Page 17 of Deacon

Where the hell are you? If you fled the state again, I promise I’m going to beat your ass, Janelle. *angry face emoji*

Oh, I went from Squeak to Janelle… shit just got real.

Desperate for a reprieve and moisture to soothe my drying mouth, I pick up my water bottle and take a healthy drink. Moisture fills my orbs before slipping from the corners of my eyes as I fight to contain the urge to release the wail bubbling in my belly. I feel like I’m in a hell I never chose for myself yet can’t seem to crawl out of.

You have nothing to fear but fear itself, which is why you need to stop hiding and go to Baxtown Iron, so the man whodoesn’t mind slaying dragons can put down the one nipping at your heels.

“How can I possibly throw Deacon or the club into my bullshit? Those people don’t know me well enough to get involved in my mess. Besides, the only thing I know about Chelsea’s killer is the dead eyes he penetrated me with after taking her life.”

Chelsea never called her boyfriend anything but boo in my presence, so I honestly couldn’t identify him. The day she did my hair and lost her life hours later had been the first time I saw him. Nothing other than his eyes burned into my brain, so what could I have done or said to change the situation? I’m not even sure I would be able to recognize the man’s voice after fourteen years because I have desperately tried to block out that day.

You owe it to not only yourself but Chelsea to stop letting a faceless man dictate your life. How long are you going to allow him to keep you in bondage?

Opening my eyes, I sigh before doing the one thing I haven’t been able to do before today… respond to Tinker Belle.

Me:

I haven’t left you again, Tink.

As if she had been holding the phone, knowing I would respond, a message comes on the heels of the one I sent.

Tinker Belle:

We don’t hide from each other, Janelle. Given your situation… I’m worried about you. I have been trying to let you make it, but I’m just about at my wit’s end.

Sighing, I attempt to gather my thoughts to communicate with the one person who knows the skeletons that aren’t hiddenin my closet. Even when fear sent me running for the hills, I never hid or stopped talking to Tinker Belle. Yet, her affiliation with Deacon has me all over the place regarding how I will move forward. Running is comfortable for me, but it’s not something I’ve done with her. Tinker Belle is the one person who knows me at my best and worst, so why am I suddenly doubting her loyalty to me?

Me:

I got another letter today.

Tinker Belle:

This is why the fuck you shouldn’t be hiding out and shit. Baxtown Iron will protect you. Deacon will protect you. Come back to the club. Things are different now that you’re back home. I’m scared for you, Janelle.

“Me too,” I whisper as the thought tears at my insides.

Panic like I’ve never known before wells in my throat, almost suffocating me, causing me to place the phone on the desk. Wrapping my arms around myself, I attempt to fight off the sheer black fright easing into my mind. A tense silence envelops the office, forcing me to close my eyes only to pop them open when a faceless glower comes to mind. My breaths become shallow and quick as a tight knot in my core begs for release. Trapped in the weary thoughts plaguing my mind, I’m unable to control the spasmodic trembling within my body.

“Oh God,” I whimper.

A week later…

“I-it wa-wasn’t m-me.It wa—oww… De-Deacon,” Wrangler screams. Yet his fright falls on deaf ears.

Removing the pliers from his right-hand ring finger, I move on to the last digit. Yanking unceremoniously, I pull his pinky out of its socket, and it instantly hangs like the others. The aggression flowing through my veins doesn’t waiver despite the continuous scream bouncing around the room.

“All right, Deacon. Let’s let the nigga live to warn the rest of his wack ass crew,” Shadow says in a bored tone.

The nigga receiving a portion of my revenge chose to mistakenly run up on one of my club sisters because she had on aBaxtown Iron vest instead of walking away with his tail between his legs like a man with common sense. Ole Wrangler felt the need to bruise her arm after gripping it tightly before spitting in her face.

“The next time, you’ll lose more than the use of your hand,” I say before spitting on him.

Not hearing or seeing Squeak in three weeks has only fueled my need to wreck something, so I happily volunteered to take care of punk-ass Wrangler. Nodding to Can’t Get Right, I step out of the way as he picks Wrangler up and throws him over his shoulder before exiting wordlessly.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to line up some pussy for you, man?” Shadow asks.

“Fuck off, bitch,” I say, walking away as Shadow laughs like he’s heard the best joke.

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