There was only Preacher now. And his vengeance.
Without any other leads, he’d convinced himself that the Rossi family had exacted the hit on his parents. Only he had no proof, and he couldn’t exactly go around accusing a well-known crime syndicate of murder and expect to keep his head attached to his body.
Instead, he’d decided to slowly rip the rug out from beneath the Rossis. And once the Silver Demons were free of them? Adios, you murdering mobster motherfuckers.
But to accomplish everything he had planned, Preacher was going to need a big show of muscle and a hell of a lot more manpower than he had.
When it came to ending the Rossi family, Preacher figured the end would justify the means. Thanks to the Road Warriors, he now had the means.
Television static and slobbery snores greeted Preacher as he entered his apartment. Finding Tiny passed out on the couch, snuggled up to a half-eaten box of cookies, he pried the box from his friend’s grip and switched off the television.
Inside his bedroom he found the lights on and Debbie curled up at the wrong end of the bed. Using her sketch pad as a pillow, she was also clutching a pencil in one hand.
Laughing softly, Preacher took a seat beside her and pulled the pencil from her hand. After tossing it away, he gently tugged the sketch pad from beneath her head and set it on the floor.
He brushed her long dark hair away from her face and caressed her cheek, then her chin, and finally the soft swell of her full bottom lip.
Staring down at her, Preacher felt his lungs deflate.
He wouldn’t have made it the last six months without her. Those first few months after Four Points had been rough. There’d been so much to do, to sort through, and figure out. And so many awful feelings associated with all of it.
Somewhere in the middle of it all Debbie had become his anchor, and the only thing keeping him steady inside the raging sea that had become his life. With her, Preacher didn’t have to be the president of anything. With her, he could still be him.
“Wheels.” He bent down to kiss her, once on the tip of her nose, and twice on her mouth. Her eyelids fluttered.
“Preacher?” she mumbled sleepily and blinked up at him. “Preacher!” She shot upright and flung her arms around his neck. “When did you get back?”
“Just now.”
He wrapped his arm around Debbie’s waist and pulled her sideways onto his lap, a position that drew his eyes to the belly bulge beneath her nightgown. Smiling, he placed his hand on her stomach and was startled to feel a flutter beneath his palm.
His eyes met Debbie’s. “Holy shit. Was that… him?”
The shift in Debbie’s demeanor was instantaneous. Her brow furrowed, lines appearing. The excitement shining in her eyes faded fast into unease.
“Yes,” she muttered, shoving his hand away.
Preacher exhaled noisily. He knew she was terrified. From day one she’d refused to talk about the baby, and whenever he brought it up, she’d either change the subject or leave the room. Unlike most pregnant women Preacher had known, Debbie balked at the idea of going shopping for the baby. What few things they did have, had been purchased by Sylvia.
He understood her fear. The pregnancy had been a shock to him as well, especially being so soon after his parents’ death. And, hell, Preacher had no idea how to be a father and hadn’t pictured himself ever becoming one. Still, it was just a matter of time before there was no choice but to accept his fate—he was becoming a father whether he liked it or not.
So instead of wallowing, he told himself that a baby was something to look forward to, something pure and good in a cruel world.
And lately, he needed all the good he could get his hands on.
Preacher bent his head and placed a kiss on Debbie’s lips. “You smell like cookies,” he mumbled. Traveling to her neck, he sniffed her skin.
“Somethin’ you wanna tell me ‘bout you and Tiny?” Sniffing turned to kisses, and he kissed his way back to her mouth.
“Ew, Preacher! Gross!” Laughing, she shoved at his shoulders until he released her. Moving off his lap, she leaned back against the pillows.
Preacher got to his feet and began undressing. “How’s things at the club? Anything I need to know about?”
For a moment Preacher thought Debbie looked troubled, but the look vanished nearly as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him wondering if he’d only imagined it.
She shrugged and then grinned. “Same shit, different toilet.”
“Jesus Christ, Wheels. No more hangin’ ‘round Hightower for you.”
“But he’s my favorite,” she replied, her tone as sweet as sugar. Preacher paused in unbuckling his belt.
“How you gonna say that shit to me?” he demanded. “I thought I was your favorite.”
Debbie smiled slyly. “Oh, you are… when you’re here. And Hightower’s my favorite when you’re not.” She shrugged again.
Preacher yanked his belt free from his jeans with a loud crack. Tossing it aside, he quickly finished undressing and climbed into bed.
Narrowed eyes on Debbie, he growled, “You wanna try that again, smartass?”
Debbie rolled toward him and slung her arm around his stomach and tucked her leg between his. “You could just never leave again. Then you won’t ever have to wonder who my favorite is.”
Already the stress of the last several weeks was beginning to wane. Preacher’s head was clearing. The tension between his shoulders was evaporating. And his dick was waking up and taking notice of the beautiful girl on top of him.
Debbie had become Preacher’s drug of choice. And when he was gone too long, like a junkie craving his next fix, Preacher craved his girl.
He rolled them over, flipping their positions. “I missed you.”
“I missed this mouth.” He nipped at her bottom lip.
“This ass, too,” He slipped a hand beneath her and squeezed one perfectly round cheek.
Debbie wrapped her arms around his neck and slid her fingers through his hair, freeing it from its binding. Spreading her legs apart, she hooked her feet around his calves.
Gazing up at him through hooded eyes, she whispered, “What else?”
He shifted his hips, brushing himself against her. “This what you’re lookin’ for?”
Debbie made a noise—a sexy combination of a gasp and a moan. Arching her back, she slowly dragged her pussy over the length of his dick. Grinning, Preacher pulled away from her only long enough to rid her of her nightgown.
He took his time entering her, watching with male satisfaction as her breath hitched and her eyes flared wide with every inch he claimed.
Ahhh, goddamn. Preacher dropped his face into the sweet-smelling space between her neck and her shoulder. Debbie’s arms tightened around him. Her fingers dug into the skin on his back. Her body arched, she crushed her breasts to his chest. Then her hips began to move—small, jerky movements in an attempt to get him to increase his pace.
“Impatient,” he grunted, and gripped her hip, stilling her.