Caged(35)

Her uncle had been watching the exchange. "Ring? What do you do for a living, Deacon?"

"I compete as a mixed martial artist."

"You don't say. Karate and such?"

From the corner of her eye, Molly saw her cousins exchange a look and then give Deacon a slow perusal.

Eat your hearts out, bitches. He's mine.

"Not karate. I'm a jujitsu instructor at Black Arts in Denver." He pulled Molly more firmly to his side. "We met in my kickboxing class."

"So that's where Molly has tried to lose some of her weight," Brandi said.

"I'd watch the insults or you might be tasting blood," Deacon warned.

Brandi's mouth dropped open. "Are you threatening me?"

"Not me. Molly. The woman's got a mean right hook. And I oughta know, since she learned how to throw a punch from me."

Molly sent Deacon a look of adoration. "Of course, I'd never hit someone out of anger." Then she looked at Brandi. "Besides, if I used my fists on you every time you insulted me, you'd be black-and-blue from head to toe."

Without another word, Deacon opened the passenger door for her.

Then he skirted the front end and climbed in the driver's seat. "Keys."

She dropped them in his hand. "Thank you."

"For?"

"Showing up."

He pressed his lips to her forehead.

When she buckled her seat belt, she noticed Brandi glaring at them before she got into her father's car.

"What is up with those bitch cousins of yours? Jesus. I've always had a 'no hitting women' policy, but they're tempting me to break it."

"They've been that way to me my whole life."

"And your grandma let them get away with it?"

She ignored his probing gaze and stared straight ahead. "Everyone let them get away with it, claiming they'd outgrow it. They never have."

"That's bullshit."

"As a kid, I had no power. As an adult, I moved away. I'd always been so malleable . . . until I wasn't. I've had minimal interactions with Jennifer and Brandi since I went to college. After all this is over, I'm done with them." 

"Good. No one needs bad people in their lives that make them question who they are."

Sounded like he was speaking from experience, but she knew better than to ask.

The trip to the grocery store was uneventful-weird as it was shopping with Deacon.

At the checkout she said, "Am I missing anything?"

Deacon peered at the meat, veggies, bread, canned goods, and fruit in the cart. "Where's the ice cream?"

"I didn't buy any."

His eyes turned shrewd. "You aren't lactose intolerant or something?"

"No. I'm intolerant of fat on my belly, hips, and ass after I've worked so hard to keep it off," she said dryly.

"We'll share. What's your favorite kind?"

"Coffee or vanilla," she lied. Both those flavors would be safe from her.

He strolled to the frozen-foods section while she unloaded the cart.

The last item that rolled off the conveyor belt was a carton of rocky road.

Deacon put his mouth on her ear. "You're a shitty liar, babe." Then he deftly shunted her aside and handed the clerk his credit card. His death glare meant she'd be wise not to protest.

At least not here.

He pushed the cart outside. As soon as he'd opened the hatchback, she got in his face.

His mouth was on hers before she'd uttered a word. The kiss wasn't sweet and gentle. It was decisive. When she eased back to speak her mind, he murmured, "Let it go."

And so she did.

Back at the motel, Deacon carried in the groceries while she put everything away. She fixed her favorite comfort food for lunch-canned chicken noodle soup and deviled ham sandwiches. Halfway through the meal, the reality of why she needed comfort food hit her. The first couple of tears fell in silence. But then they came too hard and fast to maintain decorum.

When the first sob broke free, Deacon picked her up and carried her to the couch.

• • •

THE sobbing woman in his arms was killing him.

Killing. Him.

Fuck.

He rarely felt helpless, but he sure as hell did now. Molly's keening wails might just do him in.

Deacon pressed his lips into her hair. Her tears dampened his shirt. How was he supposed to comfort her?

First off, don't be a dickhead.

Amery's warning had given him pause after he'd stormed into Hardwick Designs Monday morning, demanding to know where Molly had gone. Hearing that Molly's grandmother had died was bad enough. But when Amery shared her concern about Molly being back in her hometown and dealing with her family members, who had had made her life hell, he'd booked the next flight to Nebraska.

Molly's sobs had morphed into hiccups. Then she wiggled to free herself from his embrace.

"Where are you goin'?"