Page 99 of Preacher Man

Apart from that, he was a step down from being certifiable.

And what if one day, when he dropped his guard when he thought everything was hunky dory and he was no longer pissing in the wind of anxiety, what happened when he hurt Ruby, had one of his episodes and he choked the life out of her?

Exhaling he braced his shoulder, letting his eyes travel across the street, along to that small diner with the teacups painted on the window, he saw eyes on him, he stared blankly until the waitress looked away. Not today, Shirley. Funny that. He didn’t want to fuck her, good looking woman, nice and trim, big tits, bet she fucked good as well, you could tell the good ones who were givers.

It was Ruby again. That little runaway.

He thought of her text messages. Seemed she had about as much on her plate as he did. And it gnawed at the back of his head. What was she going through? Could he help her? He wanted to. The type of woman she was she probably wouldn’t accept it.

Screw it. He took a last draw of his smoke, the cigarette only half was gone but he flicked it to the ground and stomped it out under his thick soled boot. Any more and he’d smoke the entire pack and what was the purpose of going cold turkey all those months, he’d make a shit non-smoker if he took it up on the regular.

Besides, he preferred sex as his vice of choice. If he wanted an addiction he would do it planted deep and wet.

And that wasn’t easily on tap, even now as diner Shirley gave him the come fuck me eye. He could lead her behind the diner, pull up her little light blue dress and fuck her right there. Five minutes he’d be relaxed as a goat in shit.

Only the sex he wanted had run off from him.

The sex he craved like a dying man had left his ass in a grubby motel room holding his own shaft.

If he wasn’t about to meet up with Genty he’d already be hunting Ruby down and screwing her seven ways until Sunday, her until she was sorry for that stunt.

Thank Christ for sex. It was his stretch of mental calm. Preacher could be in his triggers and still stable as a rock on the outside. Maybe it was a gift. Maybe it was bourbon. Either way, for the most part, any given day was solid even when he didn’t feel so steady in his own self-deprecating thoughts, he could be his own basket case neurotic and still function to do his job.

Do the job.

Deal with the problems here, win back the girl.

Seemed easy breezy on paper.

Only his tiny dancer was a stubborn gorgeous pig-headed mule. And they called him the bad one. Go figure, it was always the outlaw with the rep and not the beautiful goddess.

He’d just have to peel back her layers. It was the only thing for it.

Now that was decided, Preacher, rested a shoulder to the side of the building, watched a big black SUV pull into the four-car port that was empty and for good reason, he didn’t want witnesses to this little meet-cute. Genty and his minder climbed on out. Genty in his usual jeans and a waistcoat, his boy packing heat under the thick coat, two 9mm’s if Preacher was correct. But that was okay, he had his own as well. Not that he expected things to go south, this was only a changeover of contacts, from Preacher to H and his boys.

Preacher knew Genty from way back, he tended to deal in goods that were … less than legal. He could get his hands on anything you needed for a cut down price, but he also had paranoia a mile long. He once was convinced he was being watched by the Feds and went into hiding for a month. Turns out he was being watched, but it had been a bit extreme for him to bunker down in his mom's basement like he was a fucking sixteen-year-old holding his own cock and slurping on orange soda, the man kept his business tight, no paper trail, no charges were brought. Now he moved around, Genty was never in the same town for more than a month.

He slapped hands with the guy and nodded to two-gun Pete. At that, two bikes roared up the street, all three men looked on as H in front pulled in at the side of the SUV, along with Red Light.

Preacher was sweating under his Henley, he’d kill for a bottle of water, stupidly he’d left it back at the motel while he brooded over the tiny dancer who had absconded from his bed. Feisty minx. He was going to fuck her brains out until she begged for forgiveness. Maybe when he had her sucking his cock he’d give it.

“H. Red.” He nodded. H slapped his palm, Red dropped back a step and eyeballed the minder in no easy friendly way. The thing with Red was, he had a hair-trigger temper, like really fucking triggery, he’d fight first, ask questions later, or in Red Light’s, case not ask any questions, the fighting was enough talk. He used to box in his younger days, the talk was he was good on the underground circuit.

All the Renegade Souls boys had a crazy tick somewhere, he ruminated as he hung back and let Genty get a feel for H and vice versa. Maybe that was why Rider collected the guys he did. Crazy but loyal to the prez.

“Watch this one.” Preacher didn’t notice Red at his side until he was there talking in a hushed voice.

Shock went through him but he didn’t show it. Rather, he turned his head and Red was looking at the minder.

“Say what?”

“Big fucker with the hammer-head. He’s twitchy. See how he’s shifting on his feet and fingers going at his side. Believe me, he’s itching for a fight.”

“Well don’t you be answering his call, jackass.” The name-calling came organically, Preacher didn’t even think about it since they were both talking in quiet voices. “This is just a meet for H. You wanna fight? You and me can throw fucking down later.”

“I won’t start it. He will.”

And what do you know? Bruiser did start something. Oh, it was subtle, just a turn of his body, Preacher saw it too late having walked over to get in on the talk with Genty, make sure he was square with H.

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