Chapter 33 – Deacon
Chapter Thirty-Three
Deacon
W yatt has to hold me back from killing Oske’s brothers. Hunter and Juliette are both in charge of watching me and making sure I don’t storm the motel and kill them both. They let Keyshawn go…
“The good news is, she’s not dead,” Juliette says, after her third argument with Hunter finally simmers down. I must be brooding. Not good.
“I’m fine.”
“For all we know, she could be back at your place,” Juliette says.
“Or she could be halfway to Timbuktu,” Hunter grunts. “This got way out of hand.”
“Don’t be negative,” Juliette says, smacking Hunter’s shoulder playfully. Watching them just makes me wish I had Keyshawn in my arms again. I hear one of Oske’s brother’s scream. And then Oske yells, “Ruger, STOP IT!”
“I should go in there.”
“No!” Hunter groans. “Please, Rage… Make my life easier for once. I already have to put up with Wyatt 24/7. He’s crankier without his gambling. I almost miss it. ”
“Fine…”
I have a cigarette to calm down. That allows enough time to pass before Oske, Wyatt and Ruger finally exit the motel room.
“I won’t be paying them,” Oske says, storming ahead and sticking a receipt in my hand.
“What’s this?”
“A receipt for a bus ticket. They sent her to Tulsa. Fucking idiots.”
“Shit…”
“Hey, we know where she is. We’ll just ride out there and search nearby the bus station as soon as we have enough light.”
“How far is it?” Juliette asks.
Wyatt shrugs. “You can both head home. This job should be simple. I’ll head out with Deacon. I owe him for getting him into this mess.”
He glares at Oske, who rolls her eyes. “What? I thought I was helping.”
“I don’t want to hear from you for at least another three months,” Wyatt says to her. “Bring your brothers to the next quarterly meeting. They need to toughen up.”
“I should have never brought them back,” she says. “They’re useless.”
“They need guidance,” Wyatt says. “Now… Let’s get the fuck out of here. Deacon? Ready to ride?”
“Yes, boss. Thanks.”
The ride would only be more pleasant if I could hear Keyshawn’s voice at least once or have some reassurance that she’s okay. I can’t stand the thought of this much time passing without holding her or touching her. The moment my dick first touched her lips, I knew that woman would be mine forever.
I can’t stand the thought of not getting her back. What if Juliette’s right? What if she ran away?
Wyatt and I get to the bus station in the evening. No businesses open. No one around that looks like they would have a clue about Keyshawn. I try to put myself in her shoes. She would be here with nothing but the clothes on her back. She would want to place a phone call…
We walk across the street from the bus station to where we parked the bikes. A chick with pink hair walks out of a closed coffee shop holding a trash bag. She yelps when she sees us, then apologizes.
“Sorry, you startled me! I’m just uh… taking the trash out… please don’t kill me…”
“Hey,” Wyatt snaps at her. “You seen a black woman around here?”
“Excuse me?” the girl says, subtly reaching into her pocket for what looks like a can of pepper spray. I take a step behind Wyatt just in case.
“A few days ago, his girlfriend got off a bus here. Dark skin. Pregnant. Did you see her?”
“Um… no.”
“You’re lying,” Wyatt says. “I play poker. I know a bluff.”
“I’m not telling some criminals about what I did or didn’t see. Now back off or I’ll pepper spray your ass!”
Christ.
“Wait!” I yell, although I stay behind Wyatt just in case she sprays him. “I’m her boyfriend. And anyway…”
I step out from behind Wyatt. Because there is still a part of me fucking crazy enough to take an eye full of pepper spray from Wyatt.
“Even with a face full of pepper spray the two of us could easily subdue you and drag you out to the desert. So if you saw Keyshawn, tell us.”
She drops the trash bag and raises one hand with the pepper spray while sticking the other in her pocket. Judging by the pink hair, I doubt it’s a gun…
And it isn’t.
“I let her use my phone the other day,” she says. “Okay? She seemed really confused but very nice so if you kill her or do anything crazy to her… I’m calling the police.”
“Who did she call?”
“I was minding my business at work. I don’t know. Look.”
She shows us the call history. Wyatt taps the number into his phone.
“Thanks. ”
He says. He reaches into his pocket and hands her a hundred dollar bill.
“Um. Is that counterfeit?”
“No. It’s a tip. Thanks.”
He nods at me and we leave little miss pink-hair on the street, gazing at her hundred dollar bill. I appreciate Wyatt’s instincts because it beats standing around making small talk. We have the number we need…
“Let’s call at the motel,” Wyatt says. “Wherever she is… I doubt she stayed too close to the bus station.”
“Good call.”
Wyatt gets us each a room at the motel and we go out for a smoke after checking in. I lean against my bike and call the number the chick with the pink hair gave us.
A black woman answers the phone.
“Keyshawn? What the hell? Or are you that coffee shop chick.”
“Who are you?”
She yelps. “Okay. Not Keyshawn. Grown ass man who sounds like a bear.”
“Where’s Keyshawn?”
“Excuse me? Good evening and how are you, sir .”
“Good evening.”
I tap my foot impatiently. Wyatt smirks. I’m guessing this woman is some relative or friend of Keyshawn’s… Someone whose number she would have memorized. This woman de finitely has the information that I need so I can’t act like a dickhead.
“Right,” she says. “Now identify yourself, sir,” she says with a tough, interrogator’s voice. I hope this woman isn’t a cop… She sounds serious. It doesn’t matter if she knows my name. We have her phone number, so we can find this woman’s home address if necessary.
I hope it won’t come to that.
“Deacon Hollingsworth.”
I hear a pen scratching against paper in the background. “I see… Are you the one who got my cousin pregnant?”
“Excuse me? Who are you?”
Her shocking question distracts me from the fact that she must really know Keyshawn if she knows that Keyshawn is pregnant.
“Her cousin.”
“Name?”
“That’s none of your business, unless you’re the father of my cousin’s child.”
She has the information I need. Wyatt perks up with excitement, his dice rolling across the front of his hand anxiously.The sooner we find Keyshawn, the sooner he can get back to his wife. I just hope she didn’t run away from me… I don’t want us to start over.
“Yes. Yes. Just tell me where the fuck she is before I lose my mind.”
“Well, I don’t know where you are, because she told me she was going home to you.”
Home to me. I would be more excited if I was closer to her, and not in a city over fifty miles away.
“Fuck. ”
“Isn’t she there?” her cousin asks.
“I don’t know. I’m in Boston. Has she called you since she got there?”
She doesn’t seem worried, but I’m almost geared up into a panic with this revelation. What if she didn’t make it back to the house?
“No. But that’s Keyshawn for you.”
I don’t buy that. After so much time on the road, I think Keyshawn would call this woman. But I don’t want to freak her out. I just need to find my woman.
“Thanks. I’d better go find her, then.”
I hang up without waiting for goodbye or risking this woman asking me more questions. She seems nosy. I light up a second cigarette. I absolutely hate how little control I have over this situation and nicotine feels like the only fucking thing that can calm my mind down.
“Cousin claims she’s at my house,” I tell Wyatt.
He asks the same question that I did. “But she didn’t call the cousin to say she got there safely?”
“No.”
“How secure is your house?” Wyatt asks.
“Secure enough.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t sound sure.”
“We should sleep.”
“Three hours?”
“Three hours.”
I don’t like the idea of sleeping, but I would rather get to sleep than crash the Ducati. I need to turn this information around in my mind. And anyway, it could just be paranoia. Maybe Keyshawn got home safely and she’s just waiting for me…