Undeserving (Undeniable #5)(57)

It had started out small-stealing business associates out from under the noses of other clubs and breaking the faces of anyone who tried to talk some sense into them. It hadn't made any sense at first, and they had been more or less dismissed as a bunch of country-bumpkin bastards with a collective Napoleon complex.

But then they'd begun to grow. Hell's Horsemen chapters had begun popping up all over the country, and as the club had tripled in size, so had Reaper's ego. They'd continued with their overbearing tactics, ostracizing themselves and making powerful enemies. It was now to the point where the mere mention of their name created a sense of unease among other clubs, and when people became apprehensive or afraid, especially when said people didn't work under the guidelines of a strict moral code, things tended to get messy. Or bloody.

The young man on the ground pushed himself upright. On his feet, his fists clenched, he straightened to his full height. Preacher blinked. Holy shit.

By Preacher's estimation, Cole West was still a teenager, although he hardly looked like one. He'd doubled in size since Preacher had last seen him, grown into a beast of a man, and was nearly as big as Reaper now. But not even Cole's size had stopped Reaper from giving his oldest son two black eyes and a bloody nose. 

"Boy, you are as dumb as shit," Reaper snarled. "Fact, you're even dumber than shit. How many times do I gotta tell you, you don't stick your nose where it don't fuckin' belong?"

Cole, his jaw locked and ticking furiously, his legs spread apart, his fists so tightly clenched that his knuckles had turned white, took a menacing step forward. "Fuck you, old man," he gritted out.

Reaper smiled-a vicious showing of teeth. Arms raised, he tauntingly gestured his son forward.

Yep. Time to go. This was an explosion waiting to happen, and Preacher had no interest in witnessing it.

Still holding tightly to Debbie's arm, he slid his hand into hers, interlocking their fingers. They'd taken only a single backward step when Reaper's head whipped in their direction, his ice-blue stare catching sight of them.

"Well, well, well, what's this?" Reaper's gaze narrowed, then widened with cruel delight. "Preacher Fuckin' Fox, that you, boy? I'd heard you gone and gotten yourself locked up."

Preacher cursed under his breath. The next person to call him "boy" was going get spoon-fed his balls.

"Free as a bird, as you can see," Preacher drawled lazily, though he felt anything but lazy-or free, for that matter.

Reaper let out a laugh that was more of a sneer. "Prison finally make a man of you?"

Preacher shrugged. "Depends on your definition of a man."

If by man Reaper was referring to someone like himself, a madman who apparently ruled his kids like he did his club-with an iron fist-then no, Preacher wasn't that kind of man. And God willing, he never would be.

Reaper raised a menacing brow. "That so? Maybe you shoulda stayed locked up. Then that pussy-footin' daddy of yours wouldn't have to worry ‘bout you fuckin' everything up. How much did that fuck-up of yours cost the club? I'm bettin' it was more than you're worth."

Preacher's heart rate picked up. "What are you tryin' to say?"

Reaper shrugged his massive shoulders. "Nothin'. Just that maybe you were safer behind bars."

Releasing Debbie, Preacher took a step forward. Reaper's insinuation wasn't lost on him-that was a threat if he'd ever heard one. And Preacher didn't back down from threats. If he'd learned anything at all during his twenty-four years on Earth, it was that men like Reaper didn't respect you for being the bigger man and walking away. Respect from men like him was hard earned, usually only after you beat it into them.

"Preacher!" Debbie hissed, grabbing his arm. "Don't!"

Shaking her off, Preacher growled at Reaper. "What the fuck are you really tryin' to say?"

Reaper grinned-one hell of a sadistic smile meant to egg Preacher on. And it worked. Preacher took another step forward, thinking only about how satisfying it would be to wipe that grin off Reaper's face. With his fists.

Instead, he found himself face to face with Cole.

"Walk the fuck away, Preacher," Cole ground out hoarsely between clenched, bloodied teeth. He lowered his voice. "He's mine."

Staring into the teenager's light blue eye, the one that wasn't swollen shut-an eye alight with so much anger, anger that needed an outlet-gave Preacher pause.

This wasn't his fight and it was none of his business.



       
         
       
        

Behind Cole, Reaper began to laugh, a deep, bloodthirsty rumble that would have sent lesser men running for the hills.