Page 129 of Preacher Man

Ruby was more dangerous than any hard narcotic.

For a while sitting there recounting good stories about Shane he forgot his buried anger and allowed himself to feel what he was feeling; missing his brother.

He was no hero, but sometimes it was good to pretend. Ruby made it easy as she stayed at his side, holding his hand, laughing at the right things, asking him for another story, he felt like the hero.

He understood better than most the desire for anonymity, he’d found it in the Renegade Souls. No one cared who he was before, just who he was to his club brothers now.

He was an outlaw. Not a nice one either.

He was doing shady shit even before Rider recruited him into the club. He didn’t mind getting his hands dirty, the only thing he refused to do anymore was to use his military sharpshooter skill. He'd bluntly told Rider before patching in that was off the table. He had no interest in being an enforcer, just as well the club had two on staff with Hawk and Lawless, those two crazy fucks would toss a coin to see who got to do the murdering.

Rider needed a guy beat down; Preacher could do that. They needed someone leaned on for info, Preacher stepped in. He had contacts all over the country for their shady dealings that came in useful. He could easily give his road captain position to another member more suited, but he enjoyed it, the organizing rides for the brothers, the freedom, being the man in front when they went out in force together. An adrenaline rush no drug could touch. Same as his military days.

Fuck. he was a dick for leaving his team in the wind.No man left behind. And he’d walked away without a backward glance.Shane. O’Mara. Denby. All lost their lives that day. And Preacher had walked the fuck away from those who survived. Cunt move.

His chest felt lighter somehow. An hour ago, he would have thought it impossible to ever feel that way again. A smile cracked up one side of his face as he coasted his free hand over the shaved part of his skull, it felt a little long, he needed it clipping again. It flashed a memory that made him grin. “Did I ever tell you, baby, about the time Shane said he’d give me a cool as fuck haircut and I ended up with a sideways mohawk? I was the most badass five-year-old at kindergarten.”

Ruby’s giggle was a goddamn balm.

Preacher talked for another hour.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

“I wish I knew why he asked me every time if I was good. I wish I knew why he looked at me in that way that made me hot and shy and ... I couldn't breathe." – Paige

He’d volunteered to come meet Grigori with his Russian circus. Rider was too busy clucking over his old lady, Preacher was gonna win that bet for sure.

The Russian he'd been waiting twenty minutes for, dickhead was late, finally climbed out of the back-passenger side door of a black Jaguar, he wore a three-piece slate gray suit with a thick wool overcoat. He didn’t get the memo it was June almost July and hot as Hell even with the gusts of wind coming from the mountains, Preacher’s balls were sweating so this guy had to have been like a faucet in his jockeys.

Dimly cognizant of the rhythmic slap-slap of the guy’s patent leather shoes on the asphalt, Preacher let the guy and his minder come all the way over to him before he shifted off the wall, stepped forward and unlike most of the Renegade Souls boys, he played nice.

Plastering a nice wide smile on his face he offered a hand that was grasped in a sweaty palm.

“Good to see ya, Grigori. Rider sends his apologies he had something else he needed to attend to, but I can see to whatever you boys got a need for.”

Lie. lie. Lie. He was here as the Renegade Souls representative, only Rider or Hawk had the power to agree to any deals going down concerning the club. The Russians had nothing theSoulswanted right now, not if they continued to try to muscle in on theSoulsterritory as they were doing, but as he said, giving them a courtesy, better to start off on the right lying foot than an animosity tussle. See what cards were dealt first. For all they knew the Russians wanted to bring them a pound cake and a bottle of Vodka and wish them a happy fucking spring time.

“Preacher, is it not?” The voice condescending. Asshole knew him alright. Playing the ‘who are you again’ game was for punks who liked the upper hand, if he needed to measure his dick that way go for it,ruski. The Russian underboss to theirPakhanAlexei, smiled. A pasty sickly fake smile that didn’t reach his malevolent eyes. Preacher flicked his gaze to the stocky dude at his side who had seen prettier days, what with the smashed nose angled off to the right side and the wicked scar along one-half of his ugly mug, this Russian had a face only his blind mom could love.

“Where is that crazy-fuck second in command if the president is busy?” The Russian inquired, pulling out a white handkerchief, the man dabbed his upper lip and forehead. The crazy-fuck would be Hawk and currently hiding out, also Rider would have never sent Hawk for this meet, he was too unpredictable, the last time he put a world of hurt on some of Alexei’s Russians.

Preacher rolled his shoulder.

“He had summit to do. So, you got me.” Turns out, as meetings go this wasn’t such a bad one, in comparison, Preacher, had seen some doozies over the years, ones in which guns were drawn, blood was shed and lives lost. You never knew how a meeting would turn out in these situations until it was all over and done with and you counted the chips you left the table with.

He'd be going back to the clubhouse intact. Grigori made a noise of wanting a piece of Armado. Preacher had to question why Alexei, who held New York, and was all accounts a mafia don to rival most, would even want a part of Colorado, the Russian member of thebratvahad looked him in the eye and told him in a cocky smirking tone ‘that’s for us to know, comrade.’

As meetings go it wasn’t bad, but there was nothing good in it either. The Russians left as quick as they’d arrived having done what they set out to do, to let the Renegade Souls know they were going to be a presence in Colorado, one way or another, the bad taste in Preacher’s mouth was foreboding for whatever they intended to come next.

The last Rider had heard The Apollo Kings MC wanted nothing to do with theBratvaeither, it was only the Raging Rebels who had climbed into bed with the cold front, they ran everything in New York, talk was they were moving in on the Chicago turf against the Italian mob, good luck with that, those mafia were more possessive of their shit than a magpie was of his shinies, but that was their own war, he didn’t care one way or another, other than the underground talk that filtered out this way from time to time. Renegade Souls had their fingers in a lot of pies, none of those pies were run by the different strings of the mafia, Rider liked his bed and wouldn’t climb into anyone else’s. Preacher was in accord with his president.

Taking the stroll through the midday sun back to his bike, he switched from potential worry for the club, to his lady. He’d been seeing a lot of Ruby lately, not that it was every day, but they spoke every day, she was fucking bewitching him, had him wrapped around her little witchy finger, and the minx knew it. Maybe tonight he’d break into her apartment and fuck her awake, show her who was in charge.

Preacher, on a run with Lawless last night and with not knowing when he’d get finished with hisslightlyillegalactivities he hadn’t ended up at her place between her thighs as he’d wanted, instead they’d done a little bit of phone sex, jacking off into his own hand until her cries had him deaf for the sweetest minute. Damn, when his lady came she really came hard. He’d made her tell him all her dirty little secrets in her post-orgasmic euphoria, imagining her lying in her soft warm bed with her eyes fluttered closed, breath labored coming down slowly, fingers still sticky and her legs shaking.

There was no quitting Ruby.

She had climbed into his turmoil and made herself at home, fixing him one brick at a time from the inside, powerless to stop her, she touched his pain and made it a little better each time.

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