Chapter Nine – Deacon
Ramona was going to kill me, but you know what? I didn’t fucking care. She could blow up my phone all she wanted; I was a master at ignoring her calls and her texts. I didn’t need her telling me what time to be home so I could meet our newest member.
Fuck that. Fuck that and fuck her and fuck this Angel chick. Fuck ‘em all.
It was well after two in the morning when I finally waltzed through the front door of the Redborne Hotel, and another ten long minutes before I was walking down the hallway to our newest place. I’d gone out to the bars, done some drinking while seething and fuming. I wasn’t drunk, more buzzed, but I was starving.
I pushed into the suite, finding all the lights were off, save for the big TV in the living area. I flicked on the kitchen lights, squinting a little, and headed straight for the refrigerator. I checked the freezer for something I could cook in the microwave and found a Hot Pocket.
After putting it into the microwave, I got a plate out and set it on the counter. Some stupid show about a bunch of dorky scientists was on the TV—I had no fucking clue who’d decided to leave that on—but no fucking way would I ever watch that, so I strolled over to the living room in search of the remote to shut it off.
My plan was to eat and then go to sleep, but I froze the moment I saw the girl fast asleep on the couch.
It was her. Our newest member, the one replacing my brother. Angel.
The only part of her I could see was her face; the rest was buried underneath a pink fuzzy blanket. She lay on her side, so I could only see half her face. I inched closer to get a better look. Her hair was a bright, pure white, splayed around her head like a halo. Her lips were full, parted as she slept, her breathing even. The half of her face I could see held not a single pimple, scar, or blemish.
She was pretty, I’d give her that, but being pretty didn’t mean shit. Hopefully soon she’d realize that and go the fuck home—
I was damn near leaning over her now, and I must’ve been louder than I thought, because the girl turned to lay on her back, her eyes opening into slits. She spotted me instantly, even in her half-asleep state.
I didn’t have the chance to pull back. The girl reacted instantly: she screamed and punched me.
Yeah, she actually punched me.
Her fist connected with my jaw, and I stumbled back, holding onto it as a blast of sudden pain hit me. “Fuck,” I hissed, glaring at her, watching as she sat up and pulled the blanket over her body as if it was some kind of shield. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I narrowed my eyes at her, feeling my blood pressure rising.
“What’s wrong with me ?” she asked, breathless. “What’s wrong with you? You don’t do that to someone who’s sleeping!” For someone who’d just woken out of a deep sleep, she seemed awfully wide-awake and alert now.
My jaw ached. She’d hit it pretty damn hard for a girl. I glared at her, unable to stop myself. I had a few other choice things to say, but right then Priest came running down the hall—shirtless, of course, every single tattoo on his chest and arms on full display—asking, “What’s going on?” His gaze flicked between me and the girl, and he relaxed. “Oh, it’s just you, Deacon.”
Behind him, Bishop was stumbling down the hall, half asleep. “What’s…” At least he was fully clothed, unlike Priest, who was only wearing dark sweatpants.
And probably nothing under them, because it was Priest.
“It’s just Deacon,” Priest repeated, yawning. “I’m going back to bed.” He saluted us and then turned on his heels and started back down the hall, though he did pause to call out to Angel, “Unless you want to come with me? The offer’s there and the door is wide open—”
Angel groaned. “Go to bed, Priest.” It seemed that, even though she’d just met him a few hours ago, she was already tired of his shit.
Priest vanished down the hall, but Bishop lingered. He ran a hand through his brown hair, looking like he didn’t know what to do. He split his time between glancing at me and Angel. He decided to address her, “Do you want me to stay up with you?”
She bit the inside of her cheek, thinking for a moment, and then she shook her head. “No, go back to bed. I’m okay. He just startled me.” I startled her , and she punched me. What would she have done if I’d outright scared her? Pulled a knife out from somewhere and stabbed me?
Bishop took his time in walking away. I didn’t understand why he cared about being a white knight to this chick. He didn’t know her. None of us did. She was a stranger Ramona had pushed on us while telling us she’d solve all of our problems.
A fucking lie was what it was.
I turned my back to her, returning to the kitchen just as the microwave was beeping, my Hot Pocket done. I pulled it out of the microwave and dropped it onto my plate. I was literally in the process of turning toward the island when, out of the fucking blue, she appeared beside me, her nose in the air.
“That smells good,” she whispered. Now that she stood in front of me and wasn’t hiding beneath a blanket, I could see how tall she was—which was to say, not very. Five foot three at the most, maybe? Give or take an inch. And that put her about eight inches shorter than me. Her white hair was a little messy, her blue eyes zeroed in on my Hot Pocket like she thought I’d give it to her.
After she punched me? No. Fuck that.
“Make your own,” I told her, sitting down at the island and giving my back to her. It was too hot to start eating right away, so I had to wait for it to cool.
Which sucked, because I heard her making herself one, following my lead. She got a plate out after searching through the cabinets, and then found the box of Hot Pockets in the freezer and pulled one out for herself.
Once it was in the microwave, she slipped onto the stool beside me. “I’m sorry about hitting you.” To her credit, she actually did sound sorry, but too bad for her, I didn’t give a shit.
“You didn’t hit me, you punched me,” I clarified, shooting her a glare. “But whatever. It’s not like it hurt, anyway.” That was a lie, because it had hurt a little bit, but I’d be damned if I told her that.
“You must be Deacon,” she said.
“I guess I must be.” I took a bite from the Hot Pocket.
“I’m—” It sounded like she was going to introduce herself, maybe use her real name, but she stopped herself short. “Angel, I guess.” Enthusiastic she was not, and that made two of us.
All I said between mouthfuls was “Yeah.” I could feel her staring at me, but I refused to turn my head to meet that blue-eyed stare. If she thought she could smooth things over by laying on her charm nice and thick, she had another thing coming.
What the girl did say, however, was something I wasn’t expecting: “I hope you don’t think I’m here to take your brother’s place. I can tell this was a brotherhood. I… I know you probably won’t ever like me, but I promise I won’t be here forever. Just until my contract with Ramona is up, and then it’ll be like I was never here.”
The microwave beeped, telling her the Hot Pocket was done, and she slipped off the stool to grab it.
So the girl didn’t want this. You’d think that would make me feel better about all of this, but it had the opposite effect. It made me more furious. Who was this girl to take Pope’s place and not even want it?
I scarfed down the rest of my food and left my plate on the island, going straight to my room without so much as saying another word. If I said anything… well, let’s just say things would escalate.
So that was our newest member, huh? I didn’t like her at all.