Deacon Johns Read online

  “I do, I really do, but I can’t. If I do, it will put you in danger and I can’t do that.”

  “Okay, sugar. That’s fine. How about I fix us a bite to eat?”

  “I can’t let you do that. I’m all nasty from working in the forge and—”

  “Then you go on into the bathroom and take a nice long shower. I’ll throw your things in the wash and I think I have a robe Jo left here way back that you can wear until your clothes are ready.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. Now scoot. I’ll get some supper started and come get those clothes in a minute. The bathroom is the last door on the right down the hall.”

  Mica got up, took Nellie Mae’s hand and pulled her to her feet, then gave the old lady a kiss on the cheek and headed down the hallway. There was a small table in the hall with a mirror mounted over it. Mica scowled at her reflection, before noticing the framed photos on the polished surface of the table.

  Wow. It had to be Nellie Mae in the photos. Some of the photos showed her with a stocky, tall man with light hair and a big smile. She was a woman with a million-dollar smile, big boobs and hips and blonde hair that starlets of her day would have killed for.

  There were photos of her with the blonde man and two little children, of her and the kids at different ages, at graduations and weddings and then photos of her and a dark-haired man with somber eyes.

  Mica stood there for a moment. This was Nellie Mae’s life, people whom she’d loved. Where were they now and why was this little sweet old lady all alone?

  She went on to the bathroom, stripped, and climbed into the shower. She was just rinsing her hair when she heard the door open and pulled back the curtain to see Nellie Mae putting a thick towel on the little stand beside the tub, along with a robe.

  “Thank you, Nellie Mae. I’m almost done.”

  “You take your time, sugar.”

  Maybe she just needed to escape thoughts of her mess of a life, but Mica’s mind turned to thinking about Nellie Mae. The photos on the table and how kind she’d been to Mica. Why was she alone? Were those people in the photos all gone?

  She finished her shower, dried off and put on the robe. It was short but covered her to mid-thigh and the belt kept it closed. Mica ran her fingers through her hair and carried the wet towel with her as she padded down the hall.

  Nellie Mae was in the kitchen, humming as she poured two glasses of whiskey.

  “Where can I put this towel?” Mica asked.

  “Just toss it in the basket in the laundry room over there.” Nellie Mae pointed to the door.

  Mica did as instructed and returned to the kitchen where Nellie Mae was sitting at the table and the two glasses of whiskey waited. Nellie Mae lifted hers in a toast, and Mica picked up her glass and touched its rim to Nellie Mae’s.

  “To my friend,” she said.

  “And to mine.” Nellie Mae smiled and moved her glass to her lips.

  The whiskey packed a punch, particularly on an empty stomach. Since she wasn’t ready to talk about what had her showing up on Nellie Mae’s doorstep, Mica asked questions about the people of Cotton Creek and about Nellie Mae’s life.

  “, who is the blond hunk in the picture with you? Mica asked as Nellie Mae poured them a second drink, this one filling the juice glasses almost to the brim.

  “Oh honey, that was my Carl. He was such a looker, wasn’t he? And always smiling.”

  “How did you and Carl meet?”

  Nellie Mae took another sip of her drink. “Girl, back in those days I was an independent little thing. My big sister who was three years older, Goldie Jean, got a job at the newspaper in Rockridge and after I graduated high school, I talked my mama and daddy into letting me go live with Goldie Jean and attend the little business school in Rockridge.”

  She took another drink and Mica kept pace. “There was a little bar there and on the weekends sometimes a little quartet would play. Well, one night Goldie Jean and I went and this man in his cups knocked my drink over. It didn’t get me wet, but I couldn’t afford another one.

  “Suddenly there was this handsome man standing there with a smile that just lit up the room. ‘Let me buy you a drink, beautiful,’ he said. Well, you know I was a good girl, but lord above, that man’s smile could have wooed the devil himself, so I let him buy me that drink. And later, I let him hold my hand and walk me home.”

  “And did you let him kiss you?”

  “Not that night,” Nellie Mae said and winked. “But three dates later, I put a lip-lock on him that he swore turned his knees to jelly.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Nellie Mae, you wicked woman.”

  “No wicked to it, hon. I just knew he was the one for me. We were married the next year and had nearly thirty years of bliss.”

  “And children?”

  “Oh my yes, my two beautiful babies, Sherry Lynn and Carlson Junior. Sherry’s married and living in Baton Rouge with her husband Ronnie Beaumont. They have three children who are grown and married with children of their own.

  “Carlson and his life partner live in Dallas and he’s in banking.”

  “Life partner? As in he’s gay?”

  “Well, I do like that word better than homosexual, but yes. Sweetest man ever, that partner of his. Dawson. I love him to bits. The entire clan comes every year for Christmas and then again in the summer and every now and then I take a notion and go spend some time with them.”

  “And Carl?”

  “Bless him, keeled over with a heart attack a week after our thirtieth anniversary. He never let on there was a thing wrong with him. Lord, I nearly died when he went. The light went right out of my life.”

  “But didn’t you marry again?”

  “I did. Curtis Baker. Now that man knew how to satisfy a woman.”

  “Oh? Is he still alive?”

  “No, honey, he died in the saddle”

  Mica reached for the bottle and filled their empty glasses. She had passed “on her way to being drunk” two drinks ago. “Come on, let’s go blob on the couch. Bring your glass.”

  They both wobbled a bit, but managed to make it to the living room and onto the couch. Mica refilled their glasses and put a pillow on the couch between them. “Put your feet up, Miss Nellie Mae and I’ll give you a foot rub. I give epic foot massages.”

  “Oh lord,” Nellie Mae was moaning in pleasure inside of two minutes. “You’re right. That feels better than sex.”

  Mica laughed and reached for her glass, downed what was left and shook her head to try to clear her vision, which was becoming a bit distorted. “Hell, it’s been so long since I’ve had sex, I don’t even remember what it feels like.”

  “Tell me about it. Last time for me was November 21, 2009.”

  “You remember the exact date?”

  “I’ll never forget it, child. Me and Curtis, that was my second husband, Curtis Baker. We’d been married for almost twenty years. Curtis wasn’t the happy Joe that Carl was, but he sure was a good dancer and talk about being good in the sack. Oh Lord.

  “Anyway, he’d been away on business for two weeks and when he got home he said he wanted to celebrate. He’d made a huge sell. He sold stuff to airplane manufacturers. Anyway, he was a hotshot salesman. Bought and paid for this house and the one in Corpus Christi. We used to love to go there for the summers.

  “But anyhow, that day he came home and we went out to Greene’s for a big steak dinner, then came home and popped a bottle of bubbly. Things got a little heated and he said he was gonna rock my world right here on the couch.”

  “Woo, I like the sound of that. Did he?”

  “Not exactly. I mean, it was going along good and I was starting to get into the swing of it when he started saying “I’m going, Nellie. Girl, I’m going, I’m going. I love you, Nellie. I’m going.

  “I thought he meant, you know, he was gonna go and I said ‘go baby, go’ and suddenly his body went all stiff—and I do mean his whole body if you know what I’m saying—and then no
thing. He didn’t move a muscle.

  “He was gone. And I mean gone.”

  “Oh my God. He died in the saddle!” Mica didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing. “In the saddle. Oh God.”

  Nellie Mae started giggling and before long they were both howling. It took them a bit of time to settle down. Mica reached for the bottle, but it was empty.

  “You know, I never meant to be a bad person.” Mica confessed. “I might not have been in love with him, but I was always faithful to the man I married. He saved me, Nellie Mae. Growing up on the reservation wasn’t great. Girls like me ended up being raped and used and grew old too fast.

  “There wasn’t any hope. Tony saved me and I know his family was bad and I became bad, but I never hurt anyone. Well, I hurt them if they paid me but I didn’t cause lasting hurt. But I didn’t know anything about being in love. I didn’t know how it felt.

  “Now I think I might be falling in love for the first time and I’m scared, Nellie Mae. Deacon is—he’s like my perfect hero come to life, strong and handsome and solid and a good man. But he’s not who I thought. I thought he was someone who would understand that people make mistakes and we learn from them and try and grow and be better.

  “But he called me awful things and I think he hates me and he had people snooping on me so now Matty and I have to run away again because I can’t let anything happen to him, you know. He’s my little brother.”

  She barked a laugh. “Little. That’s funny, huh? Everyone’s scared of Matty. They think he’s this big mean Indian, or a big killing machine of a SEAL, but he’s not. I mean he is a SEAL but he’s such a good man and has such a big heart and I can’t let anything happen to him because he’s all I have.

  “And Deacon ruined it all. He called me a whore. A whore!” She looked at Nellie Mae and saw two of the little woman, both of whom had sympathetic looks on their faces. “I was never a whore. Never. I never ever slept with any of them and I had as many women clients as I did men. But I never had sex with any of them.

  “I’m not a whore.”

  “Of course you’re not sugar. You’re a… what exactly are you?”

  “Screwed.” Mica said. “A stupid, stupid woman who let herself fall for a man who won’t let himself love me back. I’m screwed, Nellie Mae. Screwed.”

  “Oh, sugar, it will all work out. Trust me, things will look better tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow.” Mica tried to focus, but her eyes just wouldn’t stay open. She’d close them just for a minute, then she’d go see if her clothes were ready and head on home. She’d just rest her eyes for a few minutes.

  Mica jerked awake. Nellie Mae was asleep on the couch, snoring softly. Mica pulled the soft throw from the back of the sofa, covered Nellie Mae and then got up and went to the laundry room. She noticed the clock on the stove as she passed through the kitchen. It was half past midnight.

  Her clothes were still in the washer and her work boots were sitting on the floor beside the door. With a sigh, she bent over to pick up her boots and almost moaned at the pain in her head.

  Mica softly tiptoed back through the house, turning off the lights as she went. After making sure Nellie Mae was covered, she let herself out the front door, making sure it was set to lock.

  Mica sat on the front step to pull on her work boots, then stood, hitched the belt on the robe tighter around her waist and started walking. The streets were empty, which was a relief. She felt horrible and regretted drinking so much whiskey. The term “shit warmed over” didn’t even begin to touch how bad she felt.

  As she drew near the blacksmith shop, she noticed the lights. Mica tapped on the door and after a moment, it opened. “Are you still working?”

  Mathias nodded. “I wanted to work on that light for the dining room. I’ll sleep on the cot here, so go on back home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Okay. I love you.”

  “I love you.”

  Mica headed on to the house, grateful that Mathias had not asked any questions. She didn’t think she was ready to take on the conversation she knew they had to have. As she started across the yard to the house, she jumped. Was that someone on her porch?

  Two more steps and recognition flared. Deacon stood and waited for her. That’s when she made up her mind. She wasn’t going to put it off, she wasn’t going to cry or make a fuss or anything. She was just going to pack her shit and in the morning, she’d tell Matty and they would leave.

  She walked right past him and into the house, headed straight for her bedroom. She jerked open the closet and hauled out a suitcase which she dumped on the bed.

  “Where have you been dressed like that?” he asked from the doorway.

  “What difference does it make?”

  “What are you doing?” Deacon walked into the room.

  “Packing?”

  “Why?”

  “Because we can’t stay here. Thanks to you.”

  “Hold on.” Deacon grabbed her arm and she tried to pull free, but he hung on. “Just calm down and talk to me.”

  “Get your hand off me.” She felt herself go cold and hated it. She’d spent the last decade or more of her life cold. Emotionless and cold.

  “Mica, talk to me.”

  “Don’t you mean Cipriana?” She looked down at his hand on her arm and then back at him. When she did, he released her.

  Mica backed away from him. “I was married to Tony. For twenty years.”

  “You were married to a mobster?”

  “I was.”

  “And living under an assumed name.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “A lot of reasons.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Are you?” She tried to push the cold away. Mica didn’t want to be that woman anymore. Since she’d been here, she’d been free for the first time in her life. Happy and free. She was enraged and terrified at the thought that she’d lose all that and would never have it again.

  “I am.” Deacon sat down on the edge of the bed. “Talk to me. I want to understand.”

  She stared at him, trying to decide and had almost decided that it just wasn’t worth it when he spoke again. “Please.”

  That word and the way it was spoken undid her. The coldness slid away like a snake shedding its skin. Mica walked over and sat down on the rug beside the bed, crossing her legs and clasping her hands in front of her.

  “I was sixteen when Tony showed up on the reservation, driving a big black Caddy, with pockets full of money. His family wanted an ‘in’ with the Tribal Council. The Tribe was going to build a casino on the reservation. Other tribes had done it, and were making bank. Tony’s family wanted to supply us with liquor, help us to get up and running.

  “I knew who was on the Council and their secrets. My father was a drunk and he ran his mouth far more than he should about the people. But it came in handy, that knowledge. So, I offered to help. I was young and cute and Tony wanted me, so I gave him my virginity and information and when he left he took me with him.”

  “You ran away.”

  “I did. I tried to talk Matty into leaving with me but he wouldn’t. So, Tony gave me three thousand dollars and I gave it to the blacksmith and told him if he would let Matty stay with him, he could have that money to help feed and clothe Matty and I would send him more as soon as I got a job. I knew he would do it. He cared about us. Then I left.”

  “And?”

  “And Tony took care of me. He helped me to get a new identity and made sure that Mica was on record as living and working in LA while I became Cipriana, a Romanian immigrant who had died shortly after entering the country.

  “He fed me and made sure I finished high school and even paid for me to go to college. He loved me and protected me and when I turned eighteen I married him.”

  “You loved him?”

  “In a fashion. He did everything for me and made sure that Matty was provided for. I owed him.”

 
; “Did you get a college degree?”

  “I did. Metallurgy and psychology. Great combo.”

  “So, you started making knives?”

  “Not to earn a living, but yes. As a hobby.”

  “Then you didn’t work. You were just a mob wife.”

  There it was, the question she’d most dreaded. Mica looked up at him for the first time since she’d started talking. “No. I had a career.”

  “Doing what?”

  She opened her mouth, closed it and then pointed to her iPad on the night stand. “Would you pass that to me?”

  He did and she accessed the browser and entered an Internet address. Once the web page displayed, she handed the iPad to Deacon. He looked at it and then at her. “I was right, you are a whore.”

  “I may slap the shit out of you if you call me that again. I’m not, nor was I ever, a whore. I am a Dominatrix.”

  “A Dominatrix? It’s the same thing.”

  “You know it isn’t.”

  “But you dressed up in black, smacked men’s asses, and fucked them for a few thousand dollars a night.”

  “No. I did dress in black and delivered whatever punishment or pain my clients—men or women—wanted, but I never fucked one of them. And it was ten thousand dollars a night.”

  “That’s a lot of money to be spanked.”

  “My clients were not ordinary men and women.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning they were people who had to be sure their…tastes…remained private.”

  “I see. So, you never had sex with one of them?”

  “No. They wanted to be fucked, not to fuck me. Tony is the only man I ever had sex with and that ended when I was in my twenties. He had health issues and couldn’t get an erection.”

  “So you haven’t had sex—”

  “In over a decade.”

  “But you were a—”

  “Yes, I was.”

  Deacon regarded her for a long moment. “You don’t seem like a Domme to me.”

  “I’m not by nature.”

  “Then why do it?”

  “Because I’m good at it. I can figure out people’s secret desires and I’d give it to them. And I didn’t have to be emotionally involved. I was never emotionally involved. But I made a lot of money and helped Tony and his family amass a lot of power and political capital. When Tony died, I had over fourteen million dollars.”