Take It On The Run

Chapter 2

POV: Deacon

I was in the middle of pouring a whiskey neat for a tourist when she paused before one of the outside windows to stare up at the overhead sign like a dream.

I didn't believe my eyes at first, but I'd recognize those emerald doe-eyes, sharp cheekbones, and ample curves anywhere. Her thick, blond hair had been dyed a mousy shade of brown, but she was still a knockout in a simple pair of black, high-waisted shorts and a green crop top that accentuated her eyes.

Sloan Dawson was here, at my bar—was here in New Orleans.

It should've been impossible; after all, she was supposed to be dead. All of the evidence found at her residence ten years ago had pointed to as much, although I knew her body had never been located. As soon as the guys and I were old enough, we'd left home, searching for a fresh start. Everything in Savannah had reminded us of her, so we decided to move to Sumner's hometown.

Never in a million years did I expect to see her again. Yet there she stood, debating on whether or not to enter my bar. I couldn't believe my luck.

I needed to tell the guys, but I was too afraid to look away from her to text the group chat or make a phone call. I wouldn't let her disappear on us. Not again.

I watched with bated breath as Sloan reached for the front door and strolled inside, as though she hadn't pretended to be dead for the last ten years. My gaze snagged on those generous hips as they swished up to the bar.

God, she was so beautiful, so damn perfect, without even trying.

My pulse ratcheted up as I wondered if she'd recognize me after all this time.

She was still scoping out the decor as well as some of the patrons when she said to me, "I heard you guys are hiring?" Those green eyes widened the moment they locked with mine, and I could tell instantly that she knew who I was. "I...uh...actually, nevermind. Forget I said anything."

Sloan started to back away from the bar, and I didn't hesitate to leave my perch, following her to the front door. Some of the patrons grumbled their displeasure at my abrupt absence, but I didn't care. This was my bar, and I could do whatever I damn well pleased.

When she grabbed the knob to leave, I called softly, "Sloan, please. Please don't go." She froze, and even though I was afraid of spooking her, my hand landed gently on her shoulder. Sure she wouldn't bolt, my other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her against me, her back now pressed against my chest. She shivered as my breath coasted along her neck, pausing at her ear. "Where have you been all this time, beautiful?"

"Not here." Her voice sounded thick and strained, as though she were trying to suppress some deep emotion. I knew precisely how she felt.

"I know a place where we can speak privately. Just give me a second." I felt bad asking Bradley to end his lunch break early, but this was important. I quickly found the young bartender sitting in a darkened booth in the back. "If you get back to work this instant, I'll pay you overtime for the rest of your shift."

Bradley raised a brow, stuffing the rest of the burger into his mouth and wiping his hands on his jeans as he rose from his seat. I decided that was answer enough and found Sloan, taking her hand in mine and leading her to my office in the back.