Preacher

by Blake, Joanna

  Maybe they’d even be able to help me tie down my woman once and for all, I thought, casting a hard look at the silent girl beside me.

  What the hell are you doing, old man? You are like the fucking boogie man. You are not the hero in this story. That young buck back there was.

  Maybe so, I told the voice inside me. But fuck that. I get to win, anyway. I get the girl.

  “Pull over! I’m going to throw up!”

  My first thought was that she was trying to trick me. To escape. Then I saw the green tinge to her skin.

  “Shit,” I cursed as I checked the road. We were clear. I carefully eased us onto the side of the road. Thankfully, it was a low traffic time and we were already off the highway. I preferred to take smaller roads once the bulk of the trip was over.

  She had the door open practically before I stopped, leaning over and throwing up before she even got her seat belt off. Fuck. I hated seeing her like this. I knew it was normal for pregnant ladies to puke, but this wasn’t cute. This was violent retching.

  I rubbed my hand in flat circles on her back. She hadn’t been trying to trick me. My baby was doing that to her.

  Our baby.

  “Little bastard is just saying hello.”

  She didn’t say anything. She just wiped her mouth with the napkin I handed her and rinsed out her mouth, spitting onto the side of the road. Then she slammed the door shut, adjusted her seatbelt, and closed her eyes.

  “Might get less nauseous if you keep your eyes on the horizon.”

  Her eyes flew to mine in surprise. She nodded and stared straight ahead, otherwise ignoring me. I didn’t blame her.

  And I still didn’t trust her.

  Maybe it wasn’t fair, but she’d put the fear of God in me.

  First by blowing me off for days, and then the whole marriage proposal from the ex thing. I could still see it. That moment when he’d opened the box. I’d already been watching, telling myself I was imagining things, that I should give her space, let her see her friends and make her own decisions.

  Well, once again, fuck that. She was mine. I was older. Not always, but in this case, she was going to have to listen to me.

  Listen and obey.

  And until she agreed to marry me and made me believe she could be trusted not to leave with Mr. Football, she wasn’t going anywhere.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Cynthia

  I stared around in wonder. After almost five hours of driving in tense silence, Preacher had pulled onto smaller and smaller roads, climbing higher and higher into a dense forest until after another half an hour, we finally turned onto a private gravel road.

  The No Trespassing, Keep Out, and Private signs made me pray that he knew the owner. Because I was pretty sure I’d seen another sign with a shotgun drawn on it half buried in the bushes.

  Um, okay. We were not in Portland anymore.

  At the top of the drive, the heavy trees opened up to reveal a rustic cabin and a view that took my breath away.

  “Where . . . are we?”

  “This is my place. Where I stay between gigs,” Preacher said, and I could hear a slight tinge of pride in his voice. “Well, here and my shack in Mexico. Clubhouse is just down the mountain, about forty-five minutes in a car.”

  “Mountain?”

  He nodded.

  “Yes, darlin’. We are far from anyone,” he said with the clear implication that no one was coming to rescue me. “No neighbors for miles.”

  I stared at the cabin, chewing my lip. It looked sturdy. But did it have running water? Or . . . spiders?

  “Is it safe?” I gave him a wary glance. “Is there a real toilet?”

  He gave out a sharp bark of a laugh.

  “I left it rustic on the outside, but it’s got the amenities inside.” He scratched his beard. “There is a possum living under the floorboards, but we’re old friends.”

  I crossed my arms under my chest.

  “A possum? If you think I’m going in there, you are out of your damn mind.”

  He gave me a grim smile.

  “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  Then I was lifted, twisted, and carried up the stairs to the rickety looking front porch. A padlock was undone and a door was kicked open.

  It screeched in protest, just like they always do in horror movies.

  I couldn’t help it. I threw my arms around his neck.

  I was definitely not a country girl. Give me an alley cat any day of the week. A cockroach. Even a rat.

  But possums? All I knew about those were that they had teeth. And for some reason, I thought . . . even thumbs?

  I had a strict policy never to trust an animal with opposing thumbs.

  “I’m going to open the windows now,” he said as he set me on my feet. He lifted my chin and stared at me. “Do not even think about running.”

  “Run? Where would I run?” I asked, semi-hysterically. He narrowed his eyes and pressed a hard kiss to my mouth, leaving me standing there. I looked around and saw a couch. It didn’t look too dusty. I sat down gingerly and took stock of the situation.

  Preacher was mad.

  Scratch that. Preacher was mad and jealous.

  Preacher was mad and jealous enough to have abducted me. Well, with my permission but still.

  I was in the middle of nowhere with a man who had promised retribution.

  And most importantly:

  I knew Preacher would never, ever hurt me.

  So what on earth did he have in mind?

  Then I heard it. A loud scratching noise.

  Right. Beneath. My. Feet.

  I jumped up to crouch on the couch as something rustled under the floorboards, moving fast.

  “Eeeeek!”

  Yes, I literally screamed like the virgin in a horror movie. Except I wasn’t a virgin anymore. I was knocked up by a wild man in the middle of nowhere.

  It really was starting to seem like a horror movie.

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart. That’s just Glen.”

  “Glen?” I looked up at Preacher, not sure how to read him. He wasn’t smiling, but he had just called me sweetheart. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, after all. “Who is Glen?”

  “My opossum.”

  “Do they carry rabies?”

  “Rabies? I don’t think so. I know that they eat bugs. Very helpful creatures. Never once had an issue in here with pests since he moved in. No mice. Not even a spider.”

  My mouth dropped open.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really,” he said. Then I noticed the metal in his hands. Metal circles attached to chains.

  Oh. My. God.

  “What are those?” I asked, my eyes wide.

  “Shackles.”

  “What, exactly, do you think you’re doing with those?”

  He stared at me, then slowly raised his eyebrows. And I knew. The man thought he was going to chain me up.

  “Oh, hell no, you won’t!”

  He reached for me. I tried to get away. I did. But my legs were too short and he was way too tall.

  Once again, I was lifted and carried, this time to a bedroom. He murmured that he had just changed the sheets as he set me down on the bed, holding tightly to one leg. I watched in horror as he fit one shackle over one leg and snapped it shut.

  There was a chilling finality in that sound. I shivered, tugging on it as he took the chain and fed it through a bolt on the floor below the bed. Then he turned and looked at me, weighing another set of chains in his hand.

  Clearly, he was deciding whether he should chain up my other leg. Or my arms. I swallowed nervously, my mouth suddenly dry.

  “Con dropped these off for me.”

  “Con? Another criminal?” I hissed. I might have liked his friends who came to stay with us, but at the moment, I was feeling less than charitable toward his lifestyle. What kind of man chained up a woman? A pregnant woman, no less?

  “No, actually, he’s an FBI agent,” Preacher said wit
h a grin. He was looking much more relaxed all of a sudden. I stared at him, realizing he really had thought I was going to take off with Zach.

  I sighed, deciding I’d better make the best of the situation. If that were even possible. Preacher cleared his throat, looking like he was feeling a little guilty.

  Good! I hope he does!

  “Are you thirsty? Hungry? Need to use the bathroom?”

  “Thirsty,” I said, suddenly wondering how the hell I would get to the bathroom. I didn’t even know where it was. Then again, there was a lot of slack on the chain, I realized.

  He nodded and went to get me a glass of water. He handed it to me, watched me take a few sips, and then took it away, setting it on a dresser across the room. I stared at his broad back as he started pulling off his clothes. First the jacket, revealing cut arms and a worn-in black tee. Then the shirt, and I saw the huge, broad shoulders, a strong back, and the massive tattoo of a skull with thorns and roses growing out of it.

  Then he kicked off his boots. There was something ominous about the sound of those boots landing on the ground. I was pretty sure I was still in a horror movie, and I was about to meet the bad guy.

  Preacher turned around, his hand on his belt buckle. My mouth went dry again as he unhooked it, then pulled open the tab on his jeans and undid the zipper.

  The belt buckle clanged as it hit the ground. But I was too busy staring at his massive, erect cock to notice. Preacher was hard. Really hard. Maybe even harder than I’d ever seen him.

  Was it just me, or does his cock look even bigger than usual?

  “What . . .” I trailed off, transfixed. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say. I wasn’t sure of anything.

  “We are going to talk.”

  “Talk?”

  He nodded slowly, starting toward the bed.

  “I am going to talk and you are going to listen. We are going to be making decisions. Lasting decisions. Lifelong decisions.”

  “We . . . are?”

  “Yes. And we are going to stay here, in this cabin, for as long as it takes.”

  “Oh.”

  “I don’t care if it takes weeks to convince you. I don’t care if it takes years.”

  “Convince me?”

  He nodded, steely determination in his cold blue eyes.

  “That you belong with me. Once and for all. That you belong to me.”

  I scooted back as he climbed onto the bed.

  “People don’t belong to people, Preacher. Not really.”

  “Oh, yes, they fucking do,” he snarled, grabbing one leg and holding something up in the air. Something I had failed to notice.

  Scissors.

  Preacher had scissors.

  I knew what happened next.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Preacher

  “I’m going to ask you again . . .”

  I rubbed the tip of my cock over Cynthia’s juicy pussy lips, teasing her with the promise of release. She was craving pressure and rhythm. Anything, really.

  But I wasn’t giving it to her.

  I couldn’t. No matter how badly I wanted to.

  Because I wanted her to be my wife more.

  I’d never really wanted anything other than freedom before. A juicy steak or the satisfying crack of opening a new tequila bottle, maybe. The roar of the wind when my motor was running clean and hot. But nothing like this. Not the way I needed this woman, all the way down in my bones.

  I had to focus. I had to stay strong. I had to make her beg. Not just for my cock, which she was already doing. I needed her to beg me to keep her, claim her, make her mine without a shadow of a doubt.

  For-fucking-ever.

  “Who do you belong to?” I asked, using my cock to tease her clit. She moaned incoherently, and I pulled the bandana out of her mouth. “Cynthia,” I breathed, tugging on a nipple, “do you have something to say to me?”

  “Please . . .”

  “Please what?”

  “Please stop teasing me!”

  “I need an answer. And I need you in a state where I know you are telling the truth.”

  “I never lied to you!”

  “Yes, you did. You lied to us both when we first met.”

  Her eyes got wide and she looked away.

  “That was different.”

  “You wanted me from the start. Didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, still not looking at me.

  “Why did you meet with Zach?” I asked, moving lower to sit between her legs. I let my fingertips graze her inner thighs. Up and down, not quite touching her petals. She shivered and moaned, making me smile. “Tell me.”

  “He wanted to give back. He’s a good . . . mmm . . . role model.”

  Well, fuck. I mean, I couldn’t really argue with that, now could I? The guy had gotten out and made it big. But he was trying to poach my woman, dammit!

  “Why else?”

  “Because for the first time . . . oh, God, please.”

  “For the first time, what?”

  “For the first time, I realized I was . . .” She was breathing fast, but her eyes were clear. “Over him. Really over him.”

  I stared at her, my fingertips still.

  “Why are you over him?”

  “Because.” She inhaled shakily. “I’m in love with you. You wiped everything else away. I agreed to meet him because he couldn’t hurt me anymore.”

  That did it. That was what I needed to hear. I was on top of her, kissing her as my cock unerringly found its way to her slick pussy. I twisted my hips, and my shaft notched itself inside her. With a sigh, I slid in, both of us heaving a deep sigh of relief.

  I hadn’t just been torturing her. I’d been torturing myself. But it was worth it to hear those three little words.

  “You belong to me,” I growled, fucking her deep and hard. I went from zero to sixty, but it couldn’t be helped. This wasn’t just sex. This was me claiming her, once and for all.

  “Yes.”

  “I belong to you.”

  “Yes, Preacher. Yes.”

  She was close to coming already, after just a few thrusts. I realized I was, too. I stopped moving to stare down at her. I wanted to make this moment last. I brushed the hair away from her face with my hands.

  We stared into each other’s eyes.

  “You are going to marry me.”

  “I will.”

  “Fuck, woman, I love you so damn much.”

  “I fucking love you, too.”

  I started to laugh with pure joy at her words, but her pussy squeezed me mid-laugh. I cursed and gripped her hips, unable to keep still any longer. She was a wild woman underneath me as I rode her to an epic, shuddering, never-ending finish. We climaxed together and stayed that way, as close as we could get, until the tremors passed.

  Slowly, very slowly, I pulled myself free of her body. I left the room to get a washcloth, cleaning her and then myself. And then I found the key and unlocked the shackles.

  “How long were you planning to keep me locked up?”

  I glanced over my shoulder to see a tousle-haired beauty leaning on one shoulder. She was smiling at me like she knew I was a devil and she loved me, anyway.

  “I wasn’t quite sure,” I said, freeing her ankle and rubbing the skin with my hands. “Connor had Cass locked up for a week or two, I think.”

  Cynthia’s smile faded.

  “Jesus, what did she do with herself?”

  “That girl loves reality TV and junk food. I think Connor was the one suffering.”

  “Suffering? Why?”

  “Because they hadn’t done the deed yet. He had it bad for her, and she was right there under his thumb, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she was very young.” I gave her a wry look. “And Mason would have murdered him.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “He married her and made Mason his father-in-law, more or less.”

 
She fell back on the pillows and lazily twirled a strand of her hair.

  “Are you hungry, sweetheart?”

  “No.”

  “I owe you an explanation.”

  “For what?”

  “For who I am. For why I am the way that I am.” Her eyes widened, but she didn’t argue. I’d meant to tell her the story a long time ago, but I’d held back. Now it was time. “But first, I want to show you something.”

  “Something good?” she asked with a pretty pout.

  “Yes, darlin’.” I chuckled. “Something very, very good.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Cynthia

  “It’s so green here,” I breathed as Preacher led me down a well-worn path. He had towels and a bottle of water in one hand. His other hand gripped mine, the rough calluses sending tingles up my arm.

  The man pretty much oozed sex appeal nonstop. Everything about him, from his long hair and chiseled features to his well-used hands, spoke to me. Some deep, hidden part of me had known from the very beginning that he was going to rock my world.

  And had he ever. He’d turned my life, and my ideas about myself, upside down. He’d shown me who and what I could be, and ‘she’ was more than I’d ever imagined.

  It was amazing and kinda scary at the same time.

  No wonder I’d been kicking and screaming the whole way.

  “I love it here,” he said quietly. Who knew the man who loved tequila and a cigar more than food would have such an appreciation for nature. I let out a sound of pure awe as we came to a clearing. In the center was a collection of large, flat rocks surrounding a steaming pool. You could smell the minerals.

  “Hot springs?”

  He nodded, squeezing my hand.

  “Nobody knows it’s here. It’s on my land, so we are totally alone.”

  He led me closer and put a towel on a rock.

  “Sit,” he instructed, removing my shoes and socks. I was wearing one of the warm, oversized flannel shirts that had been in the closet and no pants. My jeans were long gone, cut off my body at the very beginning. He’d been right about my not needing clothes, I realized with a blush. “I read that you shouldn’t take hot baths when you’re pregnant. It’s not really hot, but I think maybe just your feet, sweetheart.”