Page 8 of Deacon

“I-I will,” Janelle whispers.

Damn, right, you will… forever.

A month later…

“Hey, baby girl. How are things?”Dad asks while wrapping me up in a hug, allowing me to rest in the comfort of his embrace.

Between work and trying to acclimate myself to my new normal after agreeing to become the secretary for Baxtown Iron, I haven’t had much free time. I’m blaming hormones, lack of dick experiences, and alcohol for why I confirmed my acceptance for the position I’d been hell-bent on rejecting. The minute Deacon took my hand in his, I lost all form of logic and fell down the rabbit hole I still don’t see a way out of. Tinker Belle, as I’m adjusting to calling her, came to my apartment less than an hour after I got home that day. I should have known notto trust her after seeing the unopened bottle of honey Jack in her hands. Temptation and a trying workday had me taking shots to clear my head, only to find myself standing in the center of a motorcycle club two hours later. The instant Tinker Belle pulled me inside, my nerves took a nosedive, and the haze of liquor left me like it had been sucked through a vacuum hose.

“Is everything all right, baby girl? You don’t usually hold on this long,” Dad says, bringing me out of my wayward thoughts.

“Can’t a girl love on her father in peace,” I say weakly.

“For as long as you need to.”

Warmth spreads throughout my body as Dad tightens his hold on me, allowing me to continue basking in the moment. Countless minutes pass, and the only sound in the room is coming from the TV playing in the background. My eyes are shut, and my breaths are short, yet tranquility flows heavily through my bloodstream.

“Oh. Hi, Janelle. I didn’t know you were here,” Mom says, causing me to open my eyes to see her smiling while making her way to Dad and me.

Kissing my forehead, Dad releases me, causing me to miss his protection and security immediately.

“Whenever you need another one, I’m always available,” Dad says, staring into my eyes.

“I’m glad you came over, Janelle. I got an interesting call about you last week, and I’ve been meaning to reach out to see if it was true,” Mom says before I can reply to Dad.

*bzz, bzz*

Feeling my phone vibrate back-to-back alerts me of a single or multiple text messages as I remove it from my pocket. A smile makes its way to my lips when I see Tinker Belle at the top of my screen. Unlocking my phone, I pull up my text app to read Tinker Belle’s message.

Tinker Belle:

Don’t try and chicken out. We’re going to buy you some iron. You won’t be rolling in your civic while I’m letting the wind whip my hair back and forth.

Thanks to Tinker Belle, I now know how to ride a motorcycle and obtained my endorsement yesterday. Tinker Belle was adamant about me not becoming one of the non-riding members of the club. Her instructions began the day after I foolishly became the club’s secretary. The crazy thing is I didn’t join the club, nor did I agree to go on rides or anything else Baxtown Iron had going on. Not only does Deacon intimidate me despite my attraction to him, but so does the rest of the men within the club. It also doesn’t help that one of the men creeps me out with his shifty eyes. I’m not sure if he’s a member or someone who hangs with the club, but every time I see him, he makes me want to run for the hills because he watches my every move.

*bzz*

Tinker Belle:

Stop ignoring me, Janelle Capri. I said what I said.

Me:

Cool your panties, Tink. I’m buying the iron but the only rides I’m agreeing to are the ones you and I take solo. No matter how often you insinuate, I’m not a club member.

Tinker Belle:

My name is Tinker Belle, bitch. Don’t be shortening my name. I took pride in selecting it. I’m also gonna put a pin in the rest of the bullshit you said. I have a feeling Deacon will do what I can’t anyway.

My heart rate increases at the thought of Deacon because that fine-ass man could be bad for my health and willpower. I’m still wondering how he didn’t utter a word yet told me in no uncertain terms that I would be taking the open position.

“Are you done acting like your father and I don’t exist? I still need to ask you something,” Mom asks, causing me to remember where I am as my eyes lift from my phone to see Mom’s disapproving gaze.

“Sorry. What is it?” I ask, locking my phone to give her my undivided attention.

“Did you return home and join one of those motorcycle gangs? Your cousin Tolanda called me, talking about how she saw you and Robyn in some parking lot. You were on a motorbike with Robyn, jumping up and down like a fool, according to Tolanda.”

“First off, tell Holanda to mind the business that pays her to sit and spin like a washing machine. Secondly, how does that information equate to me joining a gang, as you’re calling it?” My lip curls, and my hand rests on my waist while staring at Mom, whose face hardens instantly.

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