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“You must be Simon,” said Dane, all politeness. “I’ve heard much about you from Vienna.”
Ha, lie.
Simon’s eyes flickered, pain flashed across his face, and his head twitched slightly. Then the alarm slid from his expression and was replaced by pure arrogance. His posture changed in an instant. He held himself taller, steadier, like the world and everything in it was beneath him. He looked down at me, and my stomach sank.
I swallowed. “Hello, Deacon.”
Chapter Seven
“Hello, princess,” said Deacon, his mouth curling ever so slightly. His smile often held a mocking tint, but fortunately not when he looked at me.
As a child, I’d automatically accepted the presence of my father’s other personalities—or alters, as they were referred to. I’d played games with young Freddie. I’d baked cookies with the very maternal Maggie. I’d hidden behind Deacon while he yelled at whoever had upset Simon or me, which was often my mother. And I hadn’t thought anything of it—it had been the norm to me. Until I went to live with Melinda and Wyatt.
They’d educated me on Dissociative Identity Disorder—or DID—so I knew enough about it to understand that I had no need to be afraid. Simon’s alters weren’t varying degrees of Mr. Hyde. They were his protectors, in a sense. They’d developed to help him deal with the horrific abuse he’d suffered as a child when he’d tried dissociating from it, and they’d made it possible for him to survive it.
There were three “people” inside Simon’s system—Freddie, who was eight, Maggie, who was forty, and Deacon, who was thirty-five. Unlike with some cases of DID, they internally interacted with each other. They even had a sort of co-consciousness, which meant that although only one alter would be dominant at a time, the others would be aware of what was going on. It seemed to make things less confusing for them.
Deacon tipped his chin toward Dane. “So this is the guy you talked about, huh?”
I nodded. “This is the guy.”
Deacon studied his face. “She didn’t tell you about me,” he correctly guessed. He sliced his gaze back to me. “What about Freddie? Maggie? You kept us all a secret?” He tutted. “That’s not nice.”
“Yeah, well, neither are you a lot of the time.”
He snickered. “I’m never nice, princess.”
Deacon wasn’t cruel or evil, but he had a “don’t fuck with me” attitude and was aggressively protective. He could be violent to those he considered a threat—I’d witnessed it firsthand.
I turned to Dane. “You should go.” Deacon could be weird if he felt he had to compete for my attention. Perhaps because he didn’t surface often, and I was the only person he liked to interact with.
A mocking smile curved Deacon’s mouth as he stared at my boss, who hadn’t moved an inch. “Aw, he doesn’t want to go. He’s worried I’ll hurt you. How sweet.” Deacon sank into the dining chair and stretched out his legs, utterly relaxed.
“I’ll be fine,” I told Dane.
“I believe you.” He leaned against the doorjamb, making it clear he wasn’t going anywhere.
For fuck’s sake. “You really should go.” But he didn’t.
Deacon laughed. “Looks like you won’t be able to push this one around.”
Annoyance fluttered through me. The thing was … I had to veil that annoyance, otherwise Deacon would jump to my defense and toss Dane out. Oh, sure, he found Dane amusing for now. That could change in an instant. Deacon was a mercurial character.
The best I could do was ignore Dane altogether in the hope that Deacon—satisfied that he had my total attention—would ignore him, too.
Deacon looked at me as I took the seat opposite him. “Freddie texted you?” It wasn’t really a question.
“He thought Simon would need me,” I said.
“He did. He was a wreck.” Deacon’s upper lip curled. “I don’t know why he lets the memories of that bitch get to him so much. She was nothing but a worthless fucking skank.”
“Agreed.”
“Corrine was the same,” he said, referring to my mother. “The only thing she was ever good at was fucking with his head. I’d say she eventually learned her lesson.”
Oh, Deacon had taught her a lesson all right.
His brows drew together as he glanced around the room. “I need a smoke. Fucking Maggie always throws away my stash. Smoking’s bad for you, apparently.”
“I thought that was just a rumor,” I quipped.
His mouth canted up into a small smile. He looked at my boss again. “You smoke?”
“No, I don’t,” replied Dane, his voice even.
Deacon shrugged. “I guess nobody’s perfect.” He turned back to me and gestured at Dane. “What about this guy? He good to you?”
“I wouldn’t be dating him if he wasn’t,” I carefully answered.
“True.” Deacon’s gaze cut to him again. “If you hurt her, you deal with me.”
“Understood,” said Dane.
Deacon squinted. “No, I don’t think you do really understand. But you will if you ever harm her.” His eyes met mine again. “Simon wants to talk to you now.”
