He got in, pulled out his phone, and made the call.
“Deacon.”
“Just to confirm, she’s safe.”
No reply.
“Also to confirm, you broke her. She’s breathing, but she’s destroyed.”
On that, he hung up.
* * * * *
Deacon
Deacon moved through his hotel room, preparing to go out and initiate the extraction.
Passenger was playing on his laptop.
She’s breathing, but she’s destroyed.
“Fuck,” he clipped, stalked to his laptop, paused the song, moved his finger randomly on the mouse pad, and tapped the button.
And it started.
Forty seconds in, he stopped dead.
And listened.
Five minutes later, he was out the door.
He did the extraction. He delivered the package. He got paid.
Then he went back to his hotel room, packed up, checked out, and hit the road.
He left his wedding picture on the bed.
* * * * *
Marcus Sloan
“I’m out.”
Marcus sat in his chair in Knight Sebring’s office at his nightclub, Slade, Raiden Miller and Sebring sitting with him, his gaze on Deacon, his surprise at these words masked.
“Out?” Knight asked.
“Out. No more. I’m here askin’ you to spread the word and cover my tracks. The man who worked the life is gone.”
Marcus caught Raiden grinning at his lap.
“Out?” Knight repeated and Marcus looked to him.
“Out,” Deacon grunted.
Marcus turned his attention to Deacon. “Cover your tracks to where?”
“Antler, Colorado. Got a war on my hands. I win it, I’m there until I die,” Deacon answered.