Page 24 of Crossfire Creek Vengeance

“Let’s cut the crap,” Roman said. “You’re in debt up to your eyeballs to the wrong people. The kind who collect with bullets, not invoices.”

Shade’s jaw clenched. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about,” Roman countered. “And hackers in your position don’t go begging for loans. They sell something.” He tipped his chin toward Jessa. “Anything. Everything.”

Jessa stiffened beside Deacon, but Roman kept going, eyes narrowing.

“And you expect me to believe you’re suddenly doing charity work? That you warned Jessa out of the goodness of your heart?” Roman scoffed. “You took ten grand from her, payment for info to save Deacon’s life.”

Deacon’s pulse faltered. He turned his head sharply toward Jessa. “Ten thousand?”

She didn’t answer right away, not verbally. Her jaw tightened. Her gaze flicked to Shade, then to the table. Shoulders tense. Guilty. Defiant.

Silent confirmation.

Deacon swallowed the knot forming in his throat. Ten thousand dollars. To save him.

Jessa never hesitated to spend money on missions, on equipment, on her team, but on him? After everything between them?

Hell. He hadn’t expected that.

Shade dragged a hand down his face. “I gave her intel. Real intel. Worth that much.” Then he shot Roman a glare. “And it kept your sister and the sheriff from getting a bullet or two in their skulls.”

Roman leaned in, slow and deliberate, every movement a warning. “Or,” he said softly, “it put a target on her back.”

Shade opened his mouth. Closed it. No comeback. No denial.

Deacon watched the silent exchange, the weight of it, the threat in Roman’s posture, the fear Shade tried and failed to hide. Roman didn’t ease up. If anything, his voice got quieter. More dangerous.

“And while we’re discussing motives,” Roman said, eyes fixed on Shade, “let’s not forget my mother ruined you financially.”

Shade’s expression snapped as if Roman had hit him with a fist instead of a sentence. “That’s not—” Shade started, but Roman cut him off.

“She lent you money,” Roman said. “More than once. Covered debts you wouldn’t tell Jessa about. Trusted you. And you paid her back by gambling it away, owing more, then asking for more. When she cut you off, you hit bottom so hard you’re still crawling out.”

Shade flushed an angry red, fists clenching on the table. “Shut the hell up, Creed.”

Roman didn’t flinch. “That’s your motive. Not just money. Resentment. Shame. And you’d sell every secret you can scrape up if it gets you out from under whoever’s holding your leash.”

That did it.

Shade shoved to his feet so fast that every head in the diner jerked their way, forks pausing mid-air.

He glared straight at Deacon. “If you’re not arresting me, I’m leaving.”

Deacon didn’t rise. He didn’t even blink. He just looked up at the man towering over him and calmly weighed his options.

Shade was dirty, maybe not the shooter, but tangled in this mess up to his eyeballs. He’d sold Jessa intel. He knew Wynn’s movements. He knew the dark web chatter about a hit on Deacon. And someone took a shot at him tonight. Shade might not have pulled the trigger. But he damn sure wasn’t walking out of here without talking.

Deacon pulled out his phone.

Shade’s eyes widened. “What are you—”

Deacon held up a finger for silence as he hit speed dial. Two rings.

“Sheriff Chase,” Arden’s calm voice answered.

“It’s Deacon,” he said. “I’m at Luna Mae’s. I need a Crossfire Creek deputy here ASAP.”