Chapter 28 – Deacon
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Deacon
K eyshawn is twenty-six weeks along. I wanted to wait until she had the baby, but I can’t wait any longer. I have to ask her to marry me. It’s not because I have a uniquely traditional mind, but because I need every possible way of securing Keyshawn to my side forever. The closer she gets to giving birth, the more terrified I become. It won’t just be her that I have to look after in a few weeks. I’ll soon have two living creatures with strong wills under my roof.
At this stage in the pregnancy, Keyshawn doesn’t argue as much. She sprawls out on the couch with some spicy popcorn and episodes of her new reality television binge – Love Is Blind . I have to get everything done today to have the element of surprise over Keyshawn.
Oske keeps ignoring my messages, which is annoying, because I normally pay her to run errands for me. She’s a pain in the ass, but she’s honest. Unfortunately, she appears to have disappeared – most likely doing some job for Southpaw.
Keyshawn is important enough to make today’s embarrassing meeting worth it. Ruger and his old lady are sitting up waiting for me when I get to the casino. Ruger twirls one of Zayna’s curls around his finger as she rests her head on his shoulders. They whisper to each other so quietly it’s like they’re speaking their own language. Zayna sits up when I walk into the bar.
“Hi Deacon,” she says. “Ruger says you need advice on women. Which I don’t believe for a second, by the way. So do you mind telling me what his crazy ass has planned for me?”
“Baby, I’m not crazy,” Ruger whispers, kissing her neck and licking it a little bit. I clear my throat, not like I expect Ruger to actually give a fuck.
“He’s not lying. I’m… planning a wedding.”
“To who? I haven’t met all the biker chicks around this place.”
“You don’t need to meet anybody else,” Ruger chimes in. Zayna playfully swats his hand away from her hair, clearly intrigued by the mention of wedding planning. She would get along with Keyshawn, who I constantly have to pry away from these horrible Don’t Tell The Bride reruns. I don’t know how she got that TV to pick up British channels, but those accents are annoying.
“Right…” I grumble. “I can pick out a wedding ring, but I need help finding a puppy.”
Zayna looks worried. “Not for a weird sacrifice or anything…”
“No. Don’t mistake me for Bucky.”
“Hey,” Ruger chimes in, wrapping his arm around Zayna more possessively. “She can help find a puppy. What type?”
We split up after discussing our plan for finding all the materials I need for my wedding proposal. Neither Zayna, nor Ruger has heard from Oske recently, which I find troubling. I spend my day visiting rival small town jewelers until I find the perfect ring for Keyshawn – a custom design that they create within a couple hours. When I meet up with Ruger and Zayna at the casino, they have the rest of my treats for Keyshawn ready for me to take home. Ruger chose the flowers, which are gorgeous and as expensive as I demanded. Zayna told me he chose the best flowers, and she’s correct.
The puppy is in a large pink gift box with holes in it and a large pink ribbon.
“He’s a Cavapoo,” Zayna says.
“A what?”
“It’s one of those dogs women love,” Ruger says. “Small. Fluffy.”
“You asked if we could get one this year,” Zayna says calling out Ruger who turns bright fucking red as Zayna looks downright confused by his statement.
“I would never do that,” Ruger says, lying through his teeth. “I only like men’s dogs, baby. Pit Bulls. That sort of thing”
Zayna rolls her eyes . “You asked for a Cavapoo, Ruger.”
“Baby…” Ruger murmurs, putting his arm around her waist again. “No need to lie on my name in front of Deacon. Hush...”
I know she isn’t lying, especially when that squeeze around Zayna’s waist gets extra tight and somewhat threatening.
“Thanks for your help.”
I give each of them a poker chip for our casino good for $1,000 each, they help me pack up the car, and then I have the task of driving home and coming up with the correct words to ask Keyshawn… Will you stay with me, forever?
I want her to stay. More than anything.
My nerves start to get bad when I draw closer to the house. When I look up at the front door from my driveway, my stomach lurches. It’s open.
I stop the car the second I notice the open door and jump out. The puppy whines in the backseat, but all the noises around me fade into a background blur. This is wrong. Very fucking wrong.
“KEYSHAWN?”
I run into the house and set the flowers down on the first surface I find.
I need to get my gun.
The place is fucking trashed. I smell cigarette smoke, like the smell is only halfway cleared out of the room. Recent, but not too recent. I don’t feel right in the head. Emotions that I never allowed myself to feel before rush forward as I stumble over the rubble strewn across my entryway, screaming my old lady’s name .
She’s pregnant. Too pregnant to get far. If she had taken the Ducati out front, I would feel better. Or if I knew where the hell she was.
“KEYSHAWN!” My lungs rattle as her name echoes around my empty house. I can hear the dog whining outside. I feel sick to my stomach. The background noise blurs into silence again as a new item draws my attention. I need to get a gun, but this stops me in my tracks.
There’s an envelope on the kitchen counter. Bright red, so even in my blind fury, I recognize it against the white marble. My stomach lurches. She ran away. I rip the envelope open and inside, there’s a handwritten letter.
I’m going to marry this woman. This can’t be happening because I’m going to marry her. I don’t want to believe Keyshawn wrote this, but I recognize her handwriting – and her signature.
Dear Deacon,
I am leaving you forever to start a new life in CANADA. Do not follow me. I do not want to be with you ever and hate you, lowkey. I will give our baby to a nice Christian family. Do NOT try to find me.
– Keyshawn
This might be Keyshawn’s handwriting, but nothing about this note screams Keyshawn. Still, I can’t underestimate this situation. Whoever wrote this note trashed my house and kidnapped the woman I want to marry.
I get my pistol out from underneath the sink with one hand and use the other to call Southpaw.
“Yes?” he answers the phone impatiently. I hear baby talk in the background. “I’m feeding my child. What do you want?”
“I’m just letting you know that I’m dropping off the map for a little bit. I need to go clean up a mess.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know yet. But they messed with something that belongs to me.”
“How long–
I hang up. I only called Wyatt out of courtesy. I don’t need to explain myself or how I handle this particular type of business. Every minute Keyshawn spends out of my sight, her life is in danger. I can’t handle this alone. I call Ruger back.
“Did she say yes?”
“We have a big fucking problem.”
“What happened?”
“Somebody kidnapped Keyshawn. I need help, Ruger. ”
“Are you sure she didn’t run off.”
“YES. I’m sure. Meet me at the casino. Now. ”
“I can’t do a job like that for free with–
“I’LL FUCKING PAY YOU JUST GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE.”
Does this motherfucker want me to rip his head off? I throw my phone down before continuing to search the house for more signs of what might have happened to Keyshawn. I find blood on a wall. Blood…
I barely have time to calm down before Ruger gets there. The smell of cigarette smoke hits me harder in my kitchen, so I walk outside for air to help clear my head, and look for continuing signs of a struggle outside the house. After a few minutes of searching, I find a bootprint – about a size 11 mens.
Right before Ruger gets to my place, I find two cigarette butts. Hand-rolled. I pick them up and smell them.
Indian tobacco.
My gut tells me this has something to do with Oske… Why can’t I get a hold of her ass? I need Ruger on the case here. Because something isn’t right and I don’t like it.