Undeserving (Undeniable #5)(72)

It had grown dark during the movie, the only remaining light emanating from the streetlamps, the brightly lit storefronts, and the full moon hanging low and fat in the distance. A short ways down the street, Preacher spotted half of their group congregated around their motorcycles. The van was gone, meaning the others had already left. 

"How'd you like the movie, Wheels?" he asked, glancing down at her. Still biting down on her lip, Debbie fought to contain a smile.

Laughing, Preacher released her hand and slung his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "It was good, right?" he teased. "My favorite part was when that guy did that thing. You know what I'm talkin' about, right? That thing?"

Truth be told, Preacher had very little idea what the movie had been about. He'd only managed to catch bits and pieces here and there when he hadn't been preoccupied with Debbie-which hadn't been all that often.

Debbie's blush deepened.

"What?" he asked, "you didn't like that part? Wheels, come on! That was the best fuckin' part!"

Bursting into giggles, Debbie turned and buried her face in his chest. Laughing loudly, Preacher squeezed her even tighter.

"Bunch of fuckin' slowpokes!" Knuckles called out. "Whaddya do-stick around for the cleanin' crew or somethin'?" Leaning against his motorcycle, Knuckles twirled a pair of women's pink panties on his finger.

Eyes wide and mocking, Preacher pointed. "Man, you forgot to put your underwear on!"

Seated on their bikes close by, Smokey and Jim began to snicker.

Knuckles stopped twirling and grinned. "Brother, I'm just workin' out my pussy finger for the next lucky lady."

Draped over Jim's back, Anne rolled her eyes and groaned. "Only one finger, huh? I'm guessin' you've left a lot of ladies feeling pretty unlucky."

"I only need one." Waggling his eyebrows, Knuckles flipped Anne off. "I got fat fingers, baby."

"And I'll break every single last one of ‘em, if you ever talk to my ol' lady like that again," Jim growled.

Behind Jim, wearing a self-satisfied smirk, Anne stuck her tongue out at Knuckles.

His expression contrite, Knuckles folded his arms across his chest and muttered, "She fuckin' started it."

Smokey released a world-weary sigh. "Christ, kid. You sound like a broken record. Tits and pussy. Tits and pussy. You know there's more to life, right?"

Knuckles whirled on Smokey, his mouth hanging open. "Did you see that chick?" he demanded.

"How could I not?" Smokey's expression was as dry as his tone. "Hard to watch a movie when I got a goddamn ass bouncin' in my face."

Knuckles continued to look horrified. "Fuckin'-A, that was a piece of ass worth lookin' at!" He mimed smacking a woman's backside.

"You've seen one ass, you've seen ‘em all."

"Man, what happened to you? You're, like, asexual or somethin' now?"

Amused, Preacher glanced between the two men. Smokey wasn't asexual; he was just a man who'd loved his wife and lost her. Growing up, Preacher couldn't remember a time when Maryanne hadn't been sick. As a diabetic, she'd slowly grown thinner, frailer, until her body eventually succumbed.

Before Maryanne's passing, Smokey had been a different man. He'd had a sense of humor, was hardly ever seen without a drink in his hand, and had often indulged in other women. He'd been a lot like Knuckles, actually. It wasn't until after Maryanne's death that Smokey had done a one-eighty in the personality department. Full of guilt and grief, the club's business became his sole focus.



       
         
       
        

Knuckles didn't understand this yet, how something could change a man so drastically. Truth be told, just two years earlier, neither had Preacher.

Just then, a police car flew past at top speed, lights blazing, sirens wailing, turning everyone's attention to the street. The response of the several dozen bikers still milling around was to thrust their fists in the air, shouting slurs and obscenities.

"Something's goin' on at the park," Jim said. "That ain't the first pig to blow by here."

Knuckles faked a yawn. "It's the same old shit every year. Last summer some dumb shit drank himself to death. Bunch of kids found him floatin' face down in the swimmin' hole, buck-ass naked, and the cops sent us all packin'. You ask me, they're just lookin' for an excuse to kick us out."

Preacher raised an eyebrow. When you put a large number of out-of-control people in a space together, it wasn't uncommon for things to get, well, out of control. Tempers flared and fights broke out. People drank too much booze, smoked too much grass, and then some dumbass kid goes and accidentally fucks the wife of a Hercules-sized bastard with a rare knife collection. Not that Preacher knew anything at all about that.