Page 62 of Preacher Man

He couldn’t have feelings for her or anyone, he was a cancer that had no cure.

Wasn’t that whattheysaid?

His snarl was bitter and just a tiny bit unhinged as he replied.

H: 10:41 - Don’t message again, Gia. Get on with your nice normal life. I have no time to baby you.

He fucking hated himself. His gut burned. He tossed the phone to the bed and punched his fist into the wall, blood exploded out of the already torn knuckles. Did it again just to regroup himself.

“Motherfucker!” He snarled, teeth bared, eyes wild. Both fists clutching the side of his head, hating the noise.

He didn’t want to look at her reply. She was too reasonable, he could hurt her and still like a goddamn abused puppy wagging its tail it would come back for more affection.

Blood rushed through his ears.

He felt sick. Bile rising in his throat.

Don’t make me look. Delete it. Fucking delete it, now!

It sat like a tumor inside his cell phone. Mocking him. Mastering him.

He looked. Instantly regretting it. Imagining her crestfallen face was about as bad as it got. Did her eyes fill with tears? Because of him and his cruelty.

G: 10:44- One day I’ll learn my lesson. Bye, Hawk. Take care of yourself.No emoji this time.

It was whispered he was insane. He’d heard more than one person say it when they thought he wasn’t taking notice.

He always took note.

They weren’t wrong.

What else would explain this disease he had for a little bit of a thing crawling into his pores. He couldn’t shake it, out run it. Even now his cock was raging to be stroked, to empty inside her.

She was forbidden for good reason. Couldn’t she understand it was for her own good? He didn’t need Rider to kill him to get that message loud and clear. So why wasn’t he letting it go? Knives continued to dig into his kidneys, a harsh reminder of the self-inflicted pain only brought on with his obsession of one little bit of a thing.

Maybetheywere right. His nasty was growing.You have a cancer in you, child, it’s black and badness the devil put there, only acts of goodness can expunge you.What they did was nothing good. And that’s what it always came back to. When he thought he could try being normal, the cancer gripped him again, the nastiness festered and spilled out of his guts. He was disturbed in the most hidden ways. A demon walking with men. Sweet Gia didn’t deserve that touching her.

Hawk couldn’t breathe. He felt his lungs constrict tightly in his chest, air blocked half way down. He ripped open the door, pounded his boots down the corridor, lost for a second, he pushed his way into the common room, all eyes hit him, one dared to even venture forward, he snarled, warning them off. Fucking idiots trying to be friends.

He needed no one and wanted none.

When his fucked-up gaze landed on a bitch, no taller than his shoulder, red hair cut in a straight neck bob and tits bigger than melons, the opposite of his little bit of a thing, he pointed a long finger, curled his lip when her eyes rounded then smoked out to lust.

Fucking idiot.

Motioning her forward, only one thing would get rid of Gia.

When she got closer, he smelled her fear, she was unsure of him, rightly so.Be afraid. Please be fucking afraid, girl.

She’d get off. They all got off with him. He didn’t care, didn’t try to get them there.

He only wanted his noise to go away.

To make his fucked-up addiction disappear.

Because what good could come of it? The little bit of a thing was wrong in every eventuality.

They were never friends.

---