She didn’t blame him. That had been intense. And those men? She didn’t really know how to describe them. Combined with their encounter with the Road Warriors, intense didn’t even begin to scratch the surface of the type of people Preacher knew.
“Friend of yours?” she asked, hoping some humor would lighten his mood.
He glanced down at her briefly, his dark eyes nearly black. “I’m gonna tell you right now, stay the fuck away from those two and anyone else wearin’ a Hell’s Horsemen cut.”
Debbie’s eyes narrowed. Did he really think she was as stupid as all that? She liked to think she was a somewhat decent judge of character. Maybe she hadn’t been at first, but she’d gotten smarter as time had passed. Just like she’d learned where to look for the things she needed, she’d learned to read people, figuring out who she could and couldn’t scam, who was safe to hitch a ride with and who was not.
“Can’t be pullin’ stupid stunts like you did with the Road Warriors,” he continued to mutter. “Gonna find yourself in a world of shit.”
Debbie gaped at him. “Are you kidding? I was trying to help you!”
Preacher stopped suddenly and turned to face her. He lifted one dark, questioning brow. “Help me? Seems to me like you’ve been in nothin’ but trouble.”
With a huff, she pulled her arm free from his grasp. “You’re the one who knows all these—these crazy people! You’re the one who’s—who’s been in prison!” She hadn’t so quickly forgotten that juicy revelation.
Shadows swirled in Preacher’s gaze. His eyes narrowed, his expression turning cold, hard. “That scare you?” he asked evenly. “You think I’m the next Son of Sam or somethin’?”
Debbie didn’t appreciate his twisted humor. Glaring up at him, she snapped, “I don’t know, are you?”
They both fell silent as an elderly couple passed by, regarding them curiously. All around them the park was waking up. People were puttering around their campsites, while others headed to the bathhouses.
Flashing the passing couple a quick smile, Preacher grabbed hold of Debbie’s arm and pulled her off the path into a small grove of maple trees.
“Don’t seem to me like you’ve got a single fuckin’ clue what you’re doin’ out here.” His hand on her arm flexed and squeezed. “What would have happened if I hadn’t saved your ass at the truck stop?” he demanded.
Debbie dropped both her bag and her sneakers and, with a hard shove to Preacher’s chest, broke free from his grip. “What would have happened?” she spat. “Nothing that I couldn’t handle!
“You don’t know me,” she continued, shaking her head furiously. “I can take care of myself!”
Eyes flashing, Preacher opened his mouth, and then promptly closed it. Unmoving, he breathed deliberately slow, as if he were fighting something back. The violent storm brewing in his eyes began to fade. Sighing, he ran a hand down over his mouth.
“Shit,” he muttered. “Shit, Wheels, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean that. That asshole back there had me all worked up. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
He sighed again. Looking at her, he held up his hands in defeat. “You’re right. You can take care of yourself. I watched you in action. I’m only sayin’… you shouldn’t have to.”
Debbie sucked in a sharp breath. That statement, you shouldn’t have to, had been both a punch in the gut and a soft caress. What did he mean? Was it a well-intentioned observation or… something more?
“Drugs,” Preacher said suddenly.
Debbie blinked. “What?”
“Drugs,” he repeated. “Dope? Junk? That’s why I went to prison. Got caught with some shit, did two years. Got out a few months back.” He gave her a crooked smile. “So you know I’m not some maniac killer.”
Though Debbie’s body was still buzzing with adrenaline, it was quickly waning, and she offered Preacher a small smile. “I didn’t think you were. But that guy back there…” She made a face that drew a chuckle from Preacher.
“Is that what you do, then?” she asked. “Is that what your club does?”
Preacher pressed a finger to Debbie’s lips. “Me,” he said quietly. “I went to prison for drugs. Not the club. Never the club. The club doesn’t do anything. And don’t ever let my dad hear you talkin’ about the club.”
Debbie stared up at him. For such a threatening statement, there was nothing currently threatening about Preacher. No longer tense, his shoulders were loose. Even his eyes were soft as he gazed down at her.
And his finger? The one that was slowly tracing the outline of her mouth? Debbie stared up at Preacher, her body buzzing with an entirely different feeling.
He moved closer, close enough that Debbie could feel the heat from his body whisper across her skin. She felt her nipples harden, and a delicious ache flared to life low in her belly.
The pad of his thumb paused on her bottom lip. He was going to kiss her again. He was definitely going to kiss her again.
Then Preacher’s finger was gone, as was he. Bending down, he scooped up her sneakers and backpack.
“I’m hungry,” he announced. “You hungry?” He didn’t wait for her to answer before striding quickly back to the path. “Fucking starving to death…” he continued to mutter.
Debbie had to take a moment to catch her breath and find her composure, and then she hurried after him.
Chapter 20
A cigarette dangling from his lips, Preacher twirled the sharp tip of his dagger over the picnic table surface, watching the wood splinter beneath it.
He was avoiding everyone, especially his father, which was not a difficult feat since the old bastard was also doing his best to avoid him. The Judge had left the park entirely and gone into town with Doc and Smokey.
Complaining that the heat from the midday sun was getting to them, Ginny and June had retreated inside the trailer to listen to music. Preacher knew his mother well enough to know that “listening to music” was code for smoking weed, and he’d bet his life they were higher than kites right about now. Somewhere, Tiny and Crazy-8 were off engaging in similar activities.
Everyone else—Joe and Sylvia, Jim and Anne, Louisa, Knuckles, and Max—had gone to the swimming hole to stave off the heat. And Debbie? It had taken Preacher nearly to twenty minutes to convince her to tag along with them.
She’d refused at first, and he’d understood that she was uncomfortable, that they were strangers to her, but he needed a breather. Debbie being out of sight didn’t necessarily mean she was out of mind, but at least out of sight meant his hands were off of her.
All morning and all afternoon had been an exercise in self-control for Preacher.
After breakfast, Debbie had retreated to the fire pit where she’d curled up in a lawn chair with her notebook and pencil. The campsite continued to bustle all around her, and no one paid her any attention. She’d faded away into the background for everyone except him.
Like a blinking beacon in a thick fog, she consistently drew his eyes. He traced the shape of her legs as she swung them back and forth over the arm of the chair. He stared at the rise and fall of her breasts with each breath. He followed the movement of her hair every time the warm breeze lifted it. He watched the way she’d pause in drawing, absentmindedly chewing on the tip of her pencil.
Lifting his blade, Preacher drove the sharp tip down into the wood, causing tiny fissures to splinter in all directions.
Before prison, he’d lived a life of self-indulgence—women, drinking, drugs. He’d never wanted for anything; it had all been at his fingertips.
Everything was different now. He was denying himself. And maybe that’s where this unusual interest and attraction to her began and ended. By telling himself no, he was only worsening the craving.
“What did that table ever do to you?”
Flicking his cigarette away, Preacher watched as Ginny slid onto the bench across from him. Her long dark hair had been pulled up into a thick bun, and just as he’d suspected, her smile was lazy, her eyes bloodshot and glossy.