Page 41 of Deacon

My hold on Squeak’s body unconsciously becomes tighter when my body heat elevates faster than an erupting volcano. A deep grimace falls into place before the statement slams into my mind a second time.

“Which club?” I ask.

“Sa-satan’s Cobras,” Squeak whispers like she’s afraid of someone overhearing her, and pounding in my ears collides with my elevating pulse.

My temple vein strains against my skin, my mouth dries from my rushed breathing, and murderous thoughts begin invading my mind.

I’m killing all those mothafuckas. Ignoring their bullshit is over. If I have to start picking off their family members to get to them… every member of Satan’s Cobras is on borrowed time. Fucking with Squeak is punishable by d?—

“Another weird thing is one of the men interacting with Boogeyman sounded familiar. I don’t know where I’ve heard his voice, but I think I know him.”

Squeak’s new information cuts off my internal rant and decree, forcing me to focus on what she’s saying.

“What does the nigga look like?” I ask with flaring nostrils and ice running through my veins.

“Boogeyman was blocking me, so I didn’t see the man’s face. I only heard him.”

“All right. Why were you there again?”

“My co-worker invited me to hang out with him and his wife because he said he was tired of seeing the look my punk ass man had given me.” A small smile upturns Squeak's lips for the first time since sharing this information.

While I can appreciate Squeak’s attempt at changing the chill in the air, I can’t join in the olive branch she’s extending. These niggas got me fucked up, and that’s anything but a laughing matter for me.

“Did the nigga set you up to be ambushed?” Something about this entire conversation doesn’t feel right to me, and I have to know if I need to add her bitch ass co-worker to the list of murder victims.

“I don’t think so, but I didn’t stick around after Boogeyman was called away to chat with someone wanting to join his club. Honestly, this is my first time outside since that night. I took a leave of absence and gave up my apartment to prevent my parents from making funeral arrangements for their only child.”

“How many books in the Bible are there?”

It’s time to change the subject before I fuck around and leave Squeak in another post-coital state my ass will have to kiss more than her feet to repair. Nevertheless, I’ve got multiple niggas to sing a lullaby, and Squeak will never fall victim to their bad juju. Hell hath no fury like a nigga repairing the scorn he’s caused his lady.

The next day…

“I cover her with Your protection, God. Let not a single ounce of my karma hit her life from being tied to me. I ask that You wouldsend angels to watch over her. Finally, I ask that You would turn your head long enough for me to darken the doorsteps of every nigga who believes in causing her fear. When I do my duty as her man… I beg for Your forgiveness. In Jesus?—”

“What are you—why is my forehead oily, Deacon?” Squeak asks, opening her eyes while touching her forehead after backing away from my hand covering her head.

“It ain’t nothing but some anointing oil. Ma said I had to keep it in the crib. You interrupted my prayer, and I was about to seal it. Now I gotta start over,” I say, frowning.

“Nigga, you were praying to who for who? I have enough problems right now. Please don’t piss off the King of Kings when in Him I need to live, move, and have my being.” Squeak’s expression of outrage has a low chuckle leaving my mouth.

Damn, I love her ass.

“It’s like that, Squeak? Deac and Deaconess Redmond would have Pastor Reece joining them in a prayer service where I’m laid out on the altar while they rid me of my demons. Don’t worry. Me and God have an understanding.”

“Who’s your payee, Deacon?” Squeak stares intently at me, unblinking, and a smirk upturns my lips.

“What are you talking about, woman? You’re the only recipient of?—”

“The hell I am. Nope, it’s too early for this shit.” Throwing the blankets off her body, Squeak exits my bed, stomping toward the bathroom, mumbling about how God doesn’t play fair.

A full-body laugh escapes my mouth because I can almost see smoke coming from Squeak’s ears. Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, I dial a number and wait for the call to connect.

“Good morning, Prynce.”

“I think your anointing oil expired, Ma.”

“Exp—what are you talking about, honey?” Ma asks.

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