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.
“Yeah, sorry,” Debbie muttered, turning back to the blonde. “It’s been a long day.”
The woman took her time dragging her contemptuous gaze up and down Debbie’s body. “Not sure what he sees in you, honey. Ain’t got much in the looks department, and you bein’ young ain’t gonna sell ya forever.”
Debbie blinked. Young? Bitterness squeezed her insides. She wasn’t young anymore. She certainly didn’t feel young. She’d never get to do the things that other people her age did. She wouldn’t be attending her prom, she wouldn’t be graduating from high school or applying to colleges. Young, old, and in between, none of it applied to her anymore. She wasn’t anything anymore. She was little more than a ghost who slipped into the land of the living only long enough to scrounge for scraps before being shooed away, forced back to the edge of society. Time didn’t matter. Age didn’t matter. There was just right here, right now, your wits, and a bit of luck.
Debbie’s eyes slid to Preacher. And the kindness of strangers, too.
“Lawd, Sissy, give it a rest, will ya?” A pair of dark eyes peeked out from beneath a thick fringe of inky black bangs. A young woman climbed to her feet, gracefully unfolding a tall, slim body.
Her fair skin shone white beneath her fall of sleek black hair, and as she stepped forward and smiled, Debbie guessed she wasn’t much older than herself.
“Ignore Sissy.” She gave a flippant wave of her hand. “She’s just jealous. She’s fucked her way around the country trying to find an in with any club that’ll take her. She finally managed to nail down Duke over there, only ‘cause poor Duke is too dumb to know any better.”
Air whistled through Sissy’s clenched teeth. “Fuck you, bitch!” she seethed.
“I’m Angela,” the girl continued, unbothered by Sissy’s outburst. “But my friends call me Angel.” Smirking, Angel winked at Sissy. “And I’m Rocky’s girl.”
“You’re Rocky’s whore,” Sissy shot back.
Debbie glanced warily between the two. Angel didn’t seem at all upset by Sissy’s jibe; if anything she appeared amused. Sissy, however, glared at Angel, fury sparking in her eyes. Several tense seconds passed before Sissy huffed loudly and whirled away.
Watching her storm off, Angel threw her head back and laughed loudly, as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
“You’ve already met Sissy.” Angel turned her attention to the woman still buried behind a magazine. “And this is Fat Becky.”