“When I do good, I feel good.
When I do bad, I feel fucking great.”
- Damon “Preacher” Fox
Chapter 15
The sun had already begun its descent only four hours into their travels, and by the time Preacher crested the small hill that signaled their arrival in Four Points, it was little more than a half moon, glowing gold as it disappeared behind the high peaks of the Appalachian Mountains.
Today the normally quaint and quiet lake town was anything but. Cars, trucks, and motorcycles lined both sides of Main Street, a narrow two-lane road brimming with bikers and their families. Four Points didn’t have much to offer, only a small market, a laundromat, a movie theater, and a handful of mom-and-pop shops, but what it lacked in consumerism, it made up for with one hell of a beautiful view.
Traffic thickened, forcing Preacher to a full stop in the middle of the road. Further back someone laid on their horn, and the response from the crowd was instantaneous. From one end of the street to the other, men and women stopped what they were doing and started shouting and jeering.
“Nice ride, man!” A slim man clad head to toe in leather paused in front of Preacher, his eyes gleaming with envy.
He wasn’t the only one who’d stopped to stare. She was a rare beauty, his ’69 chopper, with her deep blue tank, matching raked frame, extended fork tubes, and drag bars on dogbone risers. And glistening in the setting sun like she was, Preacher would fault a man for not looking.
Behind him Debbie released his middle and straightened. Stretching her suntanned limbs, she gave Preacher a primo view of the nicely toned legs that had been hindering him for the past several hours. Initially she’d worn jeans for the ride, but after it had rained briefly, she’d changed into shorts.
She’d chosen a small thicket of trees on the side of the highway to change behind that had done very little to hide her. Preacher had caught fortuitous glimpses of skin every time she’d moved and a flash of one very firm ass cheek. And when she’d switched her top, Preacher had gotten another eyeful—a frustrating peek at her left breast. He’d outright stared, the recollection of her fully naked and offering him sex once again mocking him.
Sixteen, he chanted silently, fumbling for his cigarettes. Sixteen, sixteen, six-fucking-teen. Where the hell were his goddamn cigarettes?
Finding out her age should have been the equivalent of a cold shower. Instead, it’d had the opposite effect on him, and he’d spent nearly every moment since trying not to think about her… like that. Which had caused him to think about her twice as much.
Neither did it help when the person he was actively trying not to think about was pressed up against him, her arms wrapped around his waist, her breasts crushed against his back, her bare legs cradling his hips. All of it making it twice as hard to hear reason and sensibility over the roar of blood rushing straight to his dick.
Still searching for his cigarettes and looking anywhere except at Debbie’s sixteen-year-old legs, Preacher eyed the crowded street and paused on a woman strutting down the sidewalk. She was his type to a tee—blonde, tan, with hourglass curves and legs for days. Noticing Preacher, the blonde shot him a knowing smirk and put a little extra swing in her hips. Appreciating the show, he continued tracking her movements. There’d be more just like her at the rally, and he was planning on taking one to bed as soon as possible.
Because that’s all this bullshit with Debbie was—an urge to fuck. He was finally feeling a little bit like his old self again, and after months without a woman, he needed to blow off some steam.
Traffic began to move again, and Preacher revved his engine, pulling forward. Debbie’s arms slid back in place, her hands coming to rest inside his open vest and settling low on his hips.
He blew out a breath of smoke through gritted teeth, then flicked away what remained of his cigarette. Sixteen, you horny asshole, she’s only six-fucking-teen.
As they continued down Main Street, the smells of the rally preceded the view of the park—a thick blend of exhaust and campfire smoke, along with cooking meat and freshly cut grass.
Preacher turned right at the third light, and then made an immediate left onto Lakeside Drive. He knew these streets like the back of his hand; he’d been coming to Four Points for years—until he’d been locked up. This would be his first summer back after two years away.
The realization that he was about to come face to face with The Judge caused his neck muscles to tighten. He’d been so preoccupied thinking about Debbie all damn day, thoughts of his father had slipped his mind. His old man was going to have quite a lot to say to him, and none of it was going to be good.
As Preacher turned slowly into the state park’s gravel entrance, the ache in his neck flared hot, accompanied by shooting pains above his eyes. Fighting the urge to rub his forehead, he continued on, slowly weaving his way through the overcrowded picnic area.
He felt Debbie twisting in her seat behind him and wondered at the expression on her face. Did the crowd unnerve her? The rally had twice as many people as the Wayne County Fair. Or was she gleefully plotting how many wallets she could grab before dinner had ended? Preacher’s smirked at the thought, and the pain in his head began to ease.
His mother was going to love Debbie. Ginny Fox wasn’t happy unless she was sticking her nose in someone else’s business and rearranging their entire life. She was a one-woman reform mission in their neighborhood. Feeding the homeless, counseling the addicts, volunteering at Father Evan’s home for boys. Preacher had once caught her trying to be a go-between for feuding hookers.
The moment Ginny sensed the street on Debbie, she’d come barreling in like a bat out of hell on a mission to save the girl, and Debbie wouldn’t stand a chance against her.
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.”