“If Magnum Sinclair finds out what you’re blabbing about in there, he would have your fucking head on a platter.”
“I don’t see Magnum nearby. I know my friends aren’t the type to run their mouth.”
He doesn’t like the implications buried just beneath the surface of what I’m saying. Like most rich men, Deacon is arrogant. I like him just fine, but I’m still allowed to find him arrogant.
“There’s a huge fucking mess going on because Magnum knocked up Tamiya’s sister and everybody has been up my ass to gather evidence. Tell me everything you know andmaybeI’ll let you off the hook when Condom inevitably comes looking for your ass.”
Sounds to me like he should have used a condom if he really wanted to avoid pregnancy. All I did was exactly what I was asked. I didn’t question it too much and I didn’t stick around to make sure everybody involved wore protection.
“I did nothing wrong.”
“There’s footage proving that you did”
Has to be bullshit, right? I handled the cameras. I earned every dollar spent on the job. I hate to have Deacon questioning my integrity.
“Do you really believe that manipulative Indian witch?” I ask him, throwing blame at the easiest target I can think of. The sneakiest woman I know…
“Oske isn’t a witch.”
Yet he knew I was talking about her without me saying anything else. I find that interesting. Deacon’s rage flickers across his face. I’m sensitive to other people’s emotions in the sense that they’re easy to detect. Even so-called stoics like Deacon have obvious tells if you observe them long enough. It’s harder with the men in my family, although Tamiya calls our demeanor “reptilian” rather than showing any respect.
Gideon could be more firm with her.
“Witch or not, she’s a goddamn liar.”
“You bragged openly about drugging them, Zeb,” Deacon says, his voice getting lower and tighter as his anger rises and hestruggles to contain it so I don’t totally shut down and keep him from the information he wants.
Deacon’s mistake is showing me how badly he wants this.
“Would you believe me if I said I was doing this for a good cause?”
“No. I would not.”
“Fine. I did it for money.”
“Great job, dumbass,” Deacon says, releasing a sigh. “Do you know how much shit I’m going to be in if I don’timmediatelytell Hawk or Steel about this?”
“They promised me nobody would get hurt and there were extensive tests done on the medications–”
Deacon’s eyes narrow, so I trail off, giving him the chance to speak. The less I say the better – one of the things you learn quickly in the military. Shut the fuck up if you want to have any sort of peace of mind. He falls for the bait.
“Those weren’t medications. You know that.”
“I know that I got paid and delivered what was asked.”
“Who put you up to this?” Deacon does his best to hide his fury, but it’s well-known that redheads have anger issues. I would feel pretty upset too if I’d been born a ginger.
“If I could tell you that, I would have done it,” I answer calmly, hoping to get my ass out of this situation before Deacon probes me further. What does it matter who did what? What happens at the club house, stays at the club house. Especially if you use your military training to fuck with the cameras.
Deacon doesn’t agree and keeps pressing for answers to his so-called mystery. It really isn’t much of a mystery.
“Fuck, Zeb. I don’t have time for games,” Deacon growls.
“I’m not playing games, Rage. I’m saving my own fucking skin.”
“What if you didn’t tell me?”
“I like the sound of that.”
