Undeserving (Undeniable #5)(32)

"Wait for me over there." His tone hard, Preacher pointed to the campfire. He still hadn't looked at her. Why wasn't he looking at her? He was unfazed, not even a little out of breath. It was as if nothing had happened, especially nothing as earth shattering as that kiss had been.

Ignoring the leering Road Warriors, Debbie stepped away and hurried across the campsite.

Approaching the bonfire she slowed, hesitating as one of the women approached her, hostile energy rolling off her slim frame in thick waves. Frizzy blonde curls, bleached one too many times, framed an angular face with sharp, masculine features.

"So you're what a Demon bitch looks like, huh?" The blonde smirked, long, downturned lines highlighted her too-thin lips. "Can't say I'm impressed." Her voice matched her face-both were worn and cracking.



       
         
       
        

"Sorry, what?"

She made a face, an ugly mix of irritation and disdain. "You slow or somethin'? Your old man is VP of the Silver Demons, ain't he?"

Eyes narrowed, Debbie's gaze shot to Preacher. Surrounded by Road Warriors, only a sliver of his profile was visible. She looked to Rocky, specifically to the denim vest he was wearing, and then again at Preacher. She hadn't been wrong when she'd marked their similarities.

"Yeah, sorry," Debbie muttered, turning back to the blonde. "It's been a long day."

The woman took her time dragging her contemptuous gaze up and down Debbie's body. "Not sure what he sees in you, honey. Ain't got much in the looks department, and you bein' young ain't gonna sell ya forever."

Debbie blinked. Young? Bitterness squeezed her insides. She wasn't young anymore. She certainly didn't feel young. She'd never get to do the things that other people her age did. She wouldn't be attending her prom, she wouldn't be graduating from high school or applying to colleges. Young, old, and in between, none of it applied to her anymore. She wasn't anything anymore. She was little more than a ghost who slipped into the land of the living only long enough to scrounge for scraps before being shooed away, forced back to the edge of society. Time didn't matter. Age didn't matter. There was just right here, right now, your wits, and a bit of luck.

Debbie's eyes slid to Preacher. And the kindness of strangers, too.

"Lawd, Sissy, give it a rest, will ya?" A pair of dark eyes peeked out from beneath a thick fringe of inky black bangs. A young woman climbed to her feet, gracefully unfolding a tall, slim body.

Her fair skin shone white beneath her fall of sleek black hair, and as she stepped forward and smiled, Debbie guessed she wasn't much older than herself.

"Ignore Sissy." She gave a flippant wave of her hand. "She's just jealous. She's fucked her way around the country trying to find an in with any club that'll take her. She finally managed to nail down Duke over there, only ‘cause poor Duke is too dumb to know any better."

Air whistled through Sissy's clenched teeth. "Fuck you, bitch!" she seethed.

"I'm Angela," the girl continued, unbothered by Sissy's outburst. "But my friends call me Angel." Smirking, Angel winked at Sissy. "And I'm Rocky's girl."

"You're Rocky's whore," Sissy shot back.

Debbie glanced warily between the two. Angel didn't seem at all upset by Sissy's jibe; if anything she appeared amused. Sissy, however, glared at Angel, fury sparking in her eyes. Several tense seconds passed before Sissy huffed loudly and whirled away. 

Watching her storm off, Angel threw her head back and laughed loudly, as if she didn't have a care in the world.

"You've already met Sissy." Angel turned her attention to the woman still buried behind a magazine. "And this is Fat Becky."

Fat Becky, an average-sized woman whose only visible feature behind the magazine was a head of messy brown hair, grunted and lifted a hand in greeting.

Debbie began to introduce herself and suddenly stopped short. Preacher, Rocky, Duke, Angel …  Fat Becky? Was it some sort of motorcycle club requirement? Preacher's words-follow my lead-echoed in her thoughts again.

"I'm Wheels," she said.

"Wheels?" Angel arched one slim, black brow. "You've got to tell me the story behind that."

Debbie shrugged. "Short for Hell on Wheels."

"Nice," Angel said, looking suitably impressed. "So, how long have you been riding with him?"

Debbie took precious seconds to wonder what the right answer would be.

"I'm not sure," she finally said, mimicking Angel's carefree, rather flippant tone. "Never really kept track of stuff like that, you know?"