Undeserving (Undeniable #5)(88)

Preacher insisted that Debbie have a round-the-clock bodyguard whenever he couldn't be with her. Unfortunately for Debbie, her bodyguard was usually Tiny. Although he always meant well, the man was a public nuisance. He was loud, obnoxious, usually stinking to high heaven, and always drawing attention Debbie would rather not receive.

"Last I saw he was chillin' out front," Bullet called out. "Probably scammin' on chicks."

Anne choked on her laughter. "Unless he's offerin' money up front, that ain't never gonna happen!"

• • •

Keys jingling in his hand, Preacher bounded up the poorly lit staircase that led to his fourth-floor apartment-a dinky, dingy one-bedroom. All his furniture were hand-me-downs from his parents, and his decorations were sparse-only the bare necessities.

It had been perfect for him-a minimalist who'd never spent much time at home-but with Debbie here now and a baby on the way, he'd been meaning to find a bigger, nicer place.

He just needed to find the time.

He'd been gone three weeks this time. And three weeks without Debbie was three weeks too long. If she wasn't pregnant, he'd be taking her with him. Although …  not on this last trip.

The Road Warriors had more than lived up to their reputation for sex and violence, and sometimes both at once. He'd watched them pass around their own women to fellow club members without reservation. He'd seen brother pitted against brother in bloody boxing matches that almost always ended in an all-out brawl.

He'd also witnessed something far worse.

While meeting with a group of Road Warriors inside a highway bar in West Virginia, a young woman had been forcefully dragged up onto a pool table, stripped naked, and raped. Nearly every Road Warrior in the place had taken a turn with her, sometimes two at a time.

Almost two weeks had passed since the incident, and Preacher could still hear her screams, could still see her thrashing on the pool table every time he closed his eyes.

The Judge, had he still been alive, would have stripped his patch for that-for standing idly by and allowing a woman to be raped on his watch. Hell, The Judge would have punched his lights out for even associating with men like the Road Warriors.

But The Judge was gone.

There was only Preacher now. And his vengeance.

Without any other leads, he'd convinced himself that the Rossi family had exacted the hit on his parents. Only he had no proof, and he couldn't exactly go around accusing a well-known crime syndicate of murder and expect to keep his head attached to his body.

Instead, he'd decided to slowly rip the rug out from beneath the Rossis. And once the Silver Demons were free of them? Adios, you murdering mobster motherfuckers.

But to accomplish everything he had planned, Preacher was going to need a big show of muscle and a hell of a lot more manpower than he had.

When it came to ending the Rossi family, Preacher figured the end would justify the means. Thanks to the Road Warriors, he now had the means.

Television static and slobbery snores greeted Preacher as he entered his apartment. Finding Tiny passed out on the couch, snuggled up to a half-eaten box of cookies, he pried the box from his friend's grip and switched off the television.

Inside his bedroom he found the lights on and Debbie curled up at the wrong end of the bed. Using her sketch pad as a pillow, she was also clutching a pencil in one hand.

Laughing softly, Preacher took a seat beside her and pulled the pencil from her hand. After tossing it away, he gently tugged the sketch pad from beneath her head and set it on the floor.



       
         
       
        

He brushed her long dark hair away from her face and caressed her cheek, then her chin, and finally the soft swell of her full bottom lip.

Staring down at her, Preacher felt his lungs deflate.

He wouldn't have made it the last six months without her. Those first few months after Four Points had been rough. There'd been so much to do, to sort through, and figure out. And so many awful feelings associated with all of it.

Somewhere in the middle of it all Debbie had become his anchor, and the only thing keeping him steady inside the raging sea that had become his life. With her, Preacher didn't have to be the president of anything. With her, he could still be him.

"Wheels." He bent down to kiss her, once on the tip of her nose, and twice on her mouth. Her eyelids fluttered.

"Preacher?" she mumbled sleepily and blinked up at him. "Preacher!" She shot upright and flung her arms around his neck. "When did you get back?"

"Just now."

He wrapped his arm around Debbie's waist and pulled her sideways onto his lap, a position that drew his eyes to the belly bulge beneath her nightgown. Smiling, he placed his hand on her stomach and was startled to feel a flutter beneath his palm.