Take It On The Run

Chapter 3

POV: Sloan

I nearly bolted when Deacon left me alone by the door. That's what I should've done, but my feet remained firmly planted on the ground, my heart beating wildly.

A moment later, he returned, a large calloused hand enveloping mine as he led me through a bustling kitchen, a stockroom, and finally into an empty office that only the staff could reach. The whole time I tried not to stare at the taut muscles lining his arms and back, the lush midnight curls that bounced with each step. The last time I'd seen Deacon, he'd been a gangly teenager with acne. Now he was a full-grown man—a gorgeous one, too.

It was an effort not to squirm beneath that beautiful cobalt gaze of his as he gestured for me to sit in a loveseat against the far wall, while he sat in a rolling chair near the lone desk. He was wearing a black v-neck and a tight pair of slate jeans, the golden skin and the network of tattoos that lined his neck and arms on full display. I swallowed thickly, trying to remember why the hell we were even here.

"Sloan..." he rasped, the pained sound causing my heart to constrict. "We all thought you were dead."

"All?" Did that mean...? "The others live here, too?" I asked, startled at the possibility. But then I remembered that Sumner was, in fact, from New Orleans. Maybe the boys had relocated here together at some point.

"I share a house with Sumner, Avery, and Reed in the Lower Garden District," Deacon confirmed, bringing his chair closer to me. His warm hands found my thighs and squeezed. "All this time..." he shook his head, closing his eyes briefly. "You've been alive all this time."

I didn't know if I could really call the last decade living. I continued staring at him, unsure of what to say.

"Where were you?" he pressed, unfazed by my silence.

I looked away from him, biting my lower lip. "It's a long story, D."

Those blue eyes searched mine. Deacon had always been able to sense my moods and emotions better than anyone else, so I shouldn't have been shocked when he concluded, "You're in trouble."

Understatement of the century.

He continued, a black brow lifting, "Have you been on the run this entire time?"

I nodded. Everything about this encounter was surreal, yet I also felt an overwhelming sense of relief, as though a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. For ten impossible years, I'd kept my distance from people, and here was someone who knew me, really knew me.

It terrified me.

I never wanted to let him or the others go, but staying would put them all in mortal danger.

"You asked if I was hiring when you came in earlier. Do you need a job?"

That caught my attention. I still had a decent amount of savings leftover from Denver, but I didn't like to rely on it in case of emergencies, like the time my radiator blew up in the middle of a move.

"I do, but I can't work here."

He laced our fingers, kissing the back of my hand. "This is my bar, Sloan, and I assure you that you most certainly can work here."

My eyes widened. "All of this...is yours?" I asked incredulously. It was hard for me to conceive of someone my age having so much, maybe because I'd never had the opportunity to go to college or work my way up in any position before having to up and leave again. I felt a confusing mix of pride for what he'd accomplished and grief for everything I'd missed out on.

"It is," he confirmed with a wry smile. "I'm guessing you found out that The Blushing Rose pays people under the table from time to time."

I grinned up at him. Even in a sitting position, he nearly dwarfed my 5'8 frame. "I had no idea you were such a philanthropist, D."

He snorted, releasing my hand and finding my thigh once more. "Everyone who works here earns their keep, sweetness. I don't run a charity; I just happen to be understanding on occasion when it comes to overlooking paperwork."

"So I've heard." From what I'd gathered in the online forums, The Blushing Rose had acted as a haven for immigrants who couldn't produce documentation, victims of domestic violence who didn't want to be found, and more. I'd worked at enough bars to know that he was putting himself and his business on the line to help vulnerable people, and I couldn't help but admire him for it.

"So...what do you say? Come and work for me?"

I sighed heavily. "I have to be transparent with you, D. There are people after me—ones who wouldn't hesitate to slaughter everyone in this bar to get to me."

I felt his hands tighten on my thighs. "I'm not letting anything happen to you, Sloan. None of us will. You're done running." When I looked up, I found pure, unadulterated malice shining in those sapphire pools of his, although I knew the sentiment wasn't directed at me. Without warning, my vision blurred at the love, at the security I felt in that moment. "You start tomorrow at 2 p.m. I've already taken the rest of the evening off, so I'll bring you to see the guys now. After that, I'll try to give you the rundown on what to expect on the job."

I knew he meant everything he said, but I worried for him and the others. Letting them sacrifice themselves for me, as my mother had, well, that just wasn't an option I could live with. I started to argue, "Deacon...I can't let you—"

He cut me off, placing a savage kiss on my lips that left me breathless. Heat pooled low in my core at the action, and my mind eddied of every rational thought or argument I'd just had on the tip of my tongue. "I wasn't asking, sweetness."