Comments and feedback are welcome. Thank you to everyone who commented and offered advice on Ch. 1 it all helps me grow as a writer. (-:
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In the light of a new day, nine times out of ten, things are just as horrible as they had been the day before. Deacon, having rolled out of bed at an abnormally late nine am, discovered that that statement was very true. He was still divorced, he still felt like a failure and, since the departure of his parents due to his "successful" mating with Sarah he was still very much alone. He missed them but he wouldn't call on them to hold his hand, they were too busy RVing around the country and enjoying their retirement. They deserved it and while he spoke with them almost every day, he had made it abundantly clear that they didn't need to drop everything just because his marriage had failed. If he was going to continue as pack alpha he was going to have to learn to deal.
As he headed toward the kitchen, this time he barely noticed all the portraits that still hung in the hallway some covered with various sheets. Sarah had loved portraits, both of herself and of them together. Initially he had believed that it was because she had so desperately wanted to record every moment that they spent together. Now he knew that that was stupid, she was simply vain and there was nothing more to it. Just before he entered the kitchen he noticed that the last portrait on the right was partially uncovered and for a moment he stopped and stared. It was of them just before they got married, they looked happy and he could see, shining in his own eyes, the blind adoration that would one day be his undoing. He still couldn't look at her, maybe he was afraid of what he would see. After returning the cover he was more desperate than ever for his morning boost of caffeine.
"Well look who decided to join the land of the living!" Owen of course was already there gorging himself on the tasty delights his personal chef had to offer. "I do have to let you know bro that you need your coffee stat, after such a great midnight run you still look like shit. How is that even possible??"
Deacon didn't even bother to respond; he just lifted an eyebrow and downed his first taste of Almo's sweet sweet coffee. Owen's mention of last night did bring to mind something that he had wanted to discuss though about the night before.
"Did you notice the lights coming from that old Rayne shack at the edge of town last night? I know the ladies from the church had been helping out the old coot that lived there, but I doubt any of them would be snooping around there in the dark that late at night. I even caught a whiff, seemed familiar, sweet somehow, but can't place the scent. Know anything about it?" Having settled down to have breakfast Deacon waited for his beta's response. He usually was up to date with any local activities Deacon had missed, it was after all his job, but this time around Owen seemed to be taking an eternity to come up with any answers.
"Can't say that I have boss, after the old man died nobody came around to claim a thing... not that you would expect that anyone would." He left the rest of it unsaid because they both had a pretty good idea of why they wouldn't. Old man Charles had been an old evil drunk and while the kind hearted ladies of the church had reached out to help him, it hadn't changed or taken away from the fact of who he was. It still amazed people that he had even had a family once, a wife and even a little girl.
"Well get on it, you know we can't afford to have strangers just roaming about." Owen nodded and returned his attention to his meal. They ate in a companionable silence for a while each occupied with his own thoughts until Almo came in bearing the gift of the morning mail.
"Good morning boys!!" Almo was not only an amazing chef/ personal assistant/ whatever else he got paid to be, he was always amazingly outrageously happy and on days like this sometimes that wasn't always a good thing. Almo's life philosophy was simple, he was a wolf he, was gay and he was more than happy to be all that he could be. Deacon sometimes begrudged him his seemingly unending joy. "I come bearing the gift of mail and don't you worry Owen yah big freeloader," this he said with a smile, "Yours is here too." Almo got treated to an obscene gesture courtesy of Owen and he simply smiled and whistled loudly as he left the kitchen.
"Where on earth did you find that guy and why on earth did you hire him?" Owen sat shaking his head and sorting through the mail. Spam, spam and more spam it seemed until he came across a particularly ominous looking package addressed to Deacon and after a brief internal debate he silently handed it to him. He accepted but quickly dropped it on the table like it had burned him. He had a bad feeling about this.
Owen decided to be the one to rip the band-aide off and open the letter. Only a few paragraphs into the thick legal document Owen visibly paled and looked up at Deacon who was doing his best to keep his emotions in check despite the fact that he still had no idea what it was about but deep down he knew.
"She wants the house."
Her second day in town was a productive one, after a brisk walk into town and a short bus ride she had arrived at her destination, The Red Door a gentleman's club clear to the other side of town. As a kid growing up in the falls she had heard whispers about this place, had even heard her mother haranguing Charles about his frequent visits. She had of course promised herself that she would never end up working in a place like this, she had been so young and stupid then, there were worse things a girl could end up being. Stripping and being up on that stage that seemed to be her calling, she was herself there and at home.
Since the Red Door had been a favorite of scum like Charles it had given her pause about the kind of establishment it was. She had worked in some rough places before but she did not feel the need to make that a habit, a smart girl wouldn't. Skye had been pleasantly surprised when she had gotten there. It hadn't seemed so bad nice, clean; relatively new surroundings had been lightly overlaid with the familiar smells of this kind of establishment. She had met the owner, Joe Scantllin, and had learned that it had been recently renovated and revamped in an effort to attract a different kind of crowd.
She had then been given the usual spiel; no drugs, no hooking and no drunks on the stage, keep your hard shit to yourself and your ass out of trouble, all in all pretty standard stuff. She hadn't needed to audition since the place needed some fresh girls and her resume was quite impressive. She had gotten the sense that this wouldn't be such a bad place to work. It was clean, relatively safe and the boss didn't seem to be like some of the pervs she had worked with before. The final questions had dealt with her getting to work on time and getting back to her place afterward. She had made it quite clear that she'd get there on time and get the job done; if she needed help she'd ask. They both knew that wasn't true, she didn't seem like the type that would ask for a damn thing to Joe.
So here she was again on the hot dusty road back to the shack. She had a roof over her head, all hers for the first time in ages and she was back to doing the thing she loved. She felt herself coiled in anticipation, she'd rule the night tonight and be on the hunt. She would tempt and entice and maybe she'd find a willing participant, who would be willing to accept the sweet sweet hurts that only she could inflict, as she took from them all that they had to give. It would be a good night tonight she could smell it; she almost smiled into the sun.
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