Page 9 of Heaven Help Me

“Fuck yeah,” the dark-haired pregnant woman by his side says. She reacts first, thrusting out her hand toward me. “I’m Betsy. I like your outfit, Landry.”

With my former line of work, I had to be an excellent judge of character—it was pretty much the difference between life or death—and this woman seems genuine. “Thanks, Betsy. The red was a little bright but I was going into battle.”

Betsy shrugs. “I get it. The women around here go into battle with ruffles and lace and florals, but I prefer black. All black.”

I nod. “I like black too. Easy to get blood stains out of.”

Betsy’s eyebrows pull together in a frown, but she barks out a laugh. “Not one of my reasons for wearing it, but I see your point.”

Deuce squeezes the shit out of my waist in warning. I flick my ponytail over my shoulder, knowing it whips him in the face. He sputters and the sound makes me happy.

“I’m staying here in Heaven for a bit. Any places I should check out?”

“Wait a second,” the blond man pipes up, turning mostly to Deuce. “Since when do you have a girlfriend?”

“Well, Val-Landry and I have been talking for awhile. I knew her back in New York when we were kids. We decided she should come stay with me for a bit while we get to know each other again. See if we’re compatible, you know?”

Other than the mix-up on my name, that almost sounded believable. His friend must not think so because his mouth flops open and closed like a fish for a few seconds.

It takes all of my willpower to do it, but I lean my head on Deuce’s shoulder like a smitten girlfriend. “I hate to meet y’all and run, but I really need to unpack and take a shower. Travel really takes it out of ya.”

I threw in a little Southern slang in there, ignoring the way Deuce nearly chokes on his own tongue. He releases my waist and I immediately shuffle sideways an inch or two to get some much-needed space away from him.

Betsy rubs her belly, turning back toward the door with a sympathetic smile. “I don’t like socializing either. I think we’ll get along famously, Landry.”

I’m not so sure about that. She seems pretty chill, which I like, but friendships aren’t something I’ve fostered over the years as the head of a crime family. People kissed my ass because they didn’t want me to kill them or their families. Trust doesn’t come easily and friendships built on genuine affection are foreign to me.

Betsy’s husband stays put to hold his hand out to finally shake mine, which I do. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcome. I was just a little shocked, is all. Besides falling for the best friend a guy could ever have, I think you’ll fall in love with Heaven too. We’re glad you’re here.”

I blink at this effusive praise of both Deuce and this Podunk town. Huh. That’s weird. Silas really likes Deuce. I just never saw Deuce as best friend material. He was like me, raised in a world where backstabbers don’t really garner loyal friends, and friendships could be used as leverage against you.

“Um, thanks. I, uh, hope your baby has a small head.”

Everyone looks at me like I’ve lost it. I mean, doesn’t a pregnant woman want a small-headed baby? It’s gotta go through the fucking exit. Small heads seem like what one would wish for. Not that I would know. I’ve never wanted one of those little squirming crying things.

Deuce shoots me a look I can’t interpret and walks his friends to the door. They stay a few more minutes chatting while I hover by the stairs, wondering if I should head up to my room or wait Deuce out. When the door finally clicks and Deuce walks back, he swipes a hand over his face, looking as exhausted as I feel.

“Okay, we need to get you dressed as soon as possible. More people might stop by and we need to…” He trails off, waving his hand up and down in front of me. “…fix this.”

“Excuse me?” I snap, instantly reaching for the knife I keep strapped to my leg below the pants.

Deuce puts a hand on my shoulder, stopping me. “You don’t look like you fit in here. If we’re to keep your identity a secret, we need you to dress the part.”

I straighten, leaving the knife sheathed for now. “Why would people be stopping by?”

Deuce lifts a shoulder and lets it drop. “This is the South, baby. People drop in for visits all the time.”

I grimace. “That sounds terrible. And don’t call me baby.”

Deuce smirks and I have to admit—in my head only, of course—that he’s gorgeous when he does that. He’s got this model quality about him. Like he stepped off a Paris runway to visit this small town and lost his way back.

“Everyone has a nickname here, so yours might as well be baby.”

“Absolutely not.” I’m seriously thinking of grabbing for the knife again.

Deuce holds up his hands in peace. A fancy gold watch winks from below his sleeve. “Fine. Not baby. But you’ll definitely get called honey, so prepare yourself.” A single eyebrow lifts. “You can’t reach for your knife every time someone calls you honey or you’ll terrorize this whole town before the day is over.”

I scowl. “I hate it here.”