“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” Preacher snarled. “And where the fuck is Tiny?”
“Who are all those women?” she countered, her voice trembling—with anger or fear, she didn’t know. She gestured toward the door, residual panic making her movements jerky and uncoordinated.
Preacher’s frown deepened, making the angry lines in his face appear twice as pronounced. And Debbie was once again struck by how different he seemed.
“I told you not to come here. You bein’ here is doin’ the exact opposite of what I told you to do!”
“I thought you had business to take care of!” she shouted. “But you’re throwing a party? Is this what you do on the road?”
“What happens here or on the road isn’t any of your business.”
Shocked, Debbie blinked. Her eyes filled with tears. “Is this what you want, then?” she whispered.
“Is what what I want?”
“Those disgusting women!” She thrust a finger toward the door. “I saw Knuckles and Crazy-8, and I saw you!”
Preacher regarded her coolly. “I don’t know what you think you saw, but those women are hookers, bought and paid for. And I haven’t touched a single one of ‘em.”
“Then why are you here?” Her bottom lip trembled relentlessly as she tried desperately not to cry. “And why can’t I be here with you?”
Preacher’s eyes flashed, and his expression turned deadly once more. “Those men are monsters,” he said quietly through clenched teeth. “Do you get that? They are fuckin’ monsters and I don’t want you anywhere near them.”
“They why are they here?” she demanded. “Why are they in your clubhouse? You say they’re monsters, but they’re here because you let them in! Are you a monster too?”
Silence followed her words—the sort of stillness that steals everything within its reach, strips it naked, and swallows it whole.
Debbie’s thoughts jumbled. And as her emotions overflowed, so did her eyes.
“Is it because I look like this?” Tears streaming down her cheeks, her hands flew to her stomach. “Because you did this! You did this to me!”
“I know what I did.” Preacher’s tone was as unyielding as the look on his face. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but I ain’t gonna keep apologizin’ for it, either.” His jaw locked. “I want my fuckin’ kid.”
“That makes one of us!”
Preacher’s nostrils flared wide. “What is wrong with you?” he demanded. “Look at your fuckin’ stomach! You need to own up to what happened and get your damn head on straight! We are havin’ a kid, you’re gonna be a mother—”
“Shut up!” Debbie cried, slapping her hands over her ears. “Just shut up!”
Preacher took a threatening step towards her, his hands clenched into fists. Debbie scrambled backward, taking refuge behind a chair.
Surprise flashed in his eyes. Shaking his head, he threw his hands in the air. “What am I doin’ wrong? You got a place to live, don’t you? Food, clothes, money? When was the last time you had to jack a wallet or scam a meal?”
“Screw you!” Debbie continued to cry. “At least I wasn’t pregnant!”
Preacher stared at her. “Are you tellin’ me that you’d rather be out there on the street, livin’ like a goddamn rat, than here with me, havin’ my kid?”
A bolt of clarity flashed through the roaring storm that was Debbie’s emotions.
No, God no. She wouldn’t trade her life with Preacher for anything that had come before. But she wasn’t about to admit to it—she was far too upset at what she’d seen going on inside the clubhouse tonight.
Preacher closed the remaining distance between them and grabbed hold of the chair Debbie was hiding behind. “What the fuck do you need that I ain’t givin’ you? More clothes? More money?”
“Screw you,” she whispered hoarsely. He could take his clothes and his money and shove them up his ass for all she cared. All she wanted was him.
The chair between them disappeared, and Debbie flinched as it crashed into a wall.
“Answer me!” he demanded. “What else do you need?”
“I need to not be pregnant!” she screamed. “I don’t want a fucking baby! I don’t want to be a mother! I don’t want this, Preacher!”
Her explosion startled them both into silence.
Preacher recovered first, his surprise quickly reverting to anger. “Too late,” he ground out.
His refusal to hear her, to even acknowledge her fears, sent her into another emotional tailspin. “Fuck you!” she cried, “Fuck you!”
Nostrils flaring wildly, rage stamped into every line on his face, Preacher stepped closer, forcing Debbie up against the wall. “Fuck me? Is that what you need? You’re jealous of those whores out there? You wanna get fucked in front of everyone too? Want me to pass you around?”
Debbie’s breath hitched, her heart skipped a beat, and then her hand cracked across Preacher’s face. His head whipped to the right under the force of her slap.
He turned back to her slowly, flexing his jaw.
Debbie brought her throbbing hand to her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry,” she rushed to say. “Oh God, Preacher, I’m so sorry.”
She flinched when he touched her wrist, and gently tugged her hand away from her mouth. “Wheels, open your eyes and look at me.”
She shook her head, and he sighed loudly.
“I’m protectin’ you, don’t you get that? But I can’t protect you if you don’t listen to me.” Preacher’s voice was a soft, tender rumble.
Eyes still closed, Debbie continued to shake her head. She didn’t understand anything regarding the club. And with tonight’s revelations, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to.
Preacher bent his head to hers. Forehead to forehead, nose to nose, his warm breath mingled with hers. Debbie breathed in the familiar and comforting scent of him, hating that it was mixed with the noxious smell of cheap perfume.
His hands captured the sides of her head. “The less you know, the safer you are.”
She opened her eyes. “Are you safe?”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “How many times do I gotta tell you? You don’t need to worry ‘bout me.”
It was such a small thing—a single extra blink—that Debbie almost didn’t notice it. And probably wouldn’t have if she hadn’t been looking directly into his eyes.
“Lie,” she whispered.
He stared at her for a long time, a mix of emotions passing over his features—guilt, sadness, and pain. The same pain she always glimpsed in his eyes when she found him roaming their apartment at night.
“Oh, Preacher,” she whimpered, and kissed him—a soft brush of her lips. He drew in a deep, ragged breath and then covered her mouth with his.
Then she poured everything she was feeling—all her shock, her anger, and her fears—into their kiss. All her love too.
And when they broke apart, and Preacher’s hands fell away from her face, gone was the pain in his eyes. Instead, they burned hungrily.
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand. “We’re goin’ home.”
No sooner had they’d turned toward the door when Knuckles burst through it. Smoke and music filled the room. “Sylvie’s gonna kill Joe!”