19. Deacon
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I guess she’s fair game now that you and the pussy ass members of Baxtown Iron are busy chasing your tails. I can’t wait to watch the blood drain from her body.
“Aye, Tinker Belle, when did you last talk to Squeak?” I ask, interrupting the club meeting after getting a picture of Squeak sitting under a tent at some unknown location and the cryptic message that accompanied it.
“Since when do we interrupt meetings, Deacon?” Bulldog asks, frowning.
“I don’t know. She hasn’t replied to any of my messages either,” Tinker Belle says sadly.
“Fuck!” I shout, walking off.
My blood runs cold at the thought of Squeak falling victim to a nigga because I left her unattended while handling club business. Choosing Baxtown Iron over Squeak has never felt right, but I have been in the club so long that my loyalties have always lied within our family unit.
Mhm, blame yourself when you’re visiting Squeak at the cemetery because Baxtown Iron forced you to lose her.
My eyes instantly become glossy at the statement echoing in my mind when an image of a dirt-filled casket flashes before my eyes.
“Is something wrong, Deacon?” Gunz asks from somewhere behind me, yet the torment flowing within me doesn’t allow me to turn toward him.
“I fucked up,” I say over the lump in my throat, trying to suffocate me before continuing toward the back of the clubhouse without another word.
Meeting be damned because the fear gripping me in a bear hug has me seconds from losing my shit, making it imperative for me to distance myself. Entering my room at the clubhouse, I slam the door behind me while unlocking my phone and dialing an unused yet familiar number.
You have reached Janelle’s phone. I’m unable to take your call but please leave a message. When time permits, I’ll give you a callback.
“Come on, Squeak. A nigga needs to hear your voice,” I whisper before redialing the number.
*bam*
Punching my fist into the wall when I get the same results, I grit my teeth, ignoring the pain surging through my hand.
“What the fuck is going on, bro?” Gunz says, bursting through the door.
Wordlessly, I hand Gunz my phone after pulling up the message from the unknown sender while clenching and unclenching my hand.
“Damn. This shit is on us,” Gunz says solemnly before turning behind him for a second. “Aye, Tinker Belle, come here.”
Sitting on the bed, I lower my head, staring at the floor while fear and dread flow through my body heavily.
“Yeah,” Tinker Belle says a minute or so later.
“Call Squeak,” Gunz says.
“What’s going on?” Tinker Belle asks.
Silence fills the air, and I imagine Gunz is showing her my phone because a gasp bounces from the walls before Tinker Belle speaks.
“Damn it. If something happens to my best friend, I’m fucking y’all up.”
*ring, ring, ring*
My heart races wildly when the ringing fills the room, alerting me that Tinker Belle is calling Squeak.
You have reached Janelle’s phone. I’m unable to take your call but please leave a message. When time permits, I’ll give you a callback.
“I should find comfort in the fact that you got multiple rings before the voicemail picked up. Instead, I feel like—” My words trail off when I’m able to fully express how I’m feeling at this moment.
“Let’s go by her apartment to see if she went home. If not, we can ride by her parents’ house, but Mom isn’t gonna let us breathe in Squeak’s direction while on our bikes. So for now, we’ll drive by to see if the car she’s driving is at the house,” Tinker Belle says.
“Let’s ride then. After this, your ass will be going to the ER, Deacon,” Diesel says, appearing out of the blue, causing me to lift my hand and nod wordlessly.
Unlike everyone else, I came from work because I didn’t have time to go home to get my bike. Therefore, I’m in my truck, and it's a good thing from the looks of my fast-swelling hand.
“I’ll drive because your dumb ass ain’t gonna be able to,” Gunz says, frowning.
“What I want to know is how did someone get close enough to Squeak to snap a fucking picture? Did you pull Jasper and Too Sweet off her detail?”
Staring at Diesel, I work to control the fury burning within me as he and Gunz guard my room at Shadow Stew Memorial. While Squeak wasn’t at her apartment, Tinker Belle pointed out the car she’d been driving when the club pulled up on Squeak’s parents' residential street. Following Diesel’s instruction to not make our presence known, everyone but Tinker Belle, Diesel, and Gunz, who was driving me, rode down the street after they got in my truck.
“Yeah, Bulldog released them since so much time has passed with no other incidents,” Diesel says.
A low chuckle escapes my mouth, and lava-like heat flows through my bloodstream before I speak my truth.
“So it's fuck Squeak, huh? Never mind you niggas forced me to toss her aside for club shit, but now she’s out there unguarded. What the fuck happened to loyalty and brotherhood? Did you know about this shit?” I say harshly, and my eyes shift to my best friend, who has yet to say anything.
“Actually, I didn’t,” Gunz says before shooting daggers at Diesel. “Since when did Bulldog call the shots like his ass still runs this club?”
“Makes me wonder if his old ass has a hidden agenda or some shit. What’s his problem? He mad that he didn’t get to stake a claim on Squeak with his grandpa dick.”
“This ain’t how we move, Diesel. I suggest you put Bulldog in his fucking place before I do,” Gunz says deadpan.
For some reason, Diesel allows Bulldog to have more input in the club than he should because he’s the club’s founder. However, Bulldog was never someone who had the ability to lead a motorcycle club. His motivation was power and pussy, which he often lets cloud his judgment.
“Putting Bulldog in the dirt if a scuff mark hits Squeak’s shoe won’t be challenging for me. About that woman, I’ll walk away from this club shit. Matter of fact, my loyalty to Baxtown Iron, keeping me from my forever, has just lost its grip on me. Fucked up hand or not, I got some hollow points for any nigga willing to challenge me on my stance. Letting Squeak fall into a nigga’s web is a wrap,” I say, staring intently at Diesel.
“My bad, Deacon. This shit is on me, and I take full responsibility. You won’t have any pushback from me or anyone else. Squeak is family, and I’m sorry for not protecting her or allowing you to do so,” Gunz says.
“Agreed,” Diesel says.
*knock, knock*
“Good evening, Mr. Redmond. What brings you in today?” a white man wearing a white coat enters the room with an iPad in his hand.
“My temper,” I say, holding my right hand out so he can inspect the reason for my visit.
“Oh. Looks like you did it good. Hm. Let me order some X-rays so we can see if that temper of yours will have you in a wrap or a cast,” the doctor says, typing quickly without touching my hand, which I appreciate.
An undetermined time later…
1. Go get my woman even if I have to knock Mrs. Stephens's wig lopsided.
2. Fuck her until she loses the will to leave me again.
Nigga, you left her with your list-making crazy ass. How are you talking about fucking Squeak after putting paws on her momma?
Ignoring the statement from my conscience, I look heavenward before adding another item to my list of winning Squeak’s heart.
3. Remove the nigga threatening Squeak’s peace from this world.
4. Marry Squeak’s stubborn ass, even if I have to get her drunk to do so.
5. Force Squeak to have my babies so she’s tied to me forever.
With a sinister grin, I place my pen on the notebook paper, nodding at what I plan to do before the week is out. This time next week, I’m determined to return to the comforts of my California King with Squeak in my arms. I upgraded my bedroom furniture about a week ago when the memory of Squeak’s question about my bed size played like a movie reel. Like I told Gunz and Diesel, I’m going to get my woman… Baxtown Iron, be damned. Pushing back from the desk in my home office, I walk to the couch on the opposite side of the room. Laying down, I grab the blanket I refuse to wash for fear of removing Squeak’s bodily fluids and drape it over my body. Closing my eyes, I shift my thoughts and speak the words I’ve been uttering as of late.
“Dear God, protect my wife. Keep her safe until I’m able to do so myself. In Jesus' name. Amen.”
Unlike Deaconess Redmond, I ain’t got time to beat God’s ears with a bunch of words. He knows me and my heart, so my request is simple and straight to the point. I’ll leave the deep, windy, and foreign tongues to Ma. I simply need God to hear a nigga when I come to Him on behalf of the woman He sent to show me His presence in my life.
You’re a disrespectful mothafucka. How are you asking God for anything, knowing you’re planning to kill one of his children?
“Shid, He forgave David’s murderous ass, so I’m worthy of the same from Him. Now shut up so I can catch these Zs. A nigga got some groveling to be rested for,” I say to my conscience before getting comfortable on the couch.