Chapter One #2
Everything went gray, and I fought to breathe as tiny white dots blurred my vision.
My skull felt like it was exploding, the pulse echoing in my ears. I spat onto the ground, tasting blood and wondering if he’d knocked some teeth loose. My arms trembled when I tried to push to my feet, but gravity pulled me back down.
Lying there, I stared at Preacher’s boots, expecting one of them to stomp me flat for bringing trouble to his garage.
Instead, he dropped his cigarette, seized Hammer by the front of his shirt, and yanked him close. “What game are you playing at?” he snarled.
Tag, Gap, and Silent Moe backed away. Maybe they weren’t as dumb as they looked, but their tough-guy fa?ade evaporated instantly. Gap looked ready to soil himself. Tag edged closer to the car. Moe just stared quietly as the scene unfolded.
So did I. Despite wanting to stand, staying down felt safer. I rolled over and stared at the cloudless sky, fighting the pain slicing through my skull while ignoring the tiny pebbles digging into my back. My face throbbed, making me wonder if he’d broken my jaw or even my cheekbone.
A few men filed out of the long side door of the L-shaped building, joining the others. Great. A bigger audience. They glanced at me then at Preacher, who still had his fist wrapped in Hammer’s shirtfront.
“I know that douchebag,” the one with a toothpick parked between his lips said, jerking his chin toward Hammer. “Rumored he’s a drug dealer.” Toothpick moved with a lazy confidence I’d never possess, circling like a shark testing the water. “I’m inclined to believe the rumors.”
His leather cut was adorned with a “Sergeant at Arms” patch. Between him and Preacher’s rippling muscles, I felt like a gazelle in a lion den.
This just kept getting worse by the second.
Preacher’s eyes narrowed, his lip curling. “You dealing that shit in my town?”
Part of me wanted to shout, “Hell yeah he does,” but nobody was paying me any attention, and I didn’t want them to. Snitches died.
I was trying to keep my skinny ass alive, all 130 trembling pounds of me.
“What I do is none of your business.” Hammer squared his shoulders, trying to look unshaken, but Preacher’s grip on his shirt shattered the tough-guy act.
He was too stupid to live.
Preacher’s face went tight, and though my ears were still ringing, I could’ve sworn he growled. “What happens in my town is my business.”
“Look.” Hammer pushed at Preacher’s hand, but he might as well have been shoving a steel beam. “T said he left my stuff here. Hand it over and I’m gone.”
Preacher stared at Hammer like he’d lost his mind. His lips curled into a slow smile, making Preacher even more breathtaking.
Stop lusting over a killer, dumbass.
He released Hammer’s shirt and gestured toward the building. “Since you put it so nicely. Follow Crowbar. He’ll take care of you.”
The Sergeant at Arms stepped forward, plucking the toothpick from his mouth to reveal a blinding-white grin. “This way, princess.”
My jaw dropped when Hammer actually followed him. The door hadn’t even clicked shut before four men slipped in behind them.
Turning to the remaining three, Preacher asked, “Anyone else want a trip inside my clubhouse?”
They froze, eyes bouncing between the door and the remaining bikers.
Reaching behind him, Preacher produced a matte-black pistol, leveling it at Gap’s forehead. “Then get the fuck out of here.”
They scattered like roaches, leaving me sprawled on the concrete as they peeled out, brakes squealing. Not that I wanted to go with them, but having that gun anywhere near me wasn’t exactly comforting. I held perfectly still, not even breathing, praying I’d somehow become invisible.
No such luck.
Those amber eyes locked onto me, studying every inch of my body. I looked away, suddenly finding his tattoos the most fascinating thing I’d ever seen.
The silence was unnerving. “I didn’t—”
“Hush.” Preacher dropped to a crouch, his forearm resting on his thigh. “Face okay?”
My lips parted, but nothing came out. When I finally clamped my mouth shut, I nearly screamed from the lightning bolt of pain that shot through my head.
Calloused fingers caught my chin, surprisingly gentle as Preacher tilted my face left then right. “Ice that. Soon.”
The sheer calm of his voice was disarming, a steady rhythm that whispered confidence without arrogance.
“Okay,” I whispered.
Then he was gone, just like that, rising to his full height and walking away. For several heartbeats I forgot how to breathe, my sole focus on his retreating form.
Wait. That was it? No bullet to the brain? No invitation to join Hammer inside? I forced my body to move, rolling onto all fours. The world tilted dangerously as my stomach lurched in protest. Don’t puke. Don’t you dare puke.
Christ, my skull felt like it was splitting open.
After a deep breath, I staggered to my feet, legs wobbling beneath me. My gaze darted between the garage and the windowless door where Hammer had disappeared. Nobody emerged. Nobody called my name. I stood frozen, waiting for Preacher to reappear.
One minute passed. Two. He didn’t return.
Taking the miracle for what it was, I limped through the gate and down County Road 21 toward town. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I picked up my pace, my pulse throbbing in my temples with each step. What if Preacher changed his mind? What if Hammer somehow survived and came after me?
I rounded the corner and broke into a stumbling jog, not slowing until my front door was locked behind me.