I love him.
Those three words banged through her head like a gong, jarring and irrefutable. And completely ridiculous. She knew it was silly, and yet everything she was feeling told her otherwise. And what she was feeling? Oh my God. It was twice what she’d felt for him yesterday and triple the day before that. And she felt oddly hopeful, too. Hopeful in a way that made her chest ache. Hopeful in a way that scared her.
It had to be love.
What else could it be?
Moving away from the books, Debbie stopped in front of a table covered in large wicker baskets overflowing with large green apples. Allowing her backpack to slide down her arm, she casually flipped the top flap open. Leaning far over the table, pretending to browse the selection of apples, she covertly rolled one straight off the top of the pile and into her bag. She did this several more times before finally selecting an apple to pay for.
Biting into the fruit, Debbie glanced over her shoulder and found Preacher where she’d left him—leaning against a wooden pillar just outside the market, hands shoved inside his jeans pockets. Wearing head to toe black, his dark hair was pulled tightly away from his face, giving his already stone-hewn features even more of an edge. Beside him, Tiny was talking animatedly, oblivious that Preacher’s attention was elsewhere.
Having just witnessed her shoplifting, Preacher was smirking as he pushed away from the pillar. Taking another bite of her apple, Debbie watched him approach, and by the time she swallowed, he was beside her, his arm around her shoulders, his head bent to hers. She breathed in deeply, smelling leather and smoke—and since he’d showered this morning, faint hints of soap.
“Can’t believe you’re stealin’ apples from a little old lady.”
Debbie motioned him closer. Their faces almost touching, she whispered, “If you feel so bad about it, you could always pay her for them.”
While Preacher was staring at her mouth, Debbie reached around him, slipped her hand inside the back pocket of his jeans and pulled his wallet free. He realized what she was doing at the last second, quickly straightened, and snatched her wrist.
Grinning, he plucked his wallet from her hand and stuffed it back in his pocket. “You tryin’ to turn me on, Wheels?”
Debbie didn’t know what she was doing, exactly. She was just reacting to Preacher and how he made her feel.
“’Cause it’s workin’,” he continued quietly, and Debbie watched the humor in his expression fade, his features tighten, and his eyes begin to burn. It was a look that, each time she saw it, left her feeling twice as desperate as the last time. Hot and needy, too. And Beautiful. Debbie felt beautiful for the first time in her life.
Beautiful not just because of the way Preacher looked at her, but because of the way he kissed and touched her, too—like he couldn’t get enough. And beautiful because, despite what hadn’t happened between them last night, Debbie had woken this morning and found herself tucked against his side, her cheek resting on his chest and his arm wrapped tightly around her middle.
Preacher tugged her closer and slapped his hand down on her ass. “You keep lookin’ at me like that, Wheels,” he murmured, “and that little old lady is gonna get a show.”
Bursts of awareness zinged through Debbie. Awareness of Preacher’s proximity, the location of his hand, the way he couldn’t ever seem to keep his eyes off her mouth. Her breaths grew shallow and her heart began to race. The rapidly rising heat inside of her reached volcanic levels.
“Quit eye-fuckin’ your girl, VP, and get your ass on your bike.” Knuckles appeared beside them, glancing between them and grinning slyly.
Cursing, Preacher shoved him backward and started advancing on him. Laughing, Knuckles nearly tripped over his own feet as he tried to scramble away.
“What was that, asshole?” Preacher demanded, his good-natured grin belying his tone. “You think I’m gonna let some scrawny little shitstain from the goddamn neighborhood talk to me like that?”
Knuckles made it to the edge of the parking lot just before Preacher tackled him. Both men lurched forward, lost their balance, and went toppling over one another into the dirt.
“I ain’t scrawny no more!” Knuckles shouted. “Like my shirt says—pussy builds strong bones!”
“I second that, brother!” Crazy-8 called out. “Pussy gets me growin’ every damn time!”
While the elderly woman selling apples looked on in horror, laughter erupted from the Silver Demons.
Shouldering her backpack, Debbie hurried to join the rest of the group in the parking lot. Standing beside Gerald and Ginny’s van, Smokey turned to Debbie with a rare smile on his face. He was quite handsome for an older man, she decided, when he didn’t look like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Ginny tells me we’ve got you to thank for this.” Smokey nodded toward Preacher and Knuckles.
Her forehead wrinkled. “Me?”
“Little Ginny said Preacher didn’t want you headin’ into the city not knowin’ no one. So he brought you here to introduce you to his family—to all of us.”
Debbie’s heart skipped a beat. Preacher had… what?
“You see, we didn’t know where he was,” Smokey continued. “Didn’t know if he was dead or alive or what, ‘til now. You brought ‘im back to us, and now we’re in your debt. You ever need somethin’, sweetheart, you come talk to me. I’ll make it happen.”
Speechless, Debbie could only nod, and Smokey turned his happy gaze back to Knuckles and Preacher. Both men were on their feet now, covered in dust and playfully shoving one another. A smear of dirt on his cheek, grass stuck in his hair, Preacher’s eyes locked with hers.
Flushing from head to toe, Debbie took a bite of her apple.
And those three silly words continued to beat an undeniable rhythm inside of her.
? ? ?
Much like the park, the local movie theater was chock-full of bikers and their families, and as their own large group made its way to the ticket counter, Debbie couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the nervous expressions of the townspeople and theater workers. If only they knew how sweet these men really were, how caring and giving too.
At the same time, she enjoyed the adverse reactions. She liked it when others averted their gazes or swallowed nervously as they passed. Beneath Preacher’s arm, tucked against his side, she felt safe and protected in ways she’d never felt before—powerful feelings for someone who’d spent years living in fear.
Inside the screening room, Preacher broke away from their group and led Debbie to the back of the theater to the very last row, where there were less people, and very little light.