Page 114 of Preacher Man

What if she did his design wrong? She'd worked on the sketch for an hour last night and then again, this morning. What if he didn’t like it? The Renegade Souls men were not easy men to take a mistake lightly and not with something so permanent as ink in their skin.

Oh, god, now she was having a tiny meltdown.

She perspired a little and walked across her little windowless room to grab a water bottle, drinking half of it, she went through her steps in her mind of what she needed to do. She had this, she’d left college with her arts degree ... just barely ... life had been shitty back then, what was new, right? Bombing most of her classes to take care of Rita and her constant running melodrama she called her teenage life at the time, but she managed to scrape by with makeup tests, and rather than use it to get into some prestigious art school, or a museum, she’d showed her credentials to a local tattoo parlor for fast money, and was hired on a trial basis. Two years later, with enough money saved, she’d bought out his small shop when he wanted to retire to Florida. A year after that she had to sell it on to Big Si who still ran it.

Life was a kick in the balls like that, she was back where she started, on a lower rung than she had been, but rather than feel despondent about it, Ruby was excited to get her hands into something creative again.

A knock on the doorjamb reared her around, and she smiled at Snake who framed the entire entryway blocking out the light behind him.

“Come on in. I have everything ready. Do you want to take a second look at my sketch before I trace it out?”

“Sure, babe. But I trust you.”

Ruby was glad one of them had confidence in her. Strengthening her jittery shoulders, she thought of what Preacher had told her this morning;Ruby, you got this. Short, simple, true. She watched Snake strip the shirt over his head, popped-muscles and skin exposed, she was too busy whittling her lip to care he was half naked as she passed him the sketch he’d asked for and awaited his decision. "It's amazing, babe. I got no problems with it, and don't look so nervous, I trust Preacher's girl."

Preacher's girl. She gulped.

"That's good. But Armageddon was yesterday, today we have a serious problem." She smiled quoting one of her favorite movies. Snake laughed getting it. See, it was only Preacher man who was movie-lacking, one of these nights, when they weren't humping to death, she'd have to educate the man.

Four years out of the inking business. It was like riding a bike …right?

No time like the present to find out, she mused, taking a big bolstering breath and began mixing her inks into little pots.

******

Precisely ten minutes after he’d left the club compound, Texas stepped off his bike, it was an unseasonably sticky June day, every breath felt like he was sucking in honey, he sauntered towards theShop N Go on South Logan Street. The very same store that was the location for Hades’ murder last year. He showed no outwards signs that it was anything other than a mom and pop store that sold beef jerky and titty-mags. A gruesome necessary act, Zara still wasn’t the same for it, for everything those Raging Rebels had put her through, and mind, Texas had only heard very few details, Rider not wanting to talk about his old lady’s ordeal, but he knew those men, knew what they were capable of, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to fathom what she’d endured. They were all glad Hades was dead.

Ironic though, that this meeting was taking place at the scene of the crime no one knew about except for those who wore the Renegade Souls patch.

The black SUV stood out like a sore thumb parked on the side of the road. Could he have looked more conspicuous, jackass?

The jackass in question was tall, Texas knew him to be exactly six-two, even as he leaned against the driver’s side of the car, dressed immaculately in a tailored slate gray suit and black loafers, the top two buttons on the white shirt was open, and Texas judged him for no tie. Who didn’t wear a tie with an eight-hundred-dollar suit? It was just bad dress sense.

“You look like a fucking cop waiting out here. Why not go the whole way and put on the flashing lights?” His tone clipped, eyes clocking just who was going in and out of the store, the last thing he wanted was for someone to recognize him.

“I am a fucking cop.” The man grinned some hundred-watt white toothpaste commercial smile.

“Really, Malachai, this was the best place to meet?”

“What? I was hungry. I grabbed a pizza pocket from inside, not bad, could do with more spice.”

“Right.” Texas inhaled and shifted on his feet, both gloved hands in his pockets. He wore gloves for every meeting,too goddamn many, he didn’t put anything past the ATF officer to want Texas’ fingerprints, it was bad enough he was wearing a noose tied around his neck.

“What do you want?”

“It’s like that, is it? We can make this pleasant you know, it doesn’t have to be this way at all.”

“Nothing is ever pleasant with you. Spit it out.”

“I need information about----”

“Nope. Not going to do that. You’ve asked before and I’ve told you time and again, it’s not happening.” He took a deep inhale and tried to steady his nerves, a kid came out of the store, looked at both men before climbing onto his pedal bike. Texas turned his attention back to the cop.

“You haven’t heard me out yet.”

A fucking cop. He was having a secret meeting with a cop no one knew about.

Shoot him now.

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