“You think you’re in any position to make demands?”
Preacher bared his teeth and nearly snarled. “Yeah, I do. We wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want somethin’ from me. And whatever that is, I ain’t gonna give it ‘til you give her to me.”
Though it was slight, hardly noticeable, Preacher glimpsed a flash of anger in Rocky’s eyes, a subtle hardening of the man’s expression—the first glimpse of the man behind the carefully executed façade.
Composed once again, Rocky turned a cunning smile on his men and gestured. Grumbling, they moved reluctantly, just barely clearing a pathway from Debbie to Preacher. She wasted no time in hurrying forward. When she was standing beside him, her big brown eyes full of apologies, Preacher turned his focus back to Rocky.
“Now what?” he asked flatly.
“We’ve got a camp nearby. Some of my boys work the stunt circuit. Gotta make a livin’ somehow. Why don’t you and your friend here join us for a beer?” Rocky paused, his eyes on Debbie. Stroking his jaw, he ran his gaze up and down her body, a slow, deliberate grin spreading across his face.
Preacher recognized the threat for what it was. Either he cooperated, or Debbie became collateral damage.
His protective instincts flaring, Preacher wrapped his arm around Debbie’s shoulders, hauling her up against him. He looked to Rocky then, daring the man to try something.
Rocky only continued to smile.
Teeth clenched, Preacher tightened his grip on Debbie. “Lead the way.”
• • •
Tucked neatly against Preacher’s side, Debbie studied her surroundings. She was memorizing the exact route they were taking as the Road Warriors herded them through the fairgrounds.
She shouldn’t have looked back. And she definitely shouldn’t have interfered. She’d only wanted to see if Preacher had been watching her walk away.
At first glance, she’d thought Preacher had known them but had quickly gathered that the meeting wasn’t a friendly one. There were too many of them, she’d realized as they’d circled around him, fists clenched, their eager eyes and twisted smirks promising violence. And only one of him.
She wasn’t so foolish as to think she could take on a single one, let alone an entire gang, but she’d felt she had to do something. After all, Preacher had done the same for her.
Their group entered a roped-off area between two tents marked EMPLOYEES ONLY and were greeted with a bustle of activity. Men in stained aprons hurried to and fro. A woman wearing a pink cowboy hat and matching boots strode by, leading a pair of horses. A group of clowns in full costume sat smoking atop a stack of wooden crates.
Further back sat a stretch of land peppered with trailers and tents, small bonfires scattered throughout. It was quieter here, the air was cooler, the smells not quite so overwhelming. Somewhere a Tom Jones song was playing.
“Follow my lead,” Preacher growled softly, squeezing her arm.
Debbie took a breath and glanced up, her gaze tracing the lines of worry creasing his forehead and the grim set of his mouth. Preacher didn’t seem like the type to scare easily, and if he was worried… Debbie swallowed back a wave of fear.
Their group stopped at the far end of the clearing, at a campsite that grazed the forest line.
There was no trailer, no tents, no table and chairs. Only several sleeping rolls, a pile of backpacks, and a couple dozen empty beer bottles scattered around a low-lit bonfire. Two women sat shoulder to shoulder near the fire, their heads bent over a magazine, while a third stood nearby, a beer in her hand, a cigarette dangling from between her lips. All around them tall, thick trees loomed, shrouding them in near blackness.
“You can give her to the girls.” Rocky jerked his chin to the fire before giving Debbie another long look, imbued with insinuation. A look that left her feeling naked and exposed.
She stared back at him, a chill sliding up her spine, half expecting to see fangs protruding from his mouth. She knew this sort of look all too well. She’d run from a look just like it. She was still running from it.
“Pretty little thing,” Rocky murmured. Seconds passed, feeling more like minutes the longer he watched her. Expert, unwavering focus shone in his dark gaze. Wave after wave of anxiety rolled through her. This was not a man you wanted focused on you.
“Nobody touches her,” Preacher said quietly, but not without an edge. Though low, his tone was cold, hard steel, mirroring the stiff, unyielding contours of his body.
Debbie glanced up to find Preacher’s face had darkened, his expression thunderous as he stared at Rocky, then he turned slowly, meeting the eyes of each and every Road Warrior. Gone was the kindhearted man who’d saved her last night. Gone was the forgiving man who’d joined her on the Ferris wheel.
Her gaze ricocheted between Preacher and Rocky. There were similarities, not in appearance, but in demeanor. In the way they held themselves, in the authority exuding from both of them.
And despite Preacher not giving her the same uneasy feeling Rocky did, she couldn’t help but think these men were cut from the same cloth.
An oily smile formed beneath Rocky’s thick mustache. “She’s yours then?” he asked, his awful eyes once again on Debbie.
Preacher didn’t hesitate. “She’s mine. Lay a hand on her and we’ve got a problem. You want a problem with the Demons, Rocky?”
Though it hadn’t yet reached his eyes, Rocky’s smile remained. “You’ve got my word then,” he said, and shrugged. “No one touches her.”
Debbie’s eyes were still on Rocky when Preacher suddenly shifted her in his arms, bringing her flush against his front. One of his hands moved to cup the back of her head while the other gripped her lower back. Their eyes collided, the look on his face indecipherable when suddenly his hand on her back dropped, squeezing her butt. Debbie startled, and Preacher’s head bent, his mouth covering hers. His tongue swept past her parted lips like a tidal wave, swiftly drowning her squeak of surprise.
Follow my lead. Preacher’s words echoed in her thoughts and shock turned soon to understanding.
Still… nothing could have prepared her for… this kiss.
While Preacher’s mouth was insistent, he wasn’t at all sloppy. He kissed her with a cool precision that made Debbie think he probably kissed quite often. Then faster, harder, and with less finesse, his tongue plunged roughly into her mouth, the coarse hairs in his short beard scraping softly against her cheeks and chin.
Debbie’s stomach plummeted to her feet as utterly unfamiliar sensations assaulted her. Not terrible, not at all terrible, but definitely foreign. Soft, warm sensations. But also hectic and fraying around the edges—a quickly expanding ball of electricity.
She was kissing him back now, meeting him stroke for stroke. Her thoughts muddied, her other senses sharpened, she became overly aware of every single place their bodies were touching, and all the places they weren’t.
And then just as soon as it had begun, it was over.
Breathing hard, Debbie blinked up at Preacher. He was staring past her, his expression hewn from stone. Realizing she was gripping his arms, she quickly released him.
“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.