Page 113 of Preacher Man

“I’m never eating tacos again.”

“Until next Tuesday.” Fired back someone.

On the inside Texas was smiling and casting looks around the table at the patched in brothers, the only members allowed in this sacred room to ever see the great oak table and the gavel sat by Rider's right hand. Watching Rider come undone was Christmas morning and maple pancakes. Texas would eat maple pancakes all day long especially if they had crumbled Canadian smoked bacon on top.

That’s what this conversation was.

Fucking glorious. He hoped he won the pool. He only needed one more day, that was all before they had to reset it again, for the third time, Rider was slow-as-fuck to catch on, just one more day was going to be the day, he could feel it. Rider glowered at them all, each of the brothers earning his own personal marked president scowl that said he was signing his own death warrant if they joked one goddamn minute more about his sick old lady.

Of course, if sweet Zara really was sick. Well, that would suck, because they had a pool going and that was a little bit crass of them.

Even if he did want to win.

He had a good feeling about this pool, he’d lost the last five and here he was the money man. Bad for his reputation to drop hundreds time after time.

He adjusted his blue tie and ran a hand through his short clipped brown hair, resting both hands on the table top to listen in as the meeting got underway.

His phone vibrated in his jeans pocket and he felt the kick of dread in his gut, that low oily sense that made his breakfast want to hurl into his throat and Texas hated, absolutely hated puking, he wasn’t lying when he said he’d turned green when watching Zara triple backflip her way to vomit in the trash earlier, he’d gotten himself out of there, Texas couldn’t deal with puke of any kind, so it would suck for him to now throw up all over the sanctioned table. He wouldn’t, of course, he had better manners than that, but as the silent phone vibrated again, stopped and went at it again, his brain checked out of the meeting and he swallowed back the bile.

Ignoring the phone. He would ignore it.

But he’d never changed his number.

He should change it, he knew that. But just … couldn’t.

“If you ball-bags have quit your fuckin’ gossipin’ for a minute, can I have the damn floor back.” Rider didn’t pose it as a question, his gaze ranged up and down the table, and every voice shut up. All but one.

“It wasn’t me, boss.” Snake pointed a finger right at Texas who lifted his head and glowered back. Thank god, his phone became still again. They’d given up for now.

Until the next time.

“I don’t give a fuck.” Rider said. “Shut up so I can dole out jobs and get back to Icy. You can work the shop without me today, I’ll be at home.”

And so, the meeting went. Texas had a bit of paperwork to deal with in the office he usually shared with Zara, but since she was at home being ‘sick’ and hopefully winning him the pool, he would have the cabin office to himself. On a day like today he preferred it, as much as he liked their queen, he wanted to eat his protein bars in peace and have a scout around on the internet.

First, however. He slid a hand into his pocket, drew out his phone and looked through his missed calls log. Five, all from the same person. Same time, same day, different month, just like clockwork. A stormed sigh caught in Texas’ throat, taking the slow walk from the church out into the main area of the clubhouse, he didn’t stop for a coffee with Uncle Jed, or pass five minutes talking with Helen who had dropped by today, nor did he give an endless list of jobs to the prospects who were always eager and waiting. He strode out to his bike parked in its usual bay alongside Hawk's empty spot.

He had somewhere he had to go. Not wanted to go. As it stood, with his belly in a tight vice, he was sorely tempted to walk back into the club and tell Rider everything.

The text that came a minute later read the same as it always did and Texas was sure he’d ignore it this time. He read it once, then twice.

M: 4:55- Same place. Ten minutes.

He was a man of few words.

Clamping his jaw until both sets of back teeth ached, Texas started his motorcycle, watched his friends pour out of the clubhouse, laughing, horsing around, he quirked a grin and held a hand up to them before pulling on his leather gloves with the wool lining inside, zipped up his leather jacket to his chin and knocked the kickstart up.

Texas had a lot of respect for those men, a real lot, they’d banded together time and again, shown what true brotherhood was all about.

Being a brother didn't always mean blood.

******

Ruby was in love.

Touching the head rest of the high-backed cream leather chair, she ran her fingers across the arm, feeling how buttery soft it was. Second-hand, of course, one of the RS boys had gotten a good deal in town for everything she’d requested for her little back room inside their clubhouse. She smiled looking around. She was in love with everything. Rider had asked what she needed, having only taken one quick pass through of her ink book and decided right then and there she had the job. Just like that. She’d looked at him crazily at first, sure he was doing it because of Preacher, but who was she to argue, it was a job and good money,greatmoney, for very few hours work and it meshed well with her bar job. Now two weeks later here was her little room, all set up with its table, a sink, her supplies, and the gorgeous chair, she felt a sense of pride rush through her, it had been so long since she’d put ink on anyone, she hoped her skill was still there, jokingly saying to Preacher last night she needed to use him as a guinea pig first.

Too late for that since her first client was due any second now.

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