Undeserving (Undeniable #5)(66)

"Haven't you seen that already, Maxwell?" Ginny asked tentatively, her eyes on Gerald. "Back home?"



       
         
       
        

Knuckles, who seemed to have forgotten the tension entirely, gaped at her. "Are you kiddin', Little Ginny? You could see that movie a hundred times and never get sick of it!"

At that, Max perked up. Grinning, he turned to Knuckles and drew a finger-gun from his pocket. "You talkin' to me? You talkin' to me?"

Knuckles mimed drawing a gun from an invisible holster and pointed his own finger-gun at Max. "Don't try it, you fuck," he shot back, laughing.

"I'm in," Tiny announced.

"Count me and Anne in, too," Whiskey Jim added.

"I wanna go," Sylvia said, looking at Joe.

"You?" Joe snorted and shook his head. "No way. You'd hate it."

"God forbid I would wanna get outta this park for a couple hours!" she hissed. "The bike fumes are makin' me queasy!"

Joe's teeth clenched. "You shoulda stayed home. I told you not to-"

"We should all go," June hurriedly interrupted, "Make a day of it. I've been wanting to head into town. And Ginny, you probably want to go to the farmers' market?"

Ginny glanced at Gerald before turning to June. "No, no, you all go." She waved her hand and smiled. "Take the van and go into town and make a day of it. Give …  Gerry and me some peace and quiet."

"Wheels." Preacher's breath, smelling strongly of whiskey and marijuana, fanned her cheek.

Debbie turned, finding Preacher's face only inches from hers. His arm fell away from her chest, his hand cupped her cheek. Taking a drag off the joint, he closed the remaining gap between their lips and exhaled into her mouth.

Debbie drew in a hard breath and earthy-tasting smoke billowed inside her mouth, pouring down her throat. Preacher's tongue came next, sweeping through her mouth, while his hand slid into her hair, cupping her head. Smoke trickled out from between their lips as they kissed slowly, deeply. Debbie's thoughts grew fuzzy and muddled from either the drugs, or the man, or both.

"I haven't seen a movie since before I got tossed in the joint," Preacher whispered, after releasing her mouth.

"What movie was it?" she murmured.

He glanced away, considering. "Jaws," he finally said. "I think. Wait, no …  coulda been Death Race. Don't remember which. What about you?"

Once upon a time Debbie had treasured going to the movies. Before her mother had remarried, she'd worked odd jobs and strange hours, and with Debbie's school schedule they'd rarely seen one another, with the exception of Sundays. Every Sunday they'd go to their local theater for classic movie night. 

Unlike most mothers and daughters, Debbie and her mother had never been close. But every Sunday it had felt as if she'd almost had a mother-at least for a couple of hours. The tradition had continued until her mother had remarried, and then Sunday movie nights were no more.

The only movie theaters she'd been inside recently had been ones she'd snuck into for warmth and to catch a few hours of sleep.

She shrugged. "I can't remember."

"You wanna go, then?" He watched her through lazy, half-lidded eyes, his pupils noticeably larger. He appeared relaxed, the only remaining sign of stress was the subtle tightening around his eyes. At some point he'd lain his hand on her thigh and was now toying with the hem of her shorts. His fingers started up again, dancing a drunken path up and down her leg.

"Sure," she breathed as she shivered beneath his touch. The movies, New York City, in that moment, Debbie would go anywhere with Preacher.

The corner of his mouth lifted, and any remaining strain in his expression vanished.

• • •

Being bad felt damn good.

This was something Preacher had learned from a young age. It had started out innocently enough, disobeying his parents or lying to a schoolteacher. Tiny acts of defiance that made a small boy in a world of men feel not quite so insignificant.

At ten years old he was shoplifting from the corner bodega and slipping money out of The Judge's wallet. At thirteen he was placing illegal bets in the back alley behind the neighborhood butcher shop.

And by the time Preacher was in high school, he'd graduated from shoplifting to jacking neighborhood cars and joyriding with his friends.

Even after his father had brought him into the club and illegal doings had become a way of life, Preacher had still found ways to get his kicks. Taking another man's girl to bed just because he could. Skimming money from business associates, or snagging some junk for himself. It was never enough to cause notice-just enough to satiate Preacher's appetite for rebellion.