Page 15

Preacher

It took everything in me not to lay out the fat bastard in front of me the second we pulled up to the 412’s compound. My fingers itched for it, but I couldn’t blow our cover—not yet.

The asshole put on a big show, all fake grins and open arms, ushering us into the clubhouse like we were old friends. I made a mental note to touch as little as possible—the place was fucking disgusting. The air reeked of stale beer, sweat, and something foul I didn’t want to identify. Glassy-eyed whores draped themselves across furniture, barely dressed, their skin glistening under the dim yellow lights. A few of them were still snorting lines off the tables, some so far gone they barely noticed our entrance. It was as cliché as it got, just another group of lowlife bastards playing king of the junkyard.

A movement in the hallway caught my eye, and what I saw shattered the last shred of restraint I had.

A girl—young, barely seventeen—was desperately trying to pull her top together as she backed away from one of the men. The look in her eyes twisted something in my gut. Fear. Humiliation. She wasn’t consenting to whatever had just gone down.

That was it.

I gave the signal, and in a blink, my men had their weapons raised. We had the advantage—surprise, sobriety, and experience. And we took it.

Satan, the pathetic excuse for a man, lay bleeding on the floor in front of me, gasping like a fish. I pressed the barrel of my gun against his sweat-slicked forehead, voice steady as I repeated the question.

“Where’s Olivia?”

“She’s not here,” he wheezed, his breath ragged. A dark stain spread beneath him, and I grinned when the acrid scent of piss hit my nose.

“What do you want us to do with them, Pres?” Gauge asked, dragging the VP across the floor like a sack of garbage.

“Take them to the warehouse.” My grip tightened on the gun. I leaned in close, letting Satan see every ounce of certainty in my eyes. “Then we’re going to go get Olivia.”

His bloodshot eyes went wide as the realization sank in. We knew. We knew everything.

“That’s right, fucker.”

“You can’t,” he rasped, his voice breaking. “They’ll kill us.”

I leaned in just enough for him to hear me, my voice nothing more than a whisper. “I know.”

The house was different from where she’d come from. No barbed wire, no locked gates, no stink of rot and desperation. Just a normal house on a normal street, like something out of a goddamn dream. If I’d crawled out of hell, maybe I’d have aimed for heaven too.

I knocked on the door and ran a hand down my shirt. My cut was in the car, left behind on purpose. Dressed in just jeans and a tee, I looked like any other guy on a Saturday night. If she caught sight of the MC connection, she might not answer, and I couldn’t risk leaving her here. Not when I knew who was coming for her next.

The door opened, and for the first time, I saw her in the flesh.

Olivia.

I’d only seen photos of her before, but they didn’t do her justice. She was beautiful, effortlessly so, and when her eyes met mine, something inside me twisted. It had been years since I’d let myself feel anything for a woman. Contrary to what Kyle’s mom had told her, I hadn’t touched another woman while we were together. Not even her. Because it had always been Jill eating away at my life and making it hell. And by the time she was dead, the whole damn female species had lost their appeal.

But Olivia? One look at her and my body responded in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

“Yes?” she asked, her voice husky and smooth.

I nearly groaned at the sound of it.

“Olivia?”

She glanced around, cautious, before giving a small nod.

I hated what I had to do. Every instinct in me rebelled against it, but I couldn’t risk her fighting or drawing attention. Moving fast, I pulled the rag from my pocket, clamping it over her mouth and nose. She gasped, but within seconds, she went limp in my arms.

I cradled her close, my jaw clenching. “I’m so sorry, baby,” I whispered, knowing she couldn’t hear me. “Just trust me.”