“You’re late,” Deacon says as he opens his door. “And sweaty.”
“Sorry. Coworker ran out of gas.” I hate lying, but there is no way I can tell him the truth. I am pretty sure now, after knowing he isn’t over Emily, that he would either shoot himself or shoot me. Or Emily. Fuck, maybe all three of us.
“Whatever, man. It’s cool.”
I follow him, and collapse on his couch. We are going to be late, and he isn’t even fully dressed for what he says is a surprise.
“Dude, you’re gonna have to borrow some of my clothes. We’re about the same size. Go find some shit. You can’t go out with giant sweat stains, and you are way overdressed.”
I roll my eyes, and walk to his bedroom, deciding on a generic black shirt and jeans. When I come out, I request a plastic bag I can put my suit in.
He tosses me one.
“You need flip-flops, too.” He walks to his closet, and throws some at me.
I stuff my shoes into the bag, too, and slip on the flip-flops that are one to two sizes too small. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise. I told you.”
His hand runs through his hair, which is considerably longer than it was a few months ago, and he adjusts his beard in the mirror on the wall. Deacon was always baby-faced, but now he’s on the rough side and has gotten several more tattoos since he and Emily split.
Speaking of her, I’m half-concerned that he’ll be able to smell her on me, which is part of why I didn’t get near her today and left so quickly, other than feeling like an asshole with no morals. I was happy to help her, but I want to set boundaries at the same time. Not just to protect myself from Deacon, but to protect myself from her. I could easily see myself getting wrapped up in Emily’s looks and charm and losing control of myself. I don’t want that. It wouldn’t be fair for any of us.
Deacon grabs a shirt, raking his hair back into a bun, and plucking his wallet from the couch. “Let’s go.”
We parked on a side street in the city. I have followed him two blocks in the insufferable heat of spring, but I am just about done. He is acting so strange, going on about this great “surprise,” but so far, all I am getting is concrete, humidity, and an uneasy feeling.
“What surprise could possibly have us walking two blocks?”
He cranes his head around and smiles. “You’ll see.”
Finally, he stops at a red door, music pulsing through it. He knocks, and it is opened. A giant of a man walks out, his eyes giving us the death glare. “Lorenz sent us.”
Lorenz?
We’re nodded through the doors. My hands instantly rise to my ears, protecting them from the loud blasts of bass. Everything is washed in dim, red lighting, and I am not liking the vibe this place gives off. It reminds me of some seedy strip club you would walk in before walking right back out.
I nudge Deacon. “Where are we?”
He turns around, smiling, ushering me on. I don’t like how excited he seems. I consider the fact that maybe this is some sort of surprise party for me, but it isn’t my birthday. There is no special occasion. So, what is it?
We walk down a short hall, a scantily clad woman moving past us, and quickly a scene comes into view that causes me to spin on my heel, intent on heading back to the entrance from which we came.
His hand grabs my arm. “Come on, dude. We’re just looking.”
“What the hell, man? What kind of surprise is this? At least give me a warning.”
“You don’t have to do anything—no pressure, just watch. You need some excitement. You can’t stay cooped up in your house all the time. Come on, give it ten minutes. Don’t be a downer.”
I hate how he tries to make me out to be some prude, so I give in. “Fine. Whatever.”
We walk down the hall again, and I am fully able to take in the scene around us. I am awestruck at the amount of people who are fucking in this room, unconcerned with who is watching. Women fucking men, women fucking women. There are easily fifty people banging each other in here. Mentally, it doesn’t turn me on at all, though it is hard to keep my dick down, anyway. The taboo often arouses, even if you don’t want it.
Deacon leads us to a velvet booth in the corner, and I sit on the opposite side. He has always had a wild streak, but this is going too far for my taste. People like what they like, and that is fine with me. Go to orgy parties if you want, but don’t drag me to them without asking how I feel about it first. I try to avoid looking at anyone, but it is impossible. You can’t help but look. My eyes move between Deacon and the groups of people. He wears a weird, amused smile on his face, like he is seconds from joining in on the fuckery.
“You’re creeping me out,” I tell him.
He laughs at me, and leans forward, then motions to a man nearby. The man disappears, but comes back with a tray. There is white powder on it. Deacon pulls a bill from his wallet and rolls it up, then holds it out to me.
“Really, Deacon?”
“Come on, just try it. It’s only coke. It’s not gonna kill you.”
I don’t want to be roped into his issues. I have never done drugs, except for an occasional joint as a teen, and I have no desire to. I thought he had been doing better. He seemed like he was in a happier place for a while, but I was mistaken. I shake my head, refusing to take the bill, and he shrugs, then snorts it all himself.
He pinches the bridge of his nose briefly before dropping the bill on the tray and motioning to the man who brought it again. He appears with another tray, again holding powder, and sets it down.
“Send Lorenz to see me,” he yells to the guy.
A menacing smirk crosses the man’s face before he finally disappears into the dark, a different man returning with him this time.
Deacon stands and allows the new guy, Lorenz, to sit where he had been. A minute or so is spent catching up—fairly normal stuff, I guess.
“And who is your friend?” Lorenz asks. The words hiss from his mouth with him making no attempt to conceal his distaste.
I clear my throat, but Deacon answers before I can. “This is my buddy, Brooks.”
Lorenz’s hand sweeps toward the tray, his eyes staying narrowed on me.
I shake my head. “Oh, I don’t—” I see his jaw click, so I change course. “Next time,” I nod, then point to my nose. “Got a sinus infection.”
He stares at me, displeasure filling his eyes, Deacon’s worried glance bothersome until Lorenz bursts into laughter. Deacon mouths “Sorry” to me, and then he forces himself to laugh, too, until it turns into an actual fit of laughter, both cackling and pointing at me.
“This motherfucker,” Lorenz says, shaking his head, finger pointing my way. “You need Mommy’s permission?”
I smile thinly in reaction, and Deacon successfully changes the subject to my relief. What follows afterward is painfully watching Deacon exhibit the energy of someone who’s had one too many Red Bulls. He starts off by groping women, then licking women, and eventually fucking women. I am disgusted, but it is the car accident on the side of the road you can’t help but stop and observe. He clearly needs some help.
At one point, he tries to jump in on two women going down on each other, and he doesn’t leave them alone—stands too closely, egging them on because of the rejection. Eventually Lorenz’s face sours. He snaps at the guy who had brought the trays of cocaine.
“Get him out. He’s done tonight.”
Deacon reluctantly dresses, and I tell him I am driving him home. When we arrive, I make sure he gets in the bed, and then I shut his door, and I take the couch. I feel like a fucking babysitter. I don’t know how Kara dealt with him, if he was like this.
I check my phone before going to bed, an unread text alert showing on my screen.
It’s her. Thanks so much for helping me today.
Poor Emily. She deserved better.
Deserves better.
I hope she finds it.