The Heathen: Preacher Brothers, 2

by Snow, Jenika

  “You almost got caught, almost brought heat on this fucking family,” my father spit out. “And all for what? All for five hundred fucking dollars?”

  He was enraged about me robbing a liquor store, nearly getting caught, nearly getting arrested. But I hadn’t. I didn’t say that, didn’t repeat that over and over until he understood, because it wouldn’t have made a difference.

  The hit on the liquor store had been unsanctioned by him, therefore wrong on every single level. Even if I’d walked away with a hundred grand, it still wouldn’t have mattered. My old man hadn’t approved the job, so therefore I’d fucked up.

  But fuck him. I was biding my time, saving up money so I could get my brothers and me away from him, away from all this bullshit. But deep down, I knew we’d never be free and clear. We’d never be able to break away from the life that had shaped us.

  Or I could just kill him, just pluck him out of our lives. I may only be fifteen, but soon I’d be bigger, stronger than him. Soon, I’d be the one delivering the fucking beatings.

  I felt the kick to my side and grunted, holding my ribs. He could beat on me as much as he wanted to, as long as he left my brothers alone. They wouldn’t be able to handle this, not because they were smaller, children, but because over the years I’d hardened myself to this.

  I could take it.

  I had to.

  It was the pain that woke me, this throbbing ache that encompassed my whole head. Had he hit me again? I knitted my brows at that thought then realized I’d been dreaming of my father again. It didn’t happen often anymore, not since I was grown, not since his motherfucking ass was put in the ground.

  I went to touch my head, remembering where I was, what had happened, but I couldn’t move my arms. They were bound, and I instantly thought I’d been arrested, that Kimber had called the cops and they’d finally taken me in.

  “Calm down,” her soft voice commanded, and I found myself instantly stilling.

  I opened my eyes then, the grittiness in them almost more painful than my head. The light was harsh, sharp, and I found myself hissing and closing them tightly.

  “I’m sorry. Hold on,” she said softly again, and I heard the light patter of her feet on the floor as she rushed away. A moment later, the room became darker behind my closed lids and I opened my eyes again.

  I was in a bedroom; that much was clear by the wide dresser in front of me and the closet to my right that was open, showcasing clothes hanging from a metal rod inside. The bedroom door was open, and I saw the bright lights from the other room washing down the hallway. I looked at the ceiling, saw the fan above me, the three lights encased in glass globes having this dimmed, white glow to them.

  To my left, there was a window, the curtains drawn. Beside me, there was a small bedside table with a clock sitting on it. The time showed ten at night. I looked toward the door again and finally noticed her standing there, several feet from me as if she were terrified. I lowered my gaze to her hand and saw she held my gun. It looked big in her palm, far too large for someone of her small stature to be holding.

  “You know how to use that thing?” I cleared my throat at the gruff tone.

  “Point and shoot. Seems pretty self-explanatory.”

  I chuckled humorlessly and shifted on the bed, pulling on my hands and realizing again they were bound. I tipped my head back and looked at the knots, pulling on them once more, the headboard rattling slightly but the restraints holding firm.

  “Those knots aren’t going anywhere,” she said softly, but there was this hardness to her voice, as if she were trying to appear strong to me.

  No, not appear that she was.

  She actually was.

  “It’s the only thing my father taught me that was of use.” It’s as if she said that as an afterthought, maybe thinking she hadn’t said it out loud, because she quickly looked down at the ground.

  Long moments of silence passed between us, and I shifted on the bed enough that I was in more of a sitting position. My head throbbed something fucking fierce, but I pushed that pain back. It wasn’t anything I wasn’t used to, hadn’t experienced before tenfold.

  We just stared at each other, this thickness in the room, this uncomfortable and awkward silence as we looked at each other. I was waiting to see what she’d do, what she’d say.

  Despite trying to act unaffected by her presence, by the reality of the situation and what I would have to do in order to keep myself and my family out of the prying eyes of anyone not in our tightly knit circle, I couldn’t help but continuously think about how pretty she was.

  God, she was so fucking pretty.

  Beautiful.

  Gorgeous.

  She was small, tiny compared to my stature. But she had curves. I could see them under the baggy clothes she wore, the oversized cable knit sweater that covered her from neck to waist, the lounge pants that were loose and hung around her legs and covered the tops of her thick socks she wore on her little feet.

  Her long, dark hair hung loose around her face, wavy, the strands hitting the tops of her collarbones. And her eyes… her eyes were blue and bright, big and round, with dark lashes framing them and contrasting the light shade of her irises.

  “If you let me go, I’ll forget any of this ever happened,” I found myself saying, and it was so unlike me… bargaining, trying to make someone feel better with my words or actions. And I knew as I lay there staring at her, my hands tied above my head, the fact that she’d brought me in here, used that little body of hers to restrain me instead of getting the authorities, had the corner of my mouth wanting to kick up in a smile.

  If I told anyone what I’d just told her, I’d have been lying.

  But I wasn’t lying to her. Was I?

  A part of me didn’t want to hurt her, didn’t want anyone to hurt her. She seemed so frail, so innocent and vulnerable. I didn’t even want her in the same room with me because of the type of monster I was.

  And I was one.

  She was scared, no doubt, but she was also fierce. I found that highly attractive. She said nothing as she worried her bottom lip, her little white teeth pulling at the soft, red flesh. Although she said nothing, I could see in her expression, in her eyes, that she was thinking about her options, about what she should or shouldn’t do.

  “You need to let me go, Kimber. You need to realize who I am, what I do, and how you’re not safe.” I needed her to be fully afraid, not letting her strength rise up. She had the option to fight or retreat.

  She needed to retreat from me.

  She needed to run.

  “You’re hurting,” she finally said and took a step toward me. She didn’t even bother responding to my statement.

  As if on instinct, my entire body tightened, my muscles contracting. I didn’t like the fact that she had this effect on me, as if I couldn’t control myself.

  I didn’t like the fact that she actually made me feel things other than anger and resolve to get the situation under control.

  “I can handle a lot more than a knock to the head.”

  She took another step toward me. “I’m not talking about your head.” Her voice was soft.

  I grew angry and felt my body tighten even more.

  “I’ve seen men like you many times.”

  “Yeah?” I bit that word out and leaned forward even more, the twine she used to secure me digging into my wrists.

  “You’re hurting on the inside.”

  I clenched my jaw and growled low, which had her stopping, her eyes widening in fear. “You don’t know a fucking thing about me.” My words were like acid, my tone sharp and hate-filled. I didn’t like the fact that she thought she could read me.

  I didn’t like the fact that she could read me.

  I watched as she pulled her shoulders back and tipped her chin up in defiance. That reaction took me off guard for a moment. No one acted like that toward me, not even my brothers. I got off on people being afraid, the fact that they didn’t know if I’d snuf
f their life out as easily as if I were blowing out a candle.

  “You don’t think I’ve ever met men like you?”

  I slowly smirked. “Baby, I don’t think you’ve ever met a man like me.” I narrowed my eyes and bared my teeth, pulling at the binds once more as I leaned my upper body toward her.

  She narrowed her eyes at me, and I felt my cock twitch as arousal whipped through me. And my body’s reaction to her… my reaction to her, angered me even more, because she made me feel something other than the void that had filled me for so long.

  She walked a step closer to me and stopped at the edge of the bed. For long seconds, she just stared at me, no emotion on her face, although I could read it in her eyes. She was afraid of me, of what I was capable of.

  Or maybe she was afraid of the situation.

  Maybe she was afraid of herself.

  Would she believe me if I told her I wouldn’t hurt her? Would I believe myself if I said that? The very thought of laying my hands on her gave me this twisted pain in my belly, this disgust in the pit of my soul. What was it about this woman that turned me inside out, that had me questioning who I was and how I acted?

  And all for what… because she showed me kindness in the face of fear? Because she took me to her home and refused to submit to me when she was aware of who and what I was—that I wasn’t a good man?

  I didn’t know what it was about her, but everything inside me was drawn to this woman. Everything said I had to be close to her.

  “You were talking in your sleep,” she finally said after long seconds of this terse silence.

  My spine was ramrod stiff, the blood rushing through my veins. I remembered what I’d been dreaming about, the nightmare of my past and how my father was, the abuse he used to deliver to me on a daily basis. The fact that she’d heard anything related to that had this... vulnerability settling within me. It enraged me, made me feel weak. It made me feel bared.

  I stiffened impossibly more, my muscles contracting, the rope digging into my wrists until pain slammed into me. I wanted that discomfort. It made me feel—know—I was here and alive, able to fight.

  And the only thing I could do in retaliation was be angry and direct it toward her, even though it wasn’t her fault. Even though that was the last thing I wanted to do.

  Chapter Nine

  Kimber

  This emotion filled me, becoming lodged in my throat. I saw the way he instantly reacted when I’d told him he spoke in his sleep, knew that even though I hadn’t said what I heard, Cullen knew I was very aware of the abuse he’d suffered.

  Here was this big strong man seeming unbreakable, yet while he’d been unconscious, he’d cried out for his father to stop hitting him... begged the man who should have protected him to take his anger out on him and not his brothers.

  He wanted to seem like he was this stone-cold person, this rage coming from him, the wall he’d clearly built around himself to keep people away was actually to protect himself.

  We were more alike than he knew.

  Yet we had gone on different paths in the face of childhood abuse, polar opposites in all things it seemed. But we were one in the same.

  And all I wanted to do was go to Cullen and hold him. Because I knew no one had done that to him... for him.

  But I didn’t do that. He wouldn’t want that, and my actions wouldn’t be welcome. They weren’t now.

  So, I cleared them from my mind and looked down at his body. His clothes were dirty from me dragging him from the vehicle and then into my home.

  I wanted to reach out to him in a purely healing, emotional way, but instead, I lifted my head and looked into his eyes. His expression was so hard and cold. He hated me, maybe wanted to kill me. And that was okay. I’d been hated my whole life by the one person who should have loved me unconditionally. And I’d reach Cullen. I’d connect with him before this was all said and done.

  I needed that as much as I knew he did.

  “Can I take your shirt off?” He didn’t answer, but that wasn’t any surprise. “It’s filthy, and I’m sure you’d prefer to be in something cleaner.” His shirt was dirty and torn and needed to come off. “You have clean clothes in your duffle.” Maybe I shouldn’t have reminded him I’d seen what was inside of that bag. Maybe all that would do was piss him off again.

  But he didn’t respond, just tracked me with his eyes as I moved around the bed toward him.

  “You’re going to have to untie me to get it off,” he hissed and bared straight, white teeth at me, pulling at the bounds once more.

  I didn’t speak, just reached into the pocket of my pants and produced a pair of scissors. I still held his gun. I wanted him to know I wasn’t afraid of it or using it, even though the truth was I wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger.

  “No, I don’t.” I inhaled deeply and moved a step closer, opening and closing the scissors so they made that snapping sound. I expected him to lunge at me, to bite at me like a feral animal. Instead, he just lay there, looking at me with those coal-dark eyes.

  “I’m just trying to help you,” I said in a soft tone, looking directly in his eyes, not backing down or submitting. I had absolutely no doubt this man was used to getting his way in all things, that everyone submitted to him.

  That no one went up against him.

  I didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to be the enemy.

  “I just want to help.”

  For a second, he just stared at me, not moving, his body still tense. But then he slowly leaned back so he was resting against the headboard once more. He tipped his head to the side marginally and lifted a brow, as if he were trying to tell me to go ahead, that he’d behave.

  I licked my lips and moved to step closer, reaching out for his shirt, gripping it, and sliding the scissors up the fabric. The sound of material rending seemed obscenely loud in the room, and as much as I wanted to keep my focus on his face, to be prepared if he tried anything, I couldn’t help but stare at the flesh that was revealed as the fabric was cut away.

  I got to the collar of his shirt and could see his pulse beating rapidly at the base of his throat. When I brought the scissors down one last time, cutting away that last piece of material, I knew I should’ve taken a step back, but all I could do was stare at his abdomen, at the tattoos that covered nearly every inch of him, the muscles that were visible under the dark ink. I gripped the material, my fingers brushing against his warm skin as I parted the material.

  God, this man was built like a tank.

  I swallowed and started pulling the torn shirt away until he lay there, his masculine torso on clear display.

  “Get a good look.”

  I snapped my head up, felt my eyes widen and my cheeks heat at the fact that he’d caught me staring at him, at most likely the knowledge that he knew I was admiring all that masculinity.

  He was affected though. I could tell. I noticed the subtle changes in him. His pupils were dilated, his chest rising and falling a little bit faster. His biceps flexed, as if he were still trying to pull at the bounds, not like he was trying to get free, but as if he couldn’t help himself. His voice was also deeper, huskier, not like how it had been… all aggressive to intimidate me.

  It had a different pitch, a deeper tone. And because I couldn’t seem to help myself with him, around him, I had the most inappropriate response. I felt my body react. I felt a tingling settle between my thighs, felt my nipples start to harden. A flush washed over me, this heat that had perspiration settling between my breasts.

  I took a step back, telling myself this was wrong, inappropriate. I shouldn’t have a reaction to this man. But the more his stare penetrated me, the more I wondered what it would be like to run my fingers over his defined abdomen.

  Would his muscles clench under my touch? Would he react? Reciprocate?

  I found myself shaking my head at my inner thoughts. It didn’t matter what actually happened. I shouldn’t want anything further than helping him heal and hoping like hell that,
at the end of this, he didn’t decide I was nothing but a complication.

  * * *

  Cullen

  She’d left ten minutes ago, and still my body felt like it was on fire from her touch, from her very presence. I didn’t fucking like the way she made me feel, how she made my body react like this.

  I pulled on the binds again, harder this time, the metal headboard banging against the wall in response. She wasn’t lying about those knots not going anywhere. I tipped my head back and looked at them, the intricate work telling me she knew what the hell she was doing.

  I rested my head back and closed my eyes. I’d left my brothers in a pissy state, told them I was going to the cabin to clear my head. And because of that, they’d leave me alone. For days, weeks—hell, fucking months. They wouldn’t bother me, not until I contacted them.

  Nobody knew I was here, and it wasn’t like I needed rescuing, but shit, had I ever thought I’d be the one at the mercy of someone else?

  And my car...

  Given the sound of the storm outside, there was no doubt it was already good and buried in snow. No one would fucking see my SUV for some time. I supposed that was a blessing though. It’s not like I needed any more attention than what I already had.

  I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling, remembering the feel of her fingers gripping the material of my shirt and pulling it away, the pads of those digits lightly skimming my skin. It felt like fire and ice all mixed into one. And it had taken every ounce of willpower and self-restraint not to get fucking hard in that moment.

  And God, she’d smelled incredible, like clean linen, freshly laundered clothes. I didn’t know why that aroma had turned me on so much, but it had surrounded her like a cloak, making everything in me feel intoxicated, drugged. She was this aphrodisiac to me... the first one I’d ever experienced in my entire fucking life.

  I stared at the closed bedroom door and curled my hands into tight fists. She might have thought she had made an unbreakable knot, but what she didn’t know was that my piece of shit father had taught me a lot of tricks. And those tricks meant pushing past the pain and using strength to overcome all the crap life threw at you.