Page 52 of Preacher Man

“And you’re just a pretty bastard ain’t ya.” He side-eyed, supping his beer and tossing back some more roasted nuts, stale as fuck, but hey, it was food. “If you’re trying to romance me, gotta say, not my type, and not looking to be recruited into whatever KKK cult you might have going on. Just passing through whatever bumfuck town this is.”

His head hurt. Right in the back where the shit lived, it pulsed and made Ash slip on his seat, listing off to the side as his eyeballs throbbed and he caught flashes of things he’d rather forget, just tear them out of his brain.

“Woah, man, watch yourself before you faceplant, don't know what kinda nasty shit is on this floor, you get me?”

Lights popped behind Ash’s eyes, a slideshow of phantom pain that came from the heart and not any limb he could identify.

“I’m alright.” He lied a minute later once the sensation in his head had passed, but he pushed his beer away, maybe time to get to a motel for the night. “What town is this anyway?”

“Just outside Westbank Falls.”

Ah fuck. He’d circled back home. Well fuck.

Didn’t all stones roll home eventually? Apparently.

He sat and talked bikes with the guy for a couple hours. “I built my baby up from nothing, she was in a state when I bought her at auction, I don’t think one thing worked on it, worked five months on her.”

“No shit? She’s a work of art. We have a bike shop, just got it up and running, if you’re interested in some work. I can put in a word with my boss for you.”

He could do with some ready funds. Ash rolled a shoulder. He had no plans and hadn’t had any for so long.

“Sure. Maybe. But still not joining your cult, man.” Grinder laughed. “I gotta take a leak.”

Coming back from the bathroom a few minutes later it was as if Asher had walked into a war zone and he knew what he was talking about having seen three of them. Bikers arguing nose to nose, the atmosphere dripping animosity. The guy he’d been talking to was standing by the side of another beard faced guy. Ash took in the scene with his military training. The fat oaf in the guy’s face. Two more joined Grinder.

Whatever. He had no dogs in this fight.

Only it became Asher’s business as he tried to walk by to grab his beer and plonk at a table, when the fat oafs friend, ugly fucker, shoulder checked him.

“Walk away, man,” Asher warned with a slight slur to his tone, but he was steady as a rock on his feet, sensing trouble. Drunk he might be, stupid he wasn’t and he glared at the guy to back off before he got himself hurt on Ash's fist.

What do you know, ugly bastard didn’t listen, they never listened. Why did they never fucking listen? Ugly bastard took a swing that Asher ducked out of the way of, letting it fly in mid-air, he caught him around the head, choke hold was easy enough until he struggled to which Asher stomped on the back of his leg to take him down to one knee as he screamed. Boy, did he scream. “You’re going to stay down now. I’ll let go, stop struggling, you’re about to pass out.” Ash knew the pain must be intense with his fingers digging into the guy’s pressure point on his neck. Ugly bastard nodded furiously pleading that yes, yes, he would stop struggling. Ash let him go and took a step back.

The fracas seemed to have ground to a halt. Everyone in the bar looking towards him. Ash checked his zipper. Nope, dick was tucked away. He shrugged and swayed his way back over to where he’d left his beer, only now some idiot had swiped his bottle, or Preston/Kane had cleared it away. That was his cue to get gone.

“Damn, that was some jujitsu shit right there.”

“Jackie Chan shit.”

“Jackie Chan was martial arts, idiot!”

“What the fuck, isn’t that jujitsu?”

Asher let their talk go over his head. He knew how to handle himself and not only with a sniper rifle in his hands.

“That was impressive.” A deep voice said. Asher cocked his head to look at Grinder’s president, or so the patch on his cut said. Grunting agreement, he didn’t say much else, not when four more of his men shuffled into line. If they were about to start shit with Asher --well, they’d probably win, big shitheads. He eyed one at a time. The scruffiest one, dirty blonde hair and a beard a weed whacker would break off on glowered at him. “Something to say to me, handsome, or you just want to make out?”

One of them guffawed and shoulder bumped scruffy. “Woah, Hawk has a date, where’s my diary, I gotta write this shit down!”

“Rider, this is the Preacher. Asher Priest, I was telling you about, he’s got the touch with bikes, been building them since he was a kid.” Interjected Grinder standing directly in front of scruffy’s eyeline before he got with kissing Asher. He’d been without pussy a few nights, but even he wasn’t that desperate to get off. Besides, he didn’t look like a cuddler, and Ash needed the affection. That and a lot less dick. Like zero dick.

“My boy here said you’re interested in a job?”

“I could do with a couple days’ work.”

It was like a secret society Asher didn’t get when they all looked at each other in that silent conversation way. Was he being initiated? ‘Cause he meant it when he said he didn’t join clans, been there, never again. Not his thing.

They talked about what experience he had and seemed impressed. Told him to turn up at their club the next day.

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