Page 53 of Preacher Man

Fucking hangovers. He forgot.

He was awoken by an almighty banging on the door. Fuck that, he’d paid until twelve. He growled for whoever it was to fuck off and buried his head under the pillow so he could die in peace, the throbbing sounded like a drill at each temple.

“Fucking hell, man. Put some draws on, I just had pancakes and the sight of your lily-white ass is not doing anything for my gag reflex.” A voice inside his room said.

Inside. His. Room.

Asher bound out of bed like he was shot out of a rocket, reaching for his weapon instinctively. A gun he no longer had, but the nature was there.

“Jesus. How did you move so fast, man?” Grinder laughed showing he’d brought two steaming cups. “And any time you wanna put pants on that’d be great, unless you like swinging in the wind.”

With Asher’s heart somewhere in his throat, a giant ball of nerves, he unclenched his fists glaring at the guy, memories from last night coming back in a hard rush, or he would have choked the fucker for being in his room. Speaking of. He yanked on a pair of denim. “How the hell did you get in?“ He hadn’t heard a thing.

Grinder chuckling, handed over a coffee so hot the Styrofoam burned his fingertips and so black Asher almost whimpered his thanks. Asher plonked down on the side of the bed and rubbed his military buzz cut hair. Some habits were hard to break. He was going to let it grow any day now.

“Didn’t I mention last night I do a bit of B&E? My daddy was a bounty hunter, learned everything from him. You weren’t answering and I’ve been standing out there twenty minutes. You’re damn late, by the way. Rider doesn’t give second chances. I spoke up for you, said I’d come get your ass.”

“Shit. Let me grab a shower, I stink like a sewer.” Halfway to the bathroom, a mouthful of coffee swilled down his throat he turned back, the guy making himself comfortable in the only armchair the shitty motel room had. He wore his leather cut today. Asher eyed it.

“That happened last night, at the bar? My memory is sketchy. There was some showdown with your boys?”

“Yeah, nothing new with the Raging Rebels, they have a hard-on for our territory. You showed their VP, though, talk is his leg is fucked.”

“And the other one, scruffy dude, with a glare like a bee sting?” He questioned, only picking up pieces from last night.

Grinder smirked, mouth on his cup. “Hawk. That’s my VP. You left an impression on him, that is, he wasn’t impressed, but nothing personal, he doesn’t like anyone.”

“Huh. I was sure I dreamed that scary fucker.”

“A lot say the same when he’s running behind them with a knife.”

In the shower, Asher scrubbed at his face, didn’t bother shaving, and ran through all the cons for even going to this MC to work. The list ran into the tens, every one of them a bad idea, but he needed the money, and it wasn’t like he’d want to stick around.

“Come the fuck on, Preacher, we got places to go!” Yelled Grinder. Asher in the process of dressing yanked the door open buck naked and dripping water everywhere, he did like swinging in the wind. Scowling. “Who the shitting hell is Preacher?”

Present Day.

Lost in memory lane, down on the garage floor, Preacher had almost fixed the problem with the bike by the time he lifted his head and looked over at his best friend. He never did ask Grinder what he’d seen in him that night at the bar to make him stick his neck out for him, or why when he told Grinder all about his episodes that he still sponsored him and cajoled him into patching into the club.

What did any of the brothers see in each other, but loyalty, a trust that ran deep and an endless row of friendships that interlocked in one amalgamation of the club? Preacher couldn’t say that was what made him go to the club that day, it really had just been about the money, but day after day he’d stuck around, saw how things ran, how close the boys were, what they did for each other, going back to back, walking into danger for each other. He hadn’t known exactly what he was doing with his life until then, until he’d seen what he wanted in the Renegade Souls.

It still took years for Hawk to like him. That fussy weirdo. But they still didn't cuddle, thank god.

Wiping his hands, he sauntered over to where Grinder was working on an engine, whistling to himself. Preacher cuffed him quickly around the shoulder in a bro-way yanking his hat off and ruffled his hair, pissing him off ‘cause the guy liked his hair just right. Grinder had always been honest with him, been there for him in the shittiest times. The friends didn’t have secrets and he wasn’t going to start now. “What you asked earlier about Ruby … it’s something. Not sure what, but it’s something.”

“Gotcha.” Grinder answered with a smile. He didn’t rag Preacher. Just grinned flashing white teeth against the darkness of his beard. “I don’t need you to come with me this trip, hopefully I won’t be alone though. Can you finish that off for me? I gotta head off a while.”

Giving Preacher a knowing smirk Grinder nodded. “Sure thing, buddy. Remember try not to say pussy this time, chicks are so damn sensitive.”

Both men laughed and Preacher went to wash up.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“This is Ruby's vagina calling for Preacher's dick. Can it come out to play? - Booty-call

The filth was fertile in Preacher’s mind as he strode through the doors to Otis’ bar an hour after he hadn’t found Ruby at home. Her work was the next possible choice and bingo her car was in the parking lot. He would explain he was a jackass, and then he’d talk her into coming outside with him for a little foreplay. If she hadn’t sneaked out of his bed this morning he would have woken up how he wanted to; planted deep making her scream. Instead, he’d spent the day calling himself all the assholes under the sun.

She’d agreed to more time. Not letting her out of that, he decided. The shit she'd cried out when he'd been tonguing her was a bonded contract between two people, just let her try to wriggle out of it, the beautiful tiny dancer had a fight on her hands.