Page 84 of Preacher Man

Like tonight.

His watchful eyes had kept a lock on the door, chiming in with his club brothers’ conversation now and then, it was like tuning out buzzing bees. His expression bored. It was no reflection on them. He was just ...bored.

All sorts traipsed through Otis' doors of an evening and if he were lucky someone of his varying tastes would trot on through like a good piece of meat.

It wasn't as though he was fussy. Only when he was.

He could mold anyone into what he wanted them to be, people were good little maggots like that.

They sliced open, butter on a summer's day, save for the spurt of blood. And minds were terribly fucking pliable under certain manipulation.

It was better if they came to him fully twisted, because if he got his hooks into them if his tick was engaged ... well, it was just better if it wasn't. He didn't like being mean if he could help it. He wasn’t a psychopath, he had a conscience,thank you very much, Bob. That was never his purpose ...andmaking excuses was a bad habit to get into.

Eyes on the door, he scratched up his neck, the black tattoo masked his entire throat and underneath his chin, an ink turtleneck, and down across his shoulders, the work had taken six sessions and two of those he'd passed out with the agony on such a sensitive part of his body. If anyone got close enough to the block of color to really study it, would see it wasn't what it seemed from a distance, small intricate layering of black spiders on a repeated loop. No one knew the reason why. Only two people knew and one of them was dead.

He wore his reminders in plain sight.

The door opened, people burst through, laughing, enjoying life. He saw a smallish chick come in with a group of seven, she was hidden behind a big wide shouldered dude for a second, but Lawless saw, he ignored them all, just regulars most probably, who cared. It was the chick he had a stare on for. Logging what he saw like he was flipping through a Sears brochure. Short dark hair, clipped close to her head, he bet with one of those hair clippers, no fancy salon for her, she had a square masculine shaped face, no pimples or freckles, effortlessly flawless skin, flat tits, not even small poked nipples, no hips to see, not a fucking curve in sight. She was straight up and down lanky. Looked to be in her early twenties.

A stirring began in his black pants. A tickling in the back of his throat. He could taste pennies. He wasn’t having a stroke.

Shifting in his seat. He took a closer look. Licked his lower lip. His dick hurt.

She didn't wear makeup, now if she didn't wear a bucket of perfume, too, she'd be perfect; For what he wanted tonight.

Callused sun damaged knuckles rapped on the table, he threw down a twenty for his share of the drink tab. "Catch you, ladies, later," he told his MC buddies who snickered. They understood his movements. They wouldn't see him until morning, maybe the day after.

Depending.

"I'm rollin' too." Rider said. But Lawless was already walking across the bar, the chick noticed him of course, being six feet four everyone noticed Lawless. That and he was told he imposed fear in most people. He didn't know why, he seldom interacted with people who weren't part of his MC until his job came into effect and then he got up real close with people and made them very, very dead. He had a black bag of goodies for the event. Maybe he could getdoctor deathas his new tattoo, he smirked a little to himself, people just didn’t get his humor, he thought he was hilarious. He could laugh someone all the way to a shallow grave.

He preferred animals most days. Animals didn't lie, cheat or call you a waste of air and they didn't throw you out into the wild when you were only seven.Momma, what did I do wrong?

There were those animals who ate their young, however.

Oh yeah, she'll do.He smiled to himself feeling like King of his own jungle. Swagger, swagger,nice to eat you.

A fast pace in his chest. He let her see him eyeing her up and down. Let her recognize what was going to happen to her nice boyish body. Gangly and thin with a nondescript face. He didn’t care about her name, he wouldn’t be using it.

The chick fidgeted but didn't look away, she gravitated apart from her group and towards him, meeting him somewhere halfway.

See that, molding and he hadn't had to do a thing. A look was all it took.

People were easy. Animals made you work for their affection. Fucking people begged for it like embarrassing pieces of meat.

"You look like a man," he told the androgynous chick in his whiskey-deep voice, his neck craned down and he sniffed deeply. Not a hint of perfume on her skin. Perfect. And up close he saw she was of age. He would have chucked her back into the pond otherwise.Bad fish, he didn't do them young. He was a fucking deviant, not a monster.

She grimaced and touched her shaved hair as if offended for a second, ready to tell him to fuck off by the tenor of her scowl. "I like it," he followed up with. Teeth bared, he licked his lower lip. "You want to get out of here?"

Straight to the point. He touched her pulse in her throat, just with a finger, it was hammering excited or afraid. He hoped excited. He wanted full participation.

"Eh. I'm with friends. We could grab a drink." Even her voice wasn’t sweet or feminine. She’d scream.

Stroking his eyes over her square face, thin lips, she didn't even have long lashes, he could already see the bindings he'd use on her. Tight rubber.

"I don't want a drink."

"Oh. Well, another time then." She smiled up at him all shy and needy. He could paint those cheeks in his come.