Chapter 26 That’s My Girl
That’s My Girl
RIPLEY
I’m staring out the open window, watching the powder-blue curtains rustle gently in the morning breeze as my body starts to wake up. I let out a contented sigh, sliding my hand across the bed and feeling…
Nothing but cold, empty sheets.
“Preacher?”
I roll over to find his side of the bed vacant, the clock on the nightstand.
I frown.
7:00am.
Over the past week we’ve always been up around 4:30 to feed the dogs. I kept waiting for him to say we were going hunting, that I’d be reaping my rewards for all of my hard work, but then we’d wind up doing more fucking chores.
I cleaned up cow shit yesterday, out of the stables and off my shoes.
I sit up, letting out a big yawn before my eyes fall on Preacher’s dresser.
It’s three drawers high of the darkest oak, carefully covered with a pristine white lace doily that his mother made during the last years of her life.
But what’s catching my attention now is brand new: a large white box with a big lavender ribbon tied around it sitting on top.
I toss the blankets aside and push myself out of bed, ignoring the sore ache in my joints as I spot a little cream colored card tucked beneath the ribbon. There’s a single word scrawled on it in elegant handwriting:
Tonight.
A little thrill tickles at the back of my neck as I unwrap my gift, and I let out an involuntary whistle when I see the Prada emblem.
“Nice work, cowboy.”
I’ve never worn Prada, or anything designer for that matter. My parents spent more time and money on their own appearance, selling real estate and running the local church in our town. All the other girls had cool clothes while I wore long wool skirts and dresses fit for a pioneer woman.
My father always said that modesty and submission were two of the most important qualities a woman could possess. Gabriel agreed with half of that.
If only they could see me now.
I slide the lid off, my breath catching in my chest at the sight of a wave of crimson silk that shimmers in the morning light.
“Holy shit.”
It’s stunning, almost iridescent, with a plunging neckline and two of the most delicate straps I’ve ever seen.
I’ve never held something this expensive before, and I’m immediately afraid of ruining it, but when I press it against my body and look at my reflection in the mirror, all of that falls away.
I feel like a fucking princess, even with my mussed up hair and bruises.
Down the hall I can hear the unmistakable sound of Preacher’s heavy footsteps, followed by Hades and Charon’s claws clicking against the wood. It’s funny, that sort of sound used to scare the shit out of me before I got here. Now? It brings me home.
“You boys stay out here, and no fighting.”
He’s so gentle with them. In fact, he’s gentle with all of the animals on the farm. Sometimes I catch him nuzzling up against the horses and cows when he thinks I’m not looking. There’s a tenderness buried deep down inside of him that I don’t think any other human’s really been touched by.
The door swings open, with Preacher’s massive body nearly filing the entire frame. He’s in a blue plaid shirt that’s just the tiniest bit too snug on him, black jeans that are faded around the knees, and his signature cowboy hat, sitting slightly askew as always.
“I know it ain’t even on you yet, but I think I’d like it better on the bedroom floor.”
I snort, looking back at my reflection. He didn’t waste any time.
“How did you know my favorite color?”
“I didn’t.” Preacher wraps his arms around my waist, kissing me on the temple. “I spent five minutes scrolling through the website, took one look at that neckline, and thought, my girl deserves to feel beautiful on her big night.”
Anticipation thrums through my veins like wine as I tip my head back, greeted with his soft lips pressing into mine.
“And where exactly are we going?”
“Oh, little rabbit,” he chuckles. “That’d spoil the surprise.”
I hang over the railing like a hungry hyena, gazing down on a sea of potential prey, looking for the perfect target.
The club was a few hours drive, and not somewhere I’d ever really choose to go on my own, but right now it’s practically heaven.
Everything smells like sweat and whiskey as the crowd throbs like a vein on the dance floor, strobe lights tearing across the room while the unrelenting and hypnotic bass has even me tapping my foot.
Gabriel used to bring me to clubs like this: private rooms, all the liquor and drugs you could want, and plenty of girls offered up on a silver platter to his creepy friends for the mountains of cash they’d bring in.
And of course, that included me.
“How do you do this when there are cameras everywhere?” I yell, raising my voice just enough to be heard over the pulse of the club.
Preacher scans the crowd one more time as he sips his whiskey.
“Carefully. But Raph helps with the details.”
He looks good tonight, dressed head to toe in black, with a wide-brimmed hat dramatically covering half of his face. The only pops of color I can make out are in the brass toes of his boots, and the gold of his belt buckle.
“He helps? Is he hiding somewhere?”
“No, no, he just cases the joint beforehand. Looks up the tech, figures out how everything’s wired. Look, see those cameras up there? They don’t actually record anything.” He slides one hand around my waist, pulling me closer to him. “Now, tell me—”
A wolf whistle cuts through our conversation and I look over to see a drunken frat boy in a dirty white t-shirt and a worn-out baseball cap stumbling toward us, a smirk plastered on his face.
“Thassa pretty dress,” he slurs, somehow ignoring the 6’5” monster of a man holding me by the waist.
There’s a part of me that wants to take my heels off and drive one straight through his eye socket, but Preacher was very clear on the importance of not making a scene.
Still, I can feel his anger as he tightens his grip around me, staring the drunk down with daggers in his eyes.
I’d pay good money to see him toss this dude right over the railing.
The drunk opens his mouth to speak again, but a woman in a pair of skin-tight blue jeans and a crop top strolls past, catching his eye just in time for him to spin around after her, stumbling along after her like he’s being dragged by a leash.
“You think we should have picked him?” I ask, a little disappointed to watch him walk away to safety.
“Not an option, he’s not on the list.”
“List?”
“That’s right.” Preacher pulls out his phone, passing it to me. “You get to pick which of these men you want. My gift to you, rabbit.”
I turn to him, brows furrowed in confusion.
“I thought I was choosing the victim.”
“You are, but for now at least, it has to be from a limited pool. I can’t be sure you won’t pick someone who hasn’t done a damn thing wrong.
” He shrugs, stone-faced but composed. “These two men fit the parameters the clients gave us, and they’re both here tonight.
Raph sent their photos and rap sheets over to me, and now, I’m leaving it up to you to pick our lucky winner. ”
I scroll through his phone, pouring over what looks to be a surprisingly detailed set of surveillance photos.
“Did your brother take these?”
Preacher nods.
“He finds out where they work, where they sleep, and their regular haunts. If we need more, and we almost always do, he hacks their phones, emails, all that shit. That way, we never miss.”
It’s starting to sound like I owe Raphael big time, because if Preacher didn’t have his brother, I’m pretty sure he would have ended up imprisoned or dead long before we met.
I turn my attention back to the phone, studying the photos in more detail. One of the men has feathered blond hair and a bad 70s porn star mustache, while the other is clean shaven with dark, slicked-back hair, a long pointed nose, and wide-set eyes.
“Okay, so what did they do?”
“Well, Wes here…” he points at the blond man. “He broke into an elderly woman’s home, bludgeoned her to death, made off with some cash and jewelry, and then framed an innocent man for the crime. That man is now serving a life sentence while this piece of shit burns through all her petty cash.”
“And what about the brunet?”
“Jonathan’s a real piece of work. Serial rapist. Just recently his DNA’s been connected to several cases across Saskatoon and Moose Jaw.
He subdues the male with a blow to the head, ties up the woman, and then waits for the guy to wake up.
Makes him watch. Cops haven’t done a damn thing because his daddy was tight with the Mayor. ”
“Was?”
“Daddy’s dead. Suicide last year.” Preacher leans in. “There’s nobody to protect Jonathan anymore. Nobody to hide evidence, nobody to intimidate the people he hurt…”
I want them both, but weighing the options, we should probably go for the person who’s more dangerous.
It feels like this is Preacher’s way of reining me in, refining me.
He’s got his ethics to worry about, whereas me?
Not so much. After the hell I’ve been through, I think I’d kill anyone who so much as looked at me the wrong way.
I watch from the corner of my eye as the man who’s become my teacher studies me, his eyes gliding up and down my body. It’s never been clearer that he bought this dress with the explicit intent of ripping it right off me, a reward for us both once we’ve captured the insect in our web.
“It’s Jonathan. There’ll be time for Wes later.”
“Good choice.” He drains the rest of his drink. “Take some time to memorize his face, then see if you can pick him out on the dance floor. I’ll be here if you need me, but I want you to handle this on your own if you can— and remember, you can take things slow. We’ve got all night.”
I stare at the pictures on the screen for a while, burning the man’s beady little eyes and sickeningly thin lips into my memory.
I don’t want to say he looks like a rapist, because a rapist can look like anyone, but Jonathan…
well, it sure looks like the only time he’s ever touched a woman would have to have been without their consent.
I sip my drink, scanning the crowd. The place is packed, and after a few minutes I start to wonder if I’ll even be able to find him. Turns out there are a lot of rat-faced douchebags with slicked back hair that frequent this club. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised.
Just as I’m considering a new vantage point, a couple of men step away from the bar and I spot Dollar Tree Ted Bundy behind them.
He’s talking to a short, curvaceous redhead, and even from here I can tell that she seems…
less than enthused. Her shoulders are tense, all the way up by her ears, her body half-turned away from him as she keeps trying to find a polite way to exit the conversation.
All classic signs that she’d rather be anywhere else, but he’s not listening.
He’s found his next victim.
“You see him, don’t you?” Preacher purrs.
I can feel his eyes on me, watching me as I watch my prey. He squeezes my ass and nips at my ear, but I can’t lose focus now.
“She’s looking around the bar looking for a way out, but there’s no way he’s going to let her go.”
Preacher’s warm, whiskey-laced breath fans across my skin like a soft mist of perfume.
“Remember, you’re saving this woman from a terrible fate, and maybe a dozen more women besides. There’s no reason to hesitate; guilt is a useless emotion when it comes to men like this.”
I turn to him, feeling unsure and… almost juvenile. This is as natural to him as pouring a morning cup of coffee at this point, but my once-burning blood lust is quickly melting away into anxiety.
Can I do this?
I’ve killed out of rage, out of self preservation, but this? Cold and calculated?
Do I have that in me?
Preacher grabs my waist and pulls me toward him, obviously sensing my hesitation. The whiskey on his breath mixes with the leathery musk of his cologne, setting my heart aflutter as he brushes a strand of hair away from my face.
“Alright, let's talk it through. Tell me how you’ll approach him, step by step.”
“Me? Alone?”
“I told you, I’ll be here if you need me, but this is your hunt. You’re the spider weaving the web.”
Preacher’s grin is menacing, his eyes flooded with a twisted look that I’ve only ever recognized in the mirror, in my darkest moments.
I can feel the anticipation surging in, gripping at the back of my neck, and starting to replace all my anxiety and fear. After tonight, there’ll be no turning back. That’ll be me, for good.
“So?” He purrs, gently taking one of my hands and swaying us back and forth to the music. “What’s your strategy?”
“I separate him from her, and anyone else he’s with.”
“Good girl.” He trails his fingers up my bare arm. “Isolation is key. Next?”
“I turn on the charm. Flirt with him, compliment him, really lay it on thick.”
“But not too thick,” he warns. “People like this? They like the chase. If you walk right into his open arms he’ll get bored.”
He pulls me into a deep and fiery kiss, and I can feel myself getting lost in it, tasting the smoky, expensive liquor he ordered. The moan he lets out as I bite into his lip is rich and velvety, like a drop of caramel on my tongue.
I’ve never been in love with anyone before.
Not really, anyway.
Gabriel was an escape plan gone horribly wrong.
But Preacher? Preacher is my salvation.
Even then, even knowing that…
“He’s still at the bar,” Preacher rumbles, turning his head and leaving me aching for more. “But he won’t be there forever.”
He’s still talking to the same woman, and she’s still trying to break away, but he’s persistent, this time resting his hand firmly on her forearm. He’s going to make his move, sooner than later.
“Once you’ve got him under your thumb, wait for the right opportunity, and slip some of this into his drink.”
He pulls out a small baggie of white powder.
Pixie dust.
“You bring him out back, and we’ll put him in the car.” He gazes at me, a surprising softness brightening up his normally intense features. “Understand?”
“Yes.”
“That’s my girl.” He presses one more gentle kiss against my lips. “Now hunt.”