by V. Theia
His eyes held. Daring her to look away from him.
All around her the bar was busy, people living there lives while she was transfixed in a pair of eyes, people waiting for her attention. Only Preacher had it.
Connection.
It was there. Right there. Stealing her breath.
Funny how an outlaw showed her how to feel alive.
I’m staying the night, Ruby.
She hadn’t even protested.
Not one word.
Embarrassing how quickly she’d nodded and told him okay.
Because I want him in my home, in my bed.
Breaking eye contact, she got back to working. Feeling him between her legs with every step. And when he stepped up to the bar an hour later, after many trips from his boys, he smiled, ordered a repeat of their drinks.
“You look stunning.”
“Thank you.”
“Aren’t you gonna say I look handsome?” He grinned.
Ruby laughed, pouring the drinks he wanted. Starting with his bourbon. “You’re a dirty biker. It’s the best I can do.”
Preacher gave her the most devastating smile as if that compliment was better than any other she could give him. She felt it in her abdomen, flushing heat right into her heart.
“Thanks, beautiful. Take one for yourself,” he said handing over a fifty. Their fingers brushed as she gave him the change. Electricity charged.
He knew how he affected her when he smirked, his hands full he gave her one lingering glance before walking back to his table.
All night he came back and forth to the bar, she was highly aware of him wherever he was, could hear his laugh above the din of the bar, her body in tune with him, and every time he sidled up to order more drinks, not looking worse for wear despite the bourbon he was asking for, she suspected he was passing it off to someone else, he gave her sweet compliments, didn’t even mention again what they did in that little room. Instead, Preacher told her how he enjoyed her smile and the way she swayed her hips to the music while she worked and how he noticed her taking care of an old guy who was drunk and needing a cab.
He’d noticed every damn thing all night.
He was letting her know he was with his boys, but more than interested in watching her.
And when it came to closing time, dog tired she cleared tables with the bus boy, told Tom he could leave, Preacher sat quietly at the bar, not at all impatient, just occasionally stroked his beard, took a few calls, made a few and waited for her.
And then he took her home on the back of his bike, arms encircled around his waist, her cheek laid on his spine, the sensation morphing into something she had no words for because it felt so good, more so when he rested a hand over her clasped ones at a stop sign.
Connection.
Preacher stayed the night. And the next.
And the one following that.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“What do you get if you cross a thief with a tracker? War, baby. Utter war. - Grinder.
A week and a day later Preacher had just finished yanking on a Henley shirt and strode through Ruby's place. He'd seen her every night since the night at the bar, if it continued he might have to keep some of his stuff here so he didn't have to keep rushing off back to his place for fresh clothes. He caught a buzzing across the room, he cast a look, his eyes narrowing to suspicious slits. It was the third time he’d seen Ruby’s phone silently lit up with the name Dwayne displayed as it vibrated on the kitchen counter in a matter of minutes. Preacher, the ever-nosy fucker that he was where she was concerned. Ruby hadn't mentioned any other man in her life, be it relative or other, but with her penchant for secrets, he still wasn’t sure, and this guy seemed insistent he get hold of her. He cocked his head to see if she was close by. Nope. He could hear the shower running, pipes clanking in the old building. He should have joined her, got her good and soapy. Instead, he watched her phone and this persistent motherfucker.
So, he pressed the green button and answered. Helpful as a saint. Nothing to do with being nosy and wanting to warn this character she wasn’t in the dating market.
"Yo."
"Who the fuck is this?"
Didn't that tone just abrade his nerve endings with sandpaper? He smiled tightly. "You called this phone, who the fuck are you?"
"I want Ruby."
Don't we all, bud. "She's busy."
Preacher had had one busy as hell night on a run for Rider, he maybe got three hours of good solid sleep along with the two naps in between bouts of the best sex of his life. Every time with Ruby it became the best sex of his life. His old lady was wearing him the fuck out and he was so not complaining.
"She ain’t busy for me, put her on."
"Look, my man, did I stutter? I said she's busy. Now, who the fuck are you? Or this call is about to check out."
The guy gave Preacher a few select monosyllabic words that all started with fuck and you ending in prick.
“Ain’t nothing to do with you why I wanna talk to her.”
Charm school 101. He smirked offended to his soul. Truly, he was hurt, so no friends then? Was this the absent brother? This complete jackass sounded like someone she’d be related to. She’d filled him in a bit more this past week on just what kind of people she shared blood with. Her sister sounded like an absolute peach. A rotten peach.
"I'm her fucking man, that’s what it has to do with me, either say your shit or not, no skin off my nose."
"Her man?" The nasal voice had the gall to snort. "Ruby is too damn frigid to have a guy, bitch is like the Sahara Desert."
"Watch your fucking tongue when you speak about her, you dizzy-fuck, or the next face you'll be looking at will be mine when I bury you." Preacher's growl was a nasty sound.
The line went quiet.
"Whatever, tell her Dwayne called and to call me back asap. She knows why, bitch better not keep me waiting or else." He hung up before Preacher could ask for his address and what size coffin he wanted.
"Motherfucker." Whoever this Dwayne was he was about to die, damn slowly.
Where Ruby was concerned, Preacher was a walking polygraph. She couldn't lie for shit. Her tongue said one thing, her body another. He listened to the reliable source in the room and believed her body. So, when she came through to the kitchen wrapped only in a white towel he grabbed her around the waist, saw her eyes smile and turn smoky with sex. There was something in those dark depths as she watched him that affected every rib bone in his chest, he’d seen it before, months ago, last year, when he’d caught her looking over at him nearly every time he stepped into the bar, and he never understood what the look was because it was gone a second later, she was unreadable at times, but Preacher knew exactly what it was he saw now. Unbridled passion, a passion so wild it held no borders and thank fuck for that limitless desire that Preacher wholly intended to deserve.
Raining a kiss to the side of her neck he kept her trapped right there in the confines of his arms, water still dripping down her exposed collarbone he leaned in and licked it up.
“Who is Dwayne, beautiful?”
He felt he’d been here before. Her nose scrunched up to a cute little button.
“Dwayne? How do you know that name?”
“Just had the pleasure of talking to the douche. He called your cell a few times. He wants to you to call him back. Though from how he spoke I’d like for you not to call him at all.”
“He’s my sister’s boyfriend. Douche?” She grinned and ran her skinny fingers down his beard, he loved her touching him voluntarily, instead of him telling her; put your hands on me, grab my dick, hands on my body, Rubes. “That sounds about right. I should call though, it might be about Rita.”
“Ruby, I don’t want to sound like I’m telling you what to do … but they don’t rate you running after their asses all the time when they click their fingers. Fuck 'em. He sounded like a cunt demanding you ring him back like you're his damn servant. You can tell me where he lives, I’ll deal with the
problem.”
She sighed and leaned into his shoulder, her fingers idly playing around the back of his neck, if he had the time he’d follow through with all these slight touches, and show her just how he liked to start his day, with her on his dick again. He drew a hand up the back of her thigh, kept it on the swell of her ass cheek, soft and warm from her shower, her face flawless, he thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, truly fucking stole the breath out of his lungs. And when she gave him one of those genuine cute smiles ... stunning.
Preacher wanted a lot of things in this lifetime, he was a greedy bastard most of the time, some he got, some he couldn’t have no matter how much he wished it, but the woman right here, as she brushed her hair over one shoulder and turned her body fully curled against his like they were two of the most perfectly made puzzle pieces, this woman he wanted badly.
Not just sex.
Not only sex.
It went deep and it had stayed deep. When he thought he could burn the hunger for Ruby out of him he’d been sorely mistaken. She wasn’t someone he could fuck and discard, there was no forgetting her in a bathroom stall at all and he found as days went on he was drawn deeper under her skin he didn’t want to ever get rid of her.
She made him laugh and that felt amazing.
“I know. It’s just hard, you know.” She said with a little puff of air and what do you know, she got all cozy on his shoulder laying her head. It did wicked things to Preacher’s head, not to mention his body that sprang to life behind his zipper. He coasted a hand the full length of her back, saw how she captured her bottom lip between her teeth, he stroked the back of her neck. "Watch your sister. Make sure she doesn't get into trouble, Ruby. I was a kid as well, Preacher, but responsible for this other person because we had parents too bone idle, too fucking selfish to crawl out of their addictions to take care of the kids who didn't ask to be born. I feel responsible for how she is now. It’s become a habit we can’t break.
“I hate her and I love her but I've never really liked her much. She's not a likeable person, she was spoiled rotten, I needed new shoes for school, my vans were threadbare but Rita wanted her hair dyeing for a party so I had to go without for a full semester. She is the most selfish person I know, she’ll party all week long not caring if there’s food in the house, and she's ruining Seb's life. He's four and he's so strong already, no little boy should have to fend for himself. I know logically I need to step back, to allow her to fend for herself, to let her sink or swim, but it’s Seb I think about. How do I walk away my nephew?”
So, fucking tempted to stay right here and do her all day, to make her smile in the only way he could. He ran his nose down the side of her cheek, holding her tighter listening to the piece of childhood she was sharing with him.
Fuck work.
Fuck life.
This right here. He wanted to shower her in affection, everything the smaller Ruby should have had years ago. Fuck her stupid parents. He’d fix everything if she let him.
“I’m sorry you went through that. You should have had a better life, better people to care for you. Just think about it, beautiful, let them stew, you don’t owe them anything. And listen, this job hunt you’re on. I had a thought.” Her head came up, those burnished eyes holding his curiously. “The club.”
“No.”
He laughed. Damn. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
“You want me to be one of those dancing chicks.” Preacher out right laughed now.
“We don’t have dancing chicks, but fuck ... If you’re offering I’ll audition you right here, start slow, and work up to a lap dance, you know how I like you to grind on my lap. Work it, beautiful.”
She hit his shoulder and left her arm dangling there.
“You do ink, right?”
“I did forever ago. Why?” Her cute little brows bunched in the middle, like she was finding it difficult joining his dots and where he was going with it. The idea came to him late last night, when he was depleted of every kind of body fluid he had and Ruby was sound asleep beside him. He didn’t want to sleep and probably wouldn’t so his mind had shifted and landed on her situation wanting a second job. While he absolutely didn’t agree that she needed one to support her lazy-fucking sister, he got an idea, he’d need to talk to Rider about it first.
“The club pays a fortune for our ink, we could do with our own in-house tattooist. If Rider is cool with it, and he can see your previous designs, it shouldn’t be a problem and you chose your own hours.”
“Oh…”
“Is it something you’d wanna do?”
“Maybe. But are you just fabricating a job for me? Because I don’t want that, Preacher. I can find something else.”
“Nope. We need someone in-house, we talked about it for a while. We can get you set up in one of the back rooms, get your supplies and then it’s as and when we need you.”
“Okay. If you talk to Rider and he’s interested I can bring my portfolio by later tonight.”
Having Ruby around the club on the regular … not old lady status yet...
Preacher grinned, leaned in to take a kiss from her.
A deep eating kiss. Ruby smiled into it, her little teasing tongue making him grunt and take more.
Not quite old lady. But close enough.
******
Grinder was an old-school type of tracker having learned everything from his daddy and uncle when he was little more than a boy in shorts. Long before he had a beard and his massive cock. Following in their footsteps was a natural progression, plus he wasn't good at anything else, but rather than become a bounty hunter as they were, his uncle had his own successful business in Vegas, he’d joined the Renegade Souls and became their exclusive tracker.
What he was doing right now had nothing to do with the club. It was so far removed from club business he was teetering into stalker territory.
Not sure how his pops would feel about him right now either. Leave emotion out of it, son.
Gray eyes turned darker from his mood, going left and right, taking in everything he saw. He had a way of seeing everything in one sweep.
Chicks always said he had evil eyes. Slate evil, one chick had screamed at him when he’d dumped her. She was crazy, so she had no basis to call him evil. Bitch had smashed up his condo that night.
Call him whatever.
Grinder got the job done. He couldn’t settle in his own skin with a job half finished until he’d found his mark. He loved earning his money the hard way. The right way.
This wasn’t a job. It wasn’t even recon for a future job.
He was down in the dirt, using his little binoculars for his own personal reasons.
Having heard she was back in town he’d just had to check this shit out for himself because from his reckoning she wouldn't even dare. But it was looking as if she fucking did dare.
Of fucking course, his crazy ass was crouched in the filth of Armado Springs because of a chick. But why here, why fucking now? Was what he wanted to know.
Wasn’t it always because of a fucking pussy.
So goddamn civilized he was in his leather cut beneath his jacket while the sun beat down on his beanie covered head.
Now he wasn’t like most of his brothers, a slave to the pink and the wet. He could go months and not dig into anything. There was a time and a place for sex by his reckoning, and choosing any pussy just wasn’t for him. If he was gonna lose his mind for an hour then he wanted to make it count, make it memorable, he could work his dick better than most, so why settle for mediocre? It made perfect sense.
He liked the club groupies and he wasn’t a saint, he’d hit up some of them. That little Marietta was a witch with sucking cock, straight up pulled the come out of him in three easy pulls, but again, he was particular.
You’re face first in the dirt, jackoff, not so particular now, are ya? Dickheads in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, wasn’t that what his aunt Kate used to say? It should have been a damn wa
ke up call. He rumbled a growl from inside his ribs, annoyed at himself, but here he still was, what a chump, he thought, lifting the binoculars up to his face again and trained it on one window.
Why here and why now? Fuck, he hated mysteries.
Did you hear Luxe was back in town for the Apollo King’s shindig thing? Was all it had taken to send Grinder’s tracker gears into fucking orbit. She was back, was she? It had taken him precisely nine hours and thirty-six minutes to get the information he needed. He hadn’t slept yet, no time to sleep, he had a bush to choose for cover. He didn’t want some other sucker to get the good realty.
His eyes frozen immobile. Not even drawing breath into his lungs because for a second as he saw a slight movement behind the blinds inside the motel room up on the balcony, he had a memory flash of wanting to kill this chick.
Sounds resonated with the early hour of the day. Birds chirped in the distance and slight traffic driving by. Grinder was well masked in the shrubbery. He was literally hiding in fucking bushes.
Stalking Jackass.
No wonder he wanted to kill her.
The movement stopped. He wondered if it was her, and if so, what was she doing awake at seven thirty? Didn’t dirty rotten thieves sleep late? He knew dirty rotten thieves had warm kisses.
But then hell was hot, no shock in a she-devil like her being the same way.
A shift and a creak of twigs from his left made him lower the binoculars, he watched an ornate tree lizard run on by, not bothered by the big dumb idiot camped out on the ground, he hopped over Grinder’s arm and carried on his journey. At least some fucker was having a grand day, he scowled.