Preacher Man (Renegade Souls MC Romance Saga Book 2)

by V. Theia

  And no one liked a painful dick.

  Except for Lawless. When he was in the mood for it.

  Like tonight.

  His watchful eyes had kept a lock on the door, chiming in with his club brothers’ conversation now and then, it was like tuning out buzzing bees. His expression bored. It was no reflection on them. He was just ... bored.

  All sorts traipsed through Otis' doors of an evening and if he were lucky someone of his varying tastes would trot on through like a good piece of meat.

  It wasn't as though he was fussy. Only when he was.

  He could mold anyone into what he wanted them to be, people were good little maggots like that.

  They sliced open, butter on a summer's day, save for the spurt of blood. And minds were terribly fucking pliable under certain manipulation.

  It was better if they came to him fully twisted, because if he got his hooks into them if his tick was engaged ... well, it was just better if it wasn't. He didn't like being mean if he could help it. He wasn’t a psychopath, he had a conscience, thank you very much, Bob. That was never his purpose ... and making excuses was a bad habit to get into.

  Eyes on the door, he scratched up his neck, the black tattoo masked his entire throat and underneath his chin, an ink turtleneck, and down across his shoulders, the work had taken six sessions and two of those he'd passed out with the agony on such a sensitive part of his body. If anyone got close enough to the block of color to really study it, would see it wasn't what it seemed from a distance, small intricate layering of black spiders on a repeated loop. No one knew the reason why. Only two people knew and one of them was dead.

  He wore his reminders in plain sight.

  The door opened, people burst through, laughing, enjoying life. He saw a smallish chick come in with a group of seven, she was hidden behind a big wide shouldered dude for a second, but Lawless saw, he ignored them all, just regulars most probably, who cared. It was the chick he had a stare on for. Logging what he saw like he was flipping through a Sears brochure. Short dark hair, clipped close to her head, he bet with one of those hair clippers, no fancy salon for her, she had a square masculine shaped face, no pimples or freckles, effortlessly flawless skin, flat tits, not even small poked nipples, no hips to see, not a fucking curve in sight. She was straight up and down lanky. Looked to be in her early twenties.

  A stirring began in his black pants. A tickling in the back of his throat. He could taste pennies. He wasn’t having a stroke.

  Shifting in his seat. He took a closer look. Licked his lower lip. His dick hurt.

  She didn't wear makeup, now if she didn't wear a bucket of perfume, too, she'd be perfect; For what he wanted tonight.

  Callused sun damaged knuckles rapped on the table, he threw down a twenty for his share of the drink tab. "Catch you, ladies, later," he told his MC buddies who snickered. They understood his movements. They wouldn't see him until morning, maybe the day after.

  Depending.

  "I'm rollin' too." Rider said. But Lawless was already walking across the bar, the chick noticed him of course, being six feet four everyone noticed Lawless. That and he was told he imposed fear in most people. He didn't know why, he seldom interacted with people who weren't part of his MC until his job came into effect and then he got up real close with people and made them very, very dead. He had a black bag of goodies for the event. Maybe he could get doctor death as his new tattoo, he smirked a little to himself, people just didn’t get his humor, he thought he was hilarious. He could laugh someone all the way to a shallow grave.

  He preferred animals most days. Animals didn't lie, cheat or call you a waste of air and they didn't throw you out into the wild when you were only seven. Momma, what did I do wrong?

  There were those animals who ate their young, however.

  Oh yeah, she'll do. He smiled to himself feeling like King of his own jungle. Swagger, swagger, nice to eat you.

  A fast pace in his chest. He let her see him eyeing her up and down. Let her recognize what was going to happen to her nice boyish body. Gangly and thin with a nondescript face. He didn’t care about her name, he wouldn’t be using it.

  The chick fidgeted but didn't look away, she gravitated apart from her group and towards him, meeting him somewhere halfway.

  See that, molding and he hadn't had to do a thing. A look was all it took.

  People were easy. Animals made you work for their affection. Fucking people begged for it like embarrassing pieces of meat.

  "You look like a man," he told the androgynous chick in his whiskey-deep voice, his neck craned down and he sniffed deeply. Not a hint of perfume on her skin. Perfect. And up close he saw she was of age. He would have chucked her back into the pond otherwise. Bad fish, he didn't do them young. He was a fucking deviant, not a monster.

  She grimaced and touched her shaved hair as if offended for a second, ready to tell him to fuck off by the tenor of her scowl. "I like it," he followed up with. Teeth bared, he licked his lower lip. "You want to get out of here?"

  Straight to the point. He touched her pulse in her throat, just with a finger, it was hammering excited or afraid. He hoped excited. He wanted full participation.

  "Eh. I'm with friends. We could grab a drink." Even her voice wasn’t sweet or feminine. She’d scream.

  Stroking his eyes over her square face, thin lips, she didn't even have long lashes, he could already see the bindings he'd use on her. Tight rubber.

  "I don't want a drink."

  "Oh. Well, another time then." She smiled up at him all shy and needy. He could paint those cheeks in his come.

  Adorable little she-boy. He wondered how nasty she could take it. He let his stare continue.

  He didn’t mind some of his circuits being shot to hell. Who was perfect anyway? He had money, he could go anywhere. He chose to be where he was because he just did. It suited his life, besides, his brothers would fall on their asses without him.

  "There won't be another time." He took a step away.

  And began to count in his head.

  "Hey, wait up." He reached three.

  Lawless smiled to himself and turned half of his body, his wide shoulders rolling under his Renegade Souls jacket. He was always proud in his club clothes. He’d worked for it, earned it, no one could take that away from him. The little wild pup had pulled himself up from the gutter with no help whatsoever. Of course, he felt pride. He could have become feral. The public just didn’t know.

  "I suppose we can go somewhere to talk." She hedged licking the corner of her lip drawing her eyes all over him like a hot bath submerging to the deep end. She went from his shaved head, stopped at the ink and roamed.

  Greedy meat.

  Talking. Right. Sure. Not today.

  Lawless palmed her neck, sinking his fingers into her flesh with a bit of bite to the hold. Testing. And felt her shiver.

  Submissive meat at that.

  Just fucking perfect.

  For tonight anyway. It wasn't his way of life. Sometimes he wanted a real feminine type.

  Other times men.

  Sometimes something in between. His preferences had many faces and flavors.

  Sometimes he wanted steak, and then other nights’ lobster.

  Who judges a man's appetites?

  What didn't ever change was the control. He drove his own bus.

  What was the term for it the screwed-up media had coined it; Lawless was sexually fluid.

  Maybe that should be his new tattoo. He leered a wicked twist of his lips. Women called him pretty, handsome, sexy, he was just himself.

  He wrapped his full palm around that slim boyish neck when he heard talk from his boy's table. "I gotta go, Zara is meetin’ up with the social worker and the kid tomorrow, and somehow that means I gotta help with some shit or other." Rider laughed but it wasn't what Lawless heard that had him halting mid-step like he'd been shot in the torso with plutonium bullets.

  Acid gurgled up his windpipe almost making it hard to brea
the.

  It was what he felt in that beat of a second.

  Palpable electricity.

  "Stay." He told her and stalked back over to the boys. Words vomited out of his lips. "Prez. Z-girl said the kid … Angela, was bitching about homework and needing a computer. You tell her to tell the kid, she gets all A's up until Christmas, a laptop is hers."

  The. Table. Dropped. Silent.

  Every one of them shutting up at the exact same time.

  All his brother's eyeballs were on him.

  Lawless didn't blink.

  "Say what?" Rider asked finally. Suspicion in his tone.

  Lawless couldn't explain. The ball in his gut was on fire.

  "Schoolwork is important. Tell the kid to stop being a little brat and get on with it."

  He'd hacked the school records. No big deal, it was a thing he could do. As well as build computers when he was bored. He'd seen she was doing good in some classes but others, total ass-clown. He strode off. "And I'm gonna send some physics books to your place, for Zara to give to her."

  He didn't see his brothers gaping at his back when he walked out with the chick.

  Angela had an incentive now to stop acting the fool in school and not allow last year’s trauma to ruin her whole fucking life. So, what if he felt sorry for her, he’d literally dragged her out of hell and dealt with her clinging to him for hours. Maybe he felt responsible.

  He didn’t.

  There was no explanation Lawless wanted to dig into.

  He had a place to take this chick. Not to his flop at the club, or his apartment in town.

  Nah this was private, out of the way. Secluded. Paid for on a month to month basis. No one knew. He was a private guy and didn’t like to advertise.

  Somewhere someone could scream. if they wanted to.

  Lawless wanted her to. Needed her to.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “Secrets and lies are not what gets you off, beautiful. - Preacher.

  “W-what---?”

  “I love you, too, Sebastian.”

  Though Preacher had his fingers embedded inside her most intimate channel, his dark shadowed voice caused her to ripple with a flash of trepidation as though he was holding onto his control by repeating what she’d said back to her in a tone she hadn’t heard from him before. It was ambiguous and sent a shiver of coldness across her chest.

  He’d heard her phone call? Shut up, Ruby. Of course, he had. Where else would he have heard Sebastian’s name from? He didn’t pluck it from thin air. The desire evaporated instantly like smoke and she shoved his hand away, lifted her leg over his head so she could roll away, grabbing the towel, exposed, dodging his eyes and his question she tied it around herself, taking a long breath. Avoiding.

  “It’s bad-manners to listen in to someone’s private conversation.”

  “Private? This is our room,” he laughed humorlessly. “C’mon, Ruby. Who is it? It’s someone special, or are you telling the desk-clerk you love him now?”

  “It’s none of your business, can we drop this, please?”

  “I’d like to. I really would. All I wanna do is get back to what I was doing.”

  “Then let’s do that.” She made to walk across to him, her heart in her throat, her emotions were private, they made her vulnerable if exposed and she wasn’t doing that for anyone, it had taken shitty parents, absent siblings and a lot of stupid boyfriends to teach her that lesson; don’t give anyone your playing cards or watch them Gin Rummy you time and again like a cutthroat motherfucker.

  “I love you, Sebastian,” he repeated harsher the second time. Tightening her jaw, she stared just as he did.

  “What’s happening here, Preacher? Are you passing up sex … for a conversation? Will the real Preacher man please stand up.” Fuck her he did stand up. From on his knees, he rose like a titan. In the small motel room, he was a fucking god of a man almost scraping the ceiling with his stubbed ponytail. No less intimidating than he usually was, but standing with his hands hanging loosely at his sides, thick ropey forearms, with protruding veins, attached to a massive inflating chest, and those watchful eyes she almost shrank back from him.

  “C’mon, baby. It’s a simple question.”

  Defensive and gaspy, feeling like she was treading underwater, she rounded on Preacher and found him almost brushing against her chest, the electricity sizzled between them, a valid crack of static heat in the air, his head cranked down to look at her, he was undeniably handsome in his worn face.

  And she thought both of them were fucked up in their own small ways, strange they’d gravitated towards each other then. She’d seen some of his tonight with that big idiot guy. She couldn’t guess what kind of hate-on he had for Preacher, she’d only seen the tip of that iceberg, so shoot her but she didn’t really want to add her own crapola into their mix. This was meant to be a sex weekend (mid-week) and it was slowly, surely, turning to cat-turd.

  Nope. Ruby wasn’t having it. She came for sex and sex she would get for Christ sake. A sex weekend with no sex was just… a weekend. And she could have plenty of those at home where she was swamped in responsibilities until she felt as though she would drown. She was so fucking turned around by this fast one eighty she couldn’t find her equilibrium. Hot, bothered and defensive. With the kind of hormones still effervescing in her blood stream she was liking to still lunge at him.

  “I don’t want a conversation, Preacher. I want kissing and fucking.”

  She’d startled him. He blinked, one long covering of eyelids over his emerald stare. With bold fingers, she slid her hand around his butt and down into the back pocket of his jeans, giving a little “ah ha,” as her fingers came upon a square of plastic, she grasped and pulled out two condoms.

  It was Karma, she was positive. She got a little good and it was whack, take that. Just one slice of nice for herself for a minute and whack, karma laughed her ass off at Ruby giving it the hold my beer speech to fuck her up just that bit more.

  This was her good. This was her slice of nice, for as short as it lasted. She’d go back to being alone because alone was better, less complicated. She was fine with being alone. Life couldn’t intrude because she was well and truly fucking sick of Karma. Bitch please, do your worse. Only please don’t.

  She sighed and looked up at Preacher who was stony still and icy quiet.

  “Please, Asher.” Her voice shook. Fingers crept up his shirt. “I want you.” her smile was a blade. The only one she could muster. Sweet horny Jesus, this was not going to plan at all.

  One stupid question, innocent in form, and she was locking doors, erecting walls and leaving a note at the door for Karma to be turned away.

  If she got into who Sebastian was -- well she just wasn’t going to. Not to Preacher. He wanted to fuck her, not get her life story in all its miserable boring richness. That really was not a turn on and she wanted him impossibly horny, she wanted him so turned on by her he didn't have anything else to think about but what was between them. Was that so bad to want? Just this, just give me this.

  She slid her hands under his shirt when he didn’t make a move. She felt a tremor go through him, otherwise, he was a statue, eyes on her. Heavy eyes penetrating down to her bones.

  It took her a moment to find her voice. “Please,” she asked again feeling pathetic. “You said I was to ask for whatever I want. I want you right now.” Whose cock did she have to suck to get fucked around here anyway? Oh yeah, his.

  Ruby didn't want the nice and the easy, she wanted the rough and the now. She didn't want to be coddled or interrogated, she wanted five minutes ago when he couldn't get enough of her, she wanted an hour ago when Preacher was so desperate for her his kisses hurt and possessed her. She wanted that flared passion back, not a boring conversation that held no relevance between them, because if she let normal life in the middle of this, she might as well call it quits now, to say goodbye to the few minutes of nice she was allowing herself.

  On her way to sinking to the flo
or, he grasped the top of her arms, she thought for a second he would thrust her away and that’d be Karma 10000 - 0 Ruby. But then he grabbed her in, handling her roughly, she moaned as he crushed her lips, forcing them open with a swift lick and plunder. She sucked in a winded breath.

  “You get this.” He growled against her lips, keeping his tongue moving in the hottest way, she dropped the towel, got up on her toes, grasping his firm ass, feeling the thick pipe of him digging into her center and even then she could hardly reach all of him as she wanted to, starved for him, but she need not have worried because he was already picking her up, and striding quickly to dump her onto the bed, she landed with an oomph, rearranging herself fast so she could gaze up at him, sex in her eyes mirrored his.

  Thank god. Thank god. Oh, he had it going on. Look at him. He oozed every masculine stereotype she could think of. Bossy. Alpha. Mine for now. He was the only man to make her dizzy, feverish.

  “Listen to me, Ruby. And listen good. I know what you’re doing right now, baby.”

  Blink.

  Still tasting him in her mouth, he’d turned so serious.

  She wanted to screw the stress out of her life, not add to it. “And I’m going to let you. I’m going to let you use me how you need it because you look like you really fucking need it. And then afterward we’re going to talk.” His voice is all dark and sexy, like he’d just spoken a million sex words and her vagina was listening intently. Ruby whimpered.

  Use him. That sounded wrong and dirty and gorgeous. Yes, she wanted to use him completely until she couldn’t breathe without tasting him. There was no room for thinking so she didn’t even try. Her mind blanking out, her other senses taking over. The scent of his masculinity was raw causing her body to react. Nipples hard. Belly fluttering. Her thighs rubbing together wanting more than anything to feel him between them, hot and hard and oh, so rough.

  She saw the pulse in his throat. It matched her own rapid inhale.