With great interest, Marcus Sloan studied a soulless man resurrected.
And he did it gladly.
“What’s in fuckin’ Antler, Colorado?” Knight asked.
Deacon pushed his chair back, stood, looked down at Sebring, and replied, “Beautiful war.”
On that, he walked out of the room.
The door closed on the soundproofed room before Raiden burst out laughing.
Chapter Eighteen
Beautiful War
Cassidy
I heard the shouting from the kitchen and ran, Bossy on my heels, to the door.
I held my big girl back with my calf, slipped through the door, clicking it shut behind me, and stopped dead.
This was because, just past my house, up the lane, Milagros’s SUV was at an angle, cutting off a black Suburban.
My breath burned in my lungs.
Milagros was out of the car.
So was Deacon.
Deacon.
“You are not here!” Milagros shouted, jabbing an angry Mexican American woman’s finger at him, meaning even Deacon was screwed.
Deacon said nothing, not because he had nothing to say, but because his eyes were on me.
My insides expanded so much, I thought they’d burst free.
Just as quickly, they shriveled to nothing.
That was the feeling I’d become accustomed the last six months, so it didn’t affect me.
“Go!” Milagros demanded. “Go! You’ve done enough! You do no more!”
Deacon continued to stare at me for long moments before he got in his truck and slammed the door.
It was a good thing my insides shriveled or seeing that would hurt like a bitch.
I stood there and watched him through his windshield as he put the Suburban into gear.
He reversed.
Then he stopped, shifted to drive, and my mouth dropped open when he drove up over the boulders that lined the side of the lane, likely gutting his undercarriage, his SUV bouncing into the snow as he drove until he stopped across from my house.
I’d quit breathing at the boulder maneuver and my breath came raspy as Milagros dashed down the snowy gravel to the foot of my steps.
Deacon was out, the handles of a plastic bag in his fist, and stalking her way.
She lifted a hand.