Page 52 of Deacon

“This nigga sounds like ole dude on social media with those four dogs, doesn’t he?” Can’t Get Right asks, laughing.

“Oh shit,” Smoke co-signs, entering the conversation after watching the scene before us without saying a word.

“Wa—oww. Pl—Please. I-it-it was—” Too Sweet pleads before screaming when Loki bites a hole in his stomach.

“That’s right, Daddy’s baby get your fill,” Boston coaches sweetly.

“It’s crazy how niggas will deflate like a nigga incapable of an erection when they get caught on some bullshit,” Smoke says, shaking his head.

I stare intently at Too Sweet’s squirming body while he becomes rat food, and an ultra-awake feeling rejuvenated by adrenaline surges throughout my body. Thanks to the hidden and woodsy private property owned by Baxtown Iron, no one but the devil himself can hear Too Sweet’s cries that become faint when the seconds continue ticking.

“Man, I’m about to lose my—you know what? I ain’t got this to do,” Shadow says before pulling his nine from his back and aiming it at Too Sweet.

*pop, pop*

“What the fuck, Shadow? You didn’t give my girls time to enjoy his ass or anything,” Boston says in an angry tone.

“Not to mention that you didn’t let me get my hands dirty. You’re a selfish mothafucka, you know that,” I say, staring daggers at Shadow.

“Throw his ass in the fire, Can’t Get Right. I’m taking my black ass home. You niggas play too damn much,” Shadow says, walking off in the direction of his iron.

“I agree with Shadow. All that damn talking was starting to give me a headache,” Diesel says, entering the conversation before following Shadow.

“Next time, we might have to leave their crybaby asses at home,” Can’t Get Right says while slipping on some gloves.

Boston grabs Loki and Shoogieboogie, who are squirming wildly in protest, causing him to head toward his vehicle while apologizing.

“Well, I guess I’m pulling up on Squeak earlier than planned,” I say, shrugging.

“One down, one pussy to go,” Gunz says when the two of us head toward our iron.

“Facts, and you niggas will only be allowed to watch. Daxx’s ass is mine,” I say.

Nearly three weeks later…

“Well,hello, daughter. It's nice of you to show your face around here,” Mom says when I enter the living room, where she and Dad are watching TV.

Sighing, I make my way to her, kissing her cheek lightly, but she pulls me into an awkward position due to her sitting and my standing.

“I’ve missed you, Janelle,” she says in a tear-filled voice, which causes my chest to pinch.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t been over. I’ve been trying to fly under the radar,” I say, sitting next to her, allowing us to be more comfortable embracing.

“Not under the radar completely since there’s chatter about you being at some party with that gang,” Mom says, and a low chuckle sounds in the room pulling my attention from Mom to where Dad is sitting in his favorite recliner.

“It’s not nice to judge a book without knowing its interior, honey,” Dad says.

“Why would I need to when they’re nothing but a bunch of thugs and?—”

“None of the members of Baxtown Iron are thugs, Mom,” I say, cutting her off while rolling my eyes at the far-fetched judgment she’s spewing.

“Your cousin?—”

“Is only mad because none of the men in the club will allow her to throw her loose cooch on them. You’ve gotta stop listening to Tolanda, Mom. What about the fact that you’ve met Deacon, and he hasn’t given you a single reason to believe he’s a thug?” I ask with my brows hiking while disconnecting our embrace.

I love Mom, but sometimes she can be naïve and judgmental toward other people, and it irritates me. Nothing makes me madder than false information about a topic without doing your due diligence to fact-check. It’s also crazy that Mom can allow me to be under Deacon’s protection with this Boogeyman situation but then judge Deacon in the same breath. Like, pick a damn side and stay there.

“If we want to tell the truth, I will never have a problem with a man whose sole purpose is showing me the man seeking my daughter’s heart. Deacon hasn’t given me any red flags where that’s concerned, so him being a member of one of the local motorcycle clubs doesn’t mean a hill of beans to me. Does he care about my daughter? Does he do what’s necessary to love her without abusing her? Do I have to put my size thirteens up his ass because he mishandled her? Those are the only relevantquestions I have for Deacon. Short of that, who fucking cares,” Dad says deadpan.

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