8. Deacon
Chapter 8
Deacon
It was stupid and I fucking know it. I could make a million excuses as to how I let this happen, but the long and short of it is the same: I mismanaged my inventory, and now I’m paying the price for it. This is the third—fifth?—event Henri has had me at this month, and I should know better by now how this goes. But I don’t have a micro-dose to get through it.
Alcohol is only getting me so far today because my wolf is focused almost entirely on Henri. He won’t simply agree to be quiet, and the alcohol’s half-life is negligible, so it’s failing to keep him under. Which wouldn’t be bad except none of my dealers are texting me back.
I’ve even broken my rule to text Dealer 2 (Madison) and nothing. It’s complete crickets.
Did I get iced out and not know it?
“Deacon,” Henri groans. “Focus.”
“I heard you.” I snap at her and instantly regret it. I don’t talk to her that way.
My wolf snarls, angry at me. Don’t be that way to her. You’re a fucking asshole .
I’m panicking about what will happen: first the wolf and then the ancestors.
It’s not her fault.
Her head snaps up, and she mouths ‘okay’ before turning away from me.
This interaction isn’t us. We haven’t worked together all that long, but this isn’t how it should be between us.
“Henri,” I call, and she looks over her shoulder at me, waiting for more. “I’m sorry. It’s just I...” Henri turns her body back to me at the same time a civilian takes interest, and I cut my excuse off but repeat the apology, making sure it’s purposeful like when Finn does it. “I’m sorry, but I’m looking up what the soup of the day is.”
“Fuck. Okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Let’s get you through this panel. There are sixty-ish people here.”
With that one phrase, Henri completely understands my current problem. Her body goes rigid, and she jumps into problem-solving.
She steps closer to me, turning her back to the room and bringing her voice down to wolf-ears-only volume. “Stay right by my side, and if someone approaches, just pretend, unless it’s someone we’re very familiar with, just pretend you’ve forgotten their name, and if they’re real, I’ll reintroduce you. During the Q and A, I’ll moderate the questions and quietly restate the real ones to you.”
I look down at her, hanging my head. “Thanks. I am sorry.”
She’s always so forgiving, but I’ve known that about her. She’d forgive me for practically anything. Just like she’d forgive Nathan. That’s what makes this hurt worse.
“I know.” She turns back to the room but steps into me just a little bit, leaning against me and drawing out some of the tension. “It’ll be okay. Do I need to call Hare’s Hearth to see what I can find? ”
“I sent a text to my contact.”
Getting from Hare’s Hearth means that Finn is sure to find out about it. While I know he’s trying to look out for me, having my little sister’s mate meddle while I’m trying to survive is about as fun as it sounds.
My phone buzzes in my breast pocket. I pull it out and look at it.
Finn:
You put in an order at HH? Everything okay?
I knew this was coming, but it doesn’t make it easier. Finn may have left the mafia, but he’s still closely connected with Hare’s Hearth. And they apparently started looping him in on everything that has to do with me simply because his mate is my sister.
At this point, I can’t lie and back out of my attempt to buy. Alcohol alone hasn’t kept my wolf fully at bay for years. Today is no exception. I need something stronger.
Or whatever Revecca did to my gift when she visited in October. But that probably isn’t something I can order off a menu at an organized crime hub masquerading as a high-end restaurant.
Me:
It’ll be fine. Is that an order confirmation? ETA?
Finn:
From what I know, there’s an issue with the seafood. Menu is extremely limited.
Fuck. I close my eyes. But I’m in too deep to back down now. There’s no putting the cat back in the bag of Finn knowing.
Ahhh, well, I’m not exactly picky.
For family, I can always bring home leftovers.
With that sentence, I’m already feeling relief. Placebo effect, maybe? Or maybe it’s just that Finn isn’t judging?
“Deacon, are you ready?” Henri whispers.
“Just a sec.” I nod. “Finn’s telling me about the soup special.”
She raises an eyebrow, suspicious of that. It’s no secret that Finn and I have a delicate relationship.
Any chance you’ll bring some home and send a delivery over to the event center?
With chips?
I try to figure out what that might be other than french fries, but the worst that happens is I do, in fact, get french fries...
Yes, please.
Finn doesn’t answer, but my food delivery app pings, asking me to confirm my location. I do so before looking at Henri.
“I’m good.” I give her a small smile and nod.
Henri gives me a once-over, her furrowed brow and pursed lips giving away the flurry of thoughts running through her head. But not once in her tabulation of risk for this event has she suggested we cancel.
With a nod, she steps aside, waiting for me to follow her. “Great. ’Cause it’s time to mingle.”