He drew in a deep, anxious breath… just like he wouldn’t stand a chance against The Judge.
Preacher slowed his bike to a stop at the end of a long line of motorcycles and toed the kickstand down. Pushing his goggles over his head, he looked around. Nothing had changed since the last time he’d been here—with the exception of him. Behind the picnic area sat the campground, filled with a variety of tents and trailers, all shapes and sizes. And beyond the campground, there was a waterfall that emptied into a swimming hole. During the day the area would be bursting with children and families, but after dark, the young adult crowd would congregate there. Preacher had many fond memories of after dark at the waterfall.
Debbie dismounted and turned in a circle, drinking it all in. She appeared nervous yet curious.
“You weren’t kidding,” she said. “There’s a lot of people here.”
Preacher smirked at her, a smartass joke about pickpocketing on the tip of his tongue when a whistled catcall drew their attention.
“You get sick of her, you give her to me!” a burly man shouted, raising a bottle of beer in salutation. “What I wouldn’t do to ride a beaut like that-a-one!”
“The bitch ain’t bad, either!” one of his companions called out, laughing.
“I’ll fuck ‘em both!” a third man stated loudly, crudely grabbing his crotch. At that, the entire group burst into hysterics.
Preacher sent a two-finger salute in their direction, dismissing them. Debbie’s gaze slid to Preacher. “Bitch?” she asked, brows raised.
Laughing, he set to work untying her backpack from his handlebars. “Welcome to my world, Wheels.”
• • •
“Welcome to another world,” Debbie muttered under her breath.
Trailing closely behind Preacher, she’d glimpsed campsites crowded with families—moms and dads playing with their children, older people snoring in lawn chairs while younger generations manned the grills. In others the music was turned up loud, the picnic tables littered with bottles of booze. Young men and women danced in the grass while others were pressed up against one another, engaged in another sort of dance.
Debbie hadn’t bothered to ask Preacher any questions about where they were headed, and therefore she hadn’t known what to expect. But never in a million years would she have guessed something like this.
It wasn’t that the place felt unwelcoming; quite the opposite actually. This place, these people, gave off a similar vibe to the people she sometimes encountered on the road. People like Sunshine. People like Preacher. People who didn’t adhere to the same social standards as everyone else and who didn’t look at you sideways if you didn’t look or act a certain way. Here she didn’t feel like a fish out of water… but instead, just another fish in the sea.
“Shit.” Preacher stopped and glanced around, his gaze bouncing from campsite to campsite. Debbie came to stand beside him. “What’s wrong?”
“Lookin’ for my parents. They usually park right around here.”
His parents? Debbie’s eyes widened. Preacher’s parents were here?
“Preacher? No fuckin’ way! Noooo fuckin’ way!”
All of a sudden, a very large, very round young man barreled into Preacher, sending both men sprawling onto the ground. Startled, Debbie leaped backward and continued backing away as two more men were fast approaching.
“Holy shit! Preacher!” The younger of the approaching pair rushed forward, his brown eyes shining with excitement—eyes that Debbie noticed were very similar to Preacher’s. In fact, the more she studied him, the more similarities she found between them. She suspected they were related, though this man was slimmer than Preacher, clean-shaven and with a much shorter hairstyle. And unlike the others, he wasn’t wearing a leather vest.
Preacher rolled away from his assailant and jumped to his feet, pulling the younger man into a hug.
“Do Mom and Dad know you’re here?” the younger man asked, confirming Debbie’s suspicion.
“Naw,” Preacher drawled, and gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Hightower told me you’d headed up here.” He shrugged. “I was in the neighborhood. Figured I’d swing by and see what you sorry bunch of assholes were doin’.”
“Preacher.” The remaining man stepped forward. A great deal older than the other three, he had short dark hair with thick, graying sideburns. Low on his nose sat a pair of small round bifocals that were in sharp contrast to his worn leather vest and dirty jeans.
“Doc,” Preacher greeted him, clasping his hand, and Debbie’s gaze was drawn to the extensive scarring covering his hands and forearms—a road map of raised white lines. As their hands pulled apart, she counted only three fingers on Doc’s right hand.
“Who’s the broad?” Red-faced and breathing hard, Preacher’s attacker gestured to Debbie. And to her absolute horror, all eyes were suddenly on her.
Preacher looked at her, his eyes glittering with amusement.
“Wheels,” he said. “Meet my littlest brother, Max. And this here’s Doc.” Preacher nodded at the older man. “And this shithead—is Tiny.”
Preacher tossed Tiny a carefree smirk. “Found her poundin’ pavement on 89. She’s headed to the city, so I offered my… services.” He said the word “services” in such a way—drawing out each syllable, and imbued with insinuation.
Everyone but Debbie laughed. Feeling mildly incensed, she crossed her arms over her chest.
“Her name is Wheels?” Tiny asked.
All eyes were still on Debbie—Tiny and Doc’s were filled with questions, while Max unabashedly stared at her in a way that made her wish for her jacket despite the heat.
Laughing, Preacher hooked an arm around Tiny’s neck and tugged him forward. “It’s Hell on Wheels. I call her Wheels for short.”
Chapter 16
Preacher’s family’s campsite consisted of three successive sites. A lone pop-up trailer sat in the center, and behind it, a robin’s-egg blue Chevy van was parked amid a handful of motorcycles. Tents had been erected in every direction, ranging in size from single-person to large enough to house a family of four. A short distance from the trailer several picnic tables had been pushed together, their benches currently brimming with bodies.
Debbie swallowed back her surprise. Even after realizing Preacher’s family was here, she hadn’t anticipated that a bona fide army awaited her.
As their small group neared the picnic tables, Debbie’s anxiety reached its boiling point. She envisioned more eyes on her, studying her, judging her, wondering who she was and what she was doing with Preacher. Her late lunch swirled inside her gut and her palms grew sweaty.
A young man with long blond hair shot up off a bench. “Preacher!” he shouted, and the campsite went silent as everyone swivelled in their seats, turning their shocked and gaping expressions toward Preacher.
The picnic tables exploded. People jumped to their feet, cursing and shouting his name. A woman darted across the grass, her hand over her heart. “Damon!” she cried. “Oh God, Damon!”
She was a tall woman with wavy brown hair that hung thick and heavy to her waist. As she hurried across the campsite, her generous curves swayed and bounced beneath an orange and yellow sundress that billowed and swirled around her bare feet. Large, ornate earrings dangled from her ears, and a stack of silver and gold bangles lined each of her forearms. She was naturally beautiful and stunning in a way that reminded Debbie of Sunshine.
Who was this gorgeous creature? And why did Preacher look so happy to see her?
“Mom.” Preacher packed so much emotion into the lone word as he folded the woman into his arms. Debbie blinked, startled. This striking, bohemian woman was Preacher’s mother? She didn’t look like a mom, at least not any mom Debbie had ever known. Certainly not her own.
Debbie watched them embrace—a hug that seemed never-ending—and it caused swirls of envy to stir beneath her skin. The tiny twisters roused a maelstrom of emotions that swept through her like an unforgiving wind and sent her staggering back a step.
Her mother had never greeted her like that, never looked at her like Preacher’s mother was looking at him—with her hands on his cheeks, looking up at her son with such adoration, as if the sun rose and set in his eyes.