Page 83 of Slashes in the Snow
“She was pretty fucked up over it, yeah.”
“And now she’s dealing with this. How much can one person take?”
“I’m not sure, but if she’s anything like her mother, she can survive a lot.”
“I hope so.” I pray so.
My father’s phone rings. “Crap, that’s probably Kristen. Wish me luck.”
“I’m here for you, Pops.” I slap his leg.
When he looks at the screen, though, his expression is perplexed.
“Who is it?”
He shakes his head and slides to answer it.
“Gambit. Long time, brother.”
I shoot out of my seat at the sound of Deacon’s voice. My father motions for me to circle behind him so I can see the screen; it’s a FaceTime call.
“Kira,” I exclaim. Deacon has her hands bound behind her back, sitting on the edge of a full bathtub, shivering and soaking wet. “If you fucking hurt her, Deacon, I swear to fucking God, I will kill you!” I roar.
He laughs at me. “Kira and I have been having so much fun. Want to see?”
Kira shakes her head and begins to cry as Deacon wraps a hand around her throat and pushes her back into the water. He holds her under as she helplessly kicks and fights, deprived of air.
I lose my fucking mind watching her tortured. “Deacon, I will bury you!” I scream so loud everyone in the bar rushes into the poker room.
“What the fuck do you want?” my father demands.
“I want you to come find me.”
“Tell me where you are, and that won’t be a problem,” my pops threatens.
“Let her up!” All I can concentrate on is Kira’s suffering.
“Your little mermaid likes the water.” He continues to hold her under, and I continue to race down the road of insanity.
“Deacon.” My father utters his name in a tone so chilling it gives everyone in the room hypothermia. “Your fucking beef is with me. Let’s finish it.”
“I plan on finishing it.” He finally lets Kira up, and she gasps and coughs so hard it sounds like she has bronchitis.
“Ky,” she cries, and I nearly fall to my knees.
“You know where to find me.” Deacon dunks Kira back under the water, then hangs up.
“No!” I grab the phone and almost crush it in my hands. “What is he talking about? Where is he?” I grill my father.
“I have no idea. I haven’t had any contact with Deacon in ten years.”
“A place from the past, maybe?” Tempest suggests.
“Give me the phone.” Hawk grabs at my hand. “Maybe I can trace the number.”
Just as he takes it, it beeps with a text message. He opens it, and we all look. It’s an image of an A-frame cabin with a double glass door outlined in red.
“Dad?”
