Rocky paused and laughed, though he didn’t appear any more or less amused than he’d been moments ago. It was all an act. Every smile, every frown, every move this man made was a well thought-out, calculated plan. Nothing he did was without purpose.
Preacher stayed silent, waiting for Rocky to get all his bullshit mocking and posturing out of the way and get to the point. He didn’t bother trying to recall when exactly the man had been to his clubhouse. The Silver Demons had entertained a lot of people over the years. Preacher could hardly be expected to keep track of them all.
“Preacher?”
Everyone turned toward the interruption. Preacher’s eyes widened when he found Debbie approaching, and growing wider still when one of Rocky’s men moved into position behind her. Heavily muscled, eyes vacant, he looked to be all brawn and very little brain.
She was aware of the man flanking her, but she kept her eyes on Preacher—big eyes full of questions and, oh hell, full of concern too. He silently cursed her, taking back every nice thing he’d thought about her. She was a stupid girl, walking straight into quicksand thinking it was the beach.
Another man moved to stand in front of Debbie, and like vultures surrounding their prey, both men began to circle her. The shift in positions allowed Preacher a glimpse at the backs of their vests. The top rocker identified them as Road Warriors, and below it was a center patch—a crude and childish rendition of a Viking warrior holding a spiked club. A bottom rocker proclaiming their location was noticeably absent.
Preacher knew them—or rather, he knew of them. The original Road Warriors had been based out of Virginia, but in recent years, they’d become more of a roving band of gypsies. They had no real business dealings unless you considered creating chaos a business. They were usually found working security at bars and concerts, but they were best known for their parties. There was a running joke about their club: no man left a Road Warrior party without getting knocked out, and no woman left without getting knocked up.
“You my dinner, sweetheart?” One of the men circling Debbie paused in front of her, laughing.
Debbie quickly sidestepped him only to be blocked by the second man. “She ain’t big enough to be dinner,” he mocked. Grabbing his crotch, he sneered at her. “This here’s what you fuck before you fuck.”
Debbie looked pleadingly to Preacher, and Preacher whirled on Rocky, all pretense gone. “Call your dogs off, Rocky,” he growled. “Right the fuck now.”
Rocky glanced between Preacher and Debbie, the calculating gleam in his eyes glowing brighter. He shrugged. “They gotta blow off steam somehow. If not…” Another shrug. “They end up turnin’ on one another.”
Struggling for calm, Preacher took a step toward Rocky, enough of a movement to command the attention of every Road Warrior present. Everyone stilled; all eyes shot to Preacher.
“Give. Her. To. Me.” Preacher’s quietly spoken words were punctuated with rage.
Rocky studied Preacher. If he was bothered by Preacher’s proximity, he didn’t show it. “Or what?”
“Or whatever the fuck you want, you won’t be gettin’ it.”
“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 fa?ade.
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.