Page 35 of Deacon

Smiling at the text on my screen, I type a quick message to Dad to put his mind at ease. He hasn’t been going to bed until he knows I’m in the house and in for the night. It’s funny because I’m well past the years when Dad has to fret about my comings and goings. Yet, Dad said as long as I’m temporarily staying in my childhood bedroom, he’ll keep watch over me. The statement had a pang of guilt swimming in my stomach for not being honest with him and Mom about why I was truly staying with them.

Me:

Yes, sir.

Dad:

All right. Have fun.

Closing the message, I lock my phone and drop it in my purse before exiting the vehicle to go do just that. Chance and his wife live in a housing community a few streets from Baxter Projects. It’s not the best area of town, yet my need to keep my mind off Deacon’s rejection has me ignoring the feeling that’s causing my neck hair to stand at attention. With the overflow of cars, I had to park several houses down from Chance’s home, which had mequickly walking to my destination. Less than ten minutes later, I gently step onto the porch, trying to ignore the step that looks like it's seconds from crumbling. Music flows from the open front door, making it impossible for anyone to hear me, so I walk in, searching for Chance.

“Hey, girl. You must be Janelle. I’m Chance’s wife, Kiesza. Welcome to our home,” a brown skin woman with a fire ass fade and wide hips says when I enter the living room.

“Nice to meet you, Kiesza. Thanks for allowing me into your home.”

Waving me off, Kiesza takes my hand and introduces me to the other people in the room before heading through the house.

“Make yourself at home, girl. This is the kitchen, and I’ve made enough food to feed an army, so don’t be shy. In the blue cooler are several beverage options, including water. That bowl that looks like lemonade will creep up on you, so be careful if you choose to indulge. There’s also a full bar in the basement where one of Chance’s cousins is playing bartender.” With that, Kiesza leaves me in the kitchen where several people are helping themselves to the wide spread of food.

The nagging feeling in my body seems to increase while I move around the kitchen, making me feel like I should go home. I have yet to run into Chance, but I’m sure I will as the evening progresses. Shrugging off my discomfort, I grab a plate and fill it with queso, chips, spinach dip, and meatballs. Since I’m in a foreign place, I grab a water bottle, opting out of the liquor choices. Seeing some empty chairs out back, I head that way to enjoy the music pouring from the speakers and to people-watch.

“Aye. What’s up, Janelle. Thanks for coming through,” Chance says when I step onto the deck out back.

Giving Chance a weary smile, I ignore the blunt hanging from his mouth because, regardless of our jobs, it's not my business toguilt or snitch on him. Having seen Chance, I continue on to the open chair I see under a tent toward the middle of the yard.

“Damn, maybe I shouldn’t have drank so much water,” I mumble, trying to unbutton my pants while shifting my weight from side to side.

Despite how clean the bathroom appears, I spent three minutes lining the seat with toilet paper, and now my bladder is torturing me.

“Ah,” I say once I release the evidence of multiple bottles of water throughout my time here.

For the most part, I have been enjoying spending time with Chance and his family, but the nagging rumbling in my stomach hasn’t left despite eating when I got here. Flushing the toilet, I turn on the water and quickly wash my hands, deciding to make my exit once I leave this bathroom. Turning off the water, I grab paper towels and open the door, instantly frowning when my eyes connect with a black leather vest with a Satan’s Cobras patch. Above the patch is the word, President, letting me know whoever is blocking the door runs this particular club.

“I have been waiting hours to get an opportunity for our paths to cross,” an unfamiliar yet deep masculine voice says, which immediately causes a cold shiver to run through my veins.

Slowly, the man turns around, wearing a sinister grin, and recognition slams into me the minute our gazes collide.

Oh shit… the Boogeyman.

Tremors begin rattling my body, and the urge to release my bladder, despite its emptiness, coincides with the need to escape.

“Mhm. I bet your ass thought I wasn’t serious about killing you. Now, we’re gonna slip out of here quietly so I can make good on my promises.”

God, please help me.

Words fail me, and I’m unable to pull my eyes from the cold and dark hatred within this man’s orbs.

“Aye, man. I’ve been looking for you. My cousin wants to join the club. Come on.” A familiar male voice sounds in the distance, causing Boogeyman to momentarily pull his eyes from mine.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Boogeyman says happily.

“Have you seen Janelle?” Kiesza asks, entering the area and causing me to push through the slight open space between Boogeyman and me. “Oh, come on, girl. I want to introduce you to someone.”

Wordlessly, I nod before taking a step that Boogeyman halts when he grabs my arm tightly.

“This ain’t over. I’ll see you soon,” Boogeyman says before walking off, whistling a tone only he can identify.

“Maybe I don’t need me to play matchmaker after all,” Kiesza says, smirking.

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