring us closer together. I’m even happier that I’ll be able to reunite you with your ho-ass cousin. The thought of snatching your breath the same way I did Chelsea has my mouth watering and my dick hard as steel. I might have let you live, but every time I see one of your punk-ass family members around the city, it reminds me of you being a loose end for me. It’s cool, though. I’ll be seeing you soon enough.

Your Boogeyman

I begin to shake as the fearful images build in my mind after reading the new letter I found on my windshield earlier when I was heading to lunch.

“How the hell does this deranged nigga keep finding me?” I ask, despite being alone in my office.

No matter your city, it’s a mystery how a person can know your whereabouts. It’s also ridiculous to continue taunting me after taking my cousin from this world.

*ding*

Front Desk Security:

Good afternoon, Ms. Stephens. There is someone here to see you.

Seeing the instant message from the security guard manning the lobby on my screen increases my heart rate. My stomach clenches tight, and the food I’d forced myself to consume during lunch threatens to come back up. A flicker of apprehension courses through me, and beads of sweat form on my forehead. Clearing my throat of the lump forming, I type out a response.

Me:

Please inform whoever it is that I’m unavailable or not in the office. Thank you.

Front Desk Security:

Sure thing.

Panic begins rioting, causing me to close my eyes and take cleansing breaths. Momentary relief fills me with the security measures in place within the organization. My employer ismeticulous about ensuring the safety of the people who work here. Instead of security calling staff members to alert them of visitors or clients, there’s a computer at the desk for them to send instant messages. The measures in place prevent the guards from providing any information other than checking to see if any one of us is in the office or available. The practice is one of the reasons I love working here, especially knowing that I have someone with ill intentions seeking to harm me.

*bzz, bzz*

I jump slightly when my phone begins vibrating on the desk, causing disturbing quakes in my serenity. Shakily, I pick up my phone and unlock it to see a message from Tinker Belle that only slightly settles my weary spirit.

Tinker Belle:

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