Splinters of You (Retired Sinners MC #1) - Anne Malcom Page 0,76

the company of a dead man.

The gun was on the table.

Next to the whisky bottle.

“It’s not loaded,” I said as a greeting, nodding to the emptied clip beside it.

He assessed the entire environment for a long beat, telling me he might not be as lazy as Saint made him out to me.

“You want one?” I asked, nodding to the bottle.

He gazed at the bottle, put his gun into his holster and muttered something into the radio, then focused on me. “I’ll take you up on that after I’ve taken your statement and gotten rid of the dead man beside your bed. That sound good?”

I nodded. “Sounds fine.”

He regarded me with a cold and probing stare that told me he may have been overweight and soft of the outside, but he was till sharp.

“You did well, Magnolia,” he said. “Not going on record saying that, but you did well. Already came out here once before to find a good woman who lost a battle to something resembling a man.”

“It wasn’t him,” I said by reply.

His body jerked, but he didn’t speak.

“He didn’t come back,” I continued, because I knew that’s what this good cop was thinking. “As improbable as it is, this is a different man, or at least someone resembling one.”

He sighed. “Unfortunately, men trying to hurt women ’cause they think they have the right, isn’t at all improbable.”

Then he went to look for the dead man.

Someone had tried to put a blanket on me. The same paramedic who had insisted on checking my vitals, even though I was the one that did the injuring—killing, if we were going to get technical—and not the injured, or dead one. I was the woman; I might go into shock or something.

I refused the blanket. And the shock.

I did take more whisky though, sitting at the table as more people arrived at my place. Some introduced themselves, asked me how I was doing. I must’ve replied to them. Hopefully I said something intelligent and snarky.

For the life of me, I couldn’t remember what I said. Or their names. I did remember being impressed about the sheer volume of people out in my remote house in the middle of the night. Was it because I was “famous”? Or because they were mindful of young women being killed in their town?

I couldn’t be sure.

A grip on my chin had me distracted from those thoughts. The grip was firm but not painful, which meant it couldn’t have been Saint.

Ice-blue eyes, worried, locked onto mine.

Deacon.

“Magnolia,” he demanded, making me suspect this wasn’t the first time he’d said my name in that panicked tone.

“What are you doing here?”

“Volunteer firefighter,” he explained, not letting go of my chin. “Wasn’t on duty but don’t sleep much. Keep the radio on, just in case.” His eyes moved from mine, but his fingers still held my chin. He took in the room. Though you couldn’t see the body from here, there was something tight, foreboding in the air that you couldn’t really miss. Plus, my bare feet were covered in blood.

“Fuck,” he muttered, moving his eyes back to me.

“My thoughts exactly.”

Deacon looked back at the owner of the voice, hands tightening ever so slightly. I wasn’t sure why I was letting him hold me in such an intimate, dominant way for such an extended period of time. Maybe I really was in shock.

Saint did not look like he was in shock. He looked more or less the same as he always did, albeit a little less polished, with a little fury around the edges as his gaze narrowed on the way Deacon was touching me. That had me pausing, just a moment, before moving myself out of his grasp. I might’ve been in mild shock, but I still liked manipulating this man to get the upper hand.

“Let me guess, you’re a volunteer firefighter too,” I said dryly.

Deacon had moved ever so slightly to my right, folding his arms and having a stare-off with Saint. Well, he was trying to; Saint was staring at me.

“No,” he replied. He nodded his head at Deacon. “He texted me.”

This time, I was in shock, but it had nothing to do with the man I killed. “You text each other? You’re not mortal enemies, each planning ways to thwart each other?”

The corner of Deacon’s mouth twitched. Saint’s did not.

“Not quite,” Deacon said.

I’d admit, it disappointed me a little that they didn’t hate each other. It would’ve made it so much more interesting. Then again, the man in