by V. Theia
“You thought you could wreak havoc today. Wrong move.”
Terrible violence filled every void inside Preacher until he was breathing through hissing clenched teeth, violence he rarely allowed to surface for the simple reason of the last time he did, he woke covered in dried blood in a motel room he’d never seen before seventy miles away from the club compound with no recollection how the hell he got there. He'd called Grinder who came without question, and doing his tracker thing he'd nosed around the town, heard about a fight in a bar, got Preacher's description, discovered four men were in the hospital but not dead. Hoorah, right? He'd cleaned Preacher up, poured coffee down his neck until he sloshed and they got the fuck out of town. A close call, he’d calmed down with the drinking after that. Preacher wasn’t perfect, but he learned from his mistakes if you looked closely, there were lessons to be had with every fuck up and he’d chalked up enough to last a lifetime. Cold hard truths didn’t lie and neither did Preacher.
Starting barroom brawls wasn’t him anymore, he wasn’t that person he once was, but sure as air churned through his burning lungs he was about to come out of retirement to end this prick who thought it was okay to raffle off his kid to the highest bidder and then to lay a hand on a woman. His woman.
That same clouded violence was in Preacher's eyes, riding his spine, he felt it down to his fingertips when he grabbed the shithead by the scruff of the neck, all too aware his old lady was in the SUV clutching her nephew, no doubt scared to fuck because of this guy who had the misfortunate to be the kid's sperm donor.
"You gotta know this one thing, Dwayne, mind if I call you dickwad? Good." With a grip around his scrawny neck, slick with nervous sweat, Preacher dragged him around the corner, and rammed his head into the brick wall, blood oozing like a river. Both Grinder and Snake had come back to form a wall. Nothing going on here, folks, walk the fuck on by. Again, he was relying on their murky reputation of putting the fear of God into sticky beaks. They saw the cut and bikes and instantly walked a little faster. For once he played on it.
“Cops are three minutes away, bro,” offered Grinder, “get it done quick.”
Dwayne screamed as bodily fluids that were not meant to leave the body flowed out of his nose and split forehead. "Motherfucker! I'll kill you," he could barely stand on his own two feet, if not for Preacher handling him he would have gone down like a hooker and the promise of a ten-dollar bill. The threat was worthless, any other time Preacher would have laughed his ass off, maybe poked fun, even tweeted that shit.
Two minutes before the law arrived.
"Wrong damn mistake today, dickwad. I mean, killing your lady, I’d say that ranked up there as big mistakes go, what were you going for, the insurance money? But even that I could give a fuck about, but taking the boy and trying to sell him? Trying to lay a hand on my wife? That’s where you tripped up, big time, fucking huge.” He considered using the taser on him again just for shits and giggles, but he wanted the guy conscious for this world of hurt coming at him at a speed of one hundred knuckles, besides that, Preacher was already in danger of stepping in a puddle of piss. “I'll do anything for that girl, you wouldn’t know what that’s like would you, since you killed yours.”
“Please, man…”
“Ruby loves that kid, she wants the kid. She’ll be a better parent than the two unfortunately given to him.”
“I didn’t mean…” wah wah wah. Fingers tightened around his neck, squeezing the anger.
The blubbering meant nothing to Preacher. He felt no sympathy for this kind of man. “And more importantly you're upsetting her, so I say again, I'll do anything for her," he used the flat of his boot to slam down on the back of the guy’s leg, breaking it in one sharp snap, the crunch was terrible, he emphasized the pain for a second by kicking that same area as Dwayne screamed, quickly muffled by Preacher's hand, not wanting do-gooders to run to his aid.
Preacher held him up with two large hands caught around his throat, eyes wild and high blinking furious, turning bloodshot from lack of oxygen, how easy it would be to end him, he’d only need to think of how the guy looked ready to land a heavy fist into Ruby’s face and it would be enough motive. Calling on patience, he grit his teeth, slammed Dwayne’s head to the wall again. “Oops. You really have to stop headbutting this wall, man, I mean, really, it can’t be good for you, you're gonna have one wicked headache,” behind him Snake snickered and said, “one minute, P-man.”
He knew already, he could hear the sirens. Sheriff-do-right would be here any second and Preacher caught with blood on his hands, not good. It’s why he kept the hurt to bones.
It was only then, dickwad had the grace to beg. Was this his first beatdown? Didn’t he know begging was meant to start instantly soon as the whistle blew? Amateurs, really. He was working with amateurs. "Please, please, stop! Stop, STOP! please! I didn't mean…come on, man, we can work this out."
Like he thought Preacher had an ounce of compassion in him. Funny. The junkie was just a little bit stupid.
"You are way too late for that, you called my woman a bitch, you were going to hit her. You’re lucky I’m leaving you breathing, instead, you’ll spend a very long time being someone’s bitch in jail, I hope you get the fattest sweatiest piece of shit in there and he’s a sex addict. She wants the kid, and now she’ll get him, now tell me thank you.”
With a small encouragement, Preacher used his thumb digging into that soft part of his shoulder that caused untold pain like being stabbed with fire, an old army trick, Dwayne screamed and fell to the ground. “Waiting,” he told him, bored.
“Thank you. Fuck! Thank you, you, crazy shit.”
Preacher smiled and stepped away, leaving him slumped against the wall, he dusted off his hands and went to stand with his boys.
“He’s right, you, crazy fuck, now what do we tell the cops?” Asked a smiling Grinder.
“We found him like this.”
“I can back that up.” Offered Snake, a slick grin growing on his face as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette box, he offered one to Preacher who really wanted the nicotine hit but refused with a shake of his head, he caught Ruby’s deep-set gaze on him and he felt his guts churn over.
She’d watched him do all that.
All of it.
Fuck.
As that, two cop cars pulled up, sirens and lights, he was already in the process of stepping up to his own truck. “You alright, beautiful?” She nodded. “How’s the kid?” He was silent, cuddled on Ruby’s lap. “Hey, champ.” He smiled at him. The kid burrowed into his aunt.
“He’s okay, better, I think. I didn’t let him see anything.”
Preacher frowned. Fuck. What kind of stepfather would that make him? He hadn’t even given it a thought the kid seeing him beat the shit out of his father. Yeah, way to go, Priest. Goddamn.
Luck would have it, and the first time for everything, when he chose to speak to the cops of his own free will, he was busy for the next twenty minutes giving a fast verbal statement to Charlie Timmons and his deputy who cuffed Dwayne but called for an ambulance when he saw the state he was in. “You found him like this? Exactly like this?” Charlie-boy didn’t sound convinced.
Preacher told him again what had happened with a shrug. “He’s high as a shitbag can be, just look at him, he probably had a fight with the wall, these bath bombs these days, dangerous, Sheriff.”
“Probably been on the spice.” Piped in Snake, puffing on his smoke gesturing with the tattooed hand that held it. “Have you seen it on the news? That nasty crap makes you act like a goddamn zombie, what kinda crazy high is that? Kids these days.” Preacher had to bite back a grin.
Whatever Charlie thought, he had caught a suspected killer, score one for the sheriff and no thanks for Preacher. What killed Preacher was thirty minutes later a blue Ford pulled up and the same social worker from the hospital climbed out. Ruby stiffened, her eyes filling up. Fuck. Fuck. She’d come for the boy. It wasn’t as simple as ta
king Seb home with them.
A lot of talk later, the woman, to be fair was nice once she warmed up and didn’t look at Preacher like he was gonna murder her, said she would be in touch and that Ruby’s application was being discussed in the next day or two. Waiting; It was all they could do now.
He held her hand watching the blue car pull away with Sebastian in the back seat, trying to be so brave, he felt her shaking holding the tears back. Little dude had barely murmured a word, so used to being shuffled here and there.
“We’re going to get him for you, beautiful. I promise you that,” he told her quietly.
She was a blank stare besides him, he could practically hear how she was internally putting herself back together, fashioning her walls in place so she didn’t break apart. Jesus, he hoped he could keep that promise.
His boys took off back to the club, he led Ruby over to the SUV, stopped before he could open the passenger door, his gut so damn tight he almost squeezed out a diamond.
She wasn’t talking, wasn’t looking at him.
Putting his mouth to her ear he asked quietly. “Have I lost you, Ruby?” His frown practically masked his vision. “I didn’t want you to see that side of me, what I did to him…”
******
Hearing the tenor in his voice finally, the noise breaking through her own whirling mind, Ruby’s head came up, eyes sparkled by unshed tears widened, she let go of the stress filled breath. “God, no. He deserved it. I wished I’d punched him. I always hated that slime bag.”
When he’d walked back towards her in the SUV, she couldn’t read his ice eyes even though she searched his face, his gaze shuttered, banking the frigid stare, she only had one thought, his features twisted in anger and protection, he looked like the fucking prince of darkness coming to avenge a one-hundred-year crime against humanity. The thoughts running through her head were far from decent. He’d gone to bat for her and knocked that fucker out of the park.
Was it the wrong time her loins all barked? Sure, but it was still the truth. She flung her arms around him hugging him fiercely. Every part of him stiffened before his arms came around her a second later crushing her much smaller bones. She didn’t care, he felt fantastic. “You were fucking amazing. All grrr and hot. I mean, tough guy. Like a less-green Hulk. You saved Seb, thank you so much, Asher.“ And the blowback of his hot protection meant she was turned up to level ten. Knowing he performed that act of violence for her, that he’d called his boys in for her, it was fucking heady as any drug she could think of that would give that same rush of heat through her bloodstream.
Preacher, the unlikely hero. Like the Green Arrow, the TV show, not the dismal movie she refused to believe even existed, but way cooler. He was that man in books and he'd done it for her.
He pulled back, arched a brow, smiled a little. “Hot?”
“Maybe a little,” she bit her lip, controlled the urge to pounce because really, Ruby, this was not the time.
----Danger. Is what she should have been telling herself, oh, not because of what Preacher had done to Dwayne, that asshole deserved every broken bone and scream that came his way, she hoped he got a nice guy called big Al as his cellmate in lock up that liked to do nasty things with soap, no, the danger warning was for her own damn self, this was all make believe, pretend, her marriage might have all the usual trappings of a happily ever after, she was living with him, she was sleeping with him, and the diamond sat on her finger, but sooner or later he’d tell her this was fun and all, Rubes, but there are waitresses waiting for me. God. Bile snuck up on her, rose in her throat before she swallowed reflexively.
Feelings sucked.
Getting attached sucked worse than anything.
Falling in love with your own heroic husband, that was the road to ruin.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
“Boys, we officially have the legacy of the Renegade Soul’s happening right now.” – Rider
As it turned out being an outlaw wasn’t favorable to the state when they were handing over kids to brand new foster/adopted parents. Archie had told him the holdup was the CPS were looking into Preacher’s past and his two D&D’s. More than a handful of years ago he’d gotten those drunk and disorderly charges, spent a couple nights in the drunk tank to sober up before they let him go, no real prison time but it was coming back to bite him in the ass. Worse, it was another day spent for Ruby knowing her nephew wasn’t at home with her. She was being strong, said she didn’t blame him, it was one of those shitty state hold-ups, she was being too understanding, he blamed himself.
If there was one thing Preacher hated and that was failing.
He was doing it spectacularly as it goes. So much for producing the marriage certificate being the magical fix, it was his name that was making them question about giving the boy to Ruby. That kind of civil servants had a special brand of condescension that set Preacher’s teeth on edge, they saw in black and white, didn’t matter he had been an upstanding (outlaw) or that he’d never (been caught) done anything illegal in recent years. It was there in black and white on his police record two D&D’s so it made him the scum of the earth. He could plead his case, he supposed, if it came to it, he was still holding out hope for Archie’s persuasive nature to go to work and earn the money the club paid him by pulling some lawyer mojo out of his ass and win this for them.
They’d had two relatively quiet days, they’d heard from the sheriff, Dwayne was charged with manslaughter after singing like a canary under questioning and was being kept in pre-trial detention until a date could be set. Rather than being angry for the lesser charge Ruby had nodded at Charlie, told him thanks for letting her know and then got on with life. He didn’t know whether she was due for a full-blown crack or she truly was alright.
She’d been to church earlier, he’d dropped her off outside, now he was at the club about to walk inside, he sat on his bike for a long time, lost in his own head.
Struck with a sense of personal inadequacy, Preacher ran a hand around the back of his head and sighed up to the approaching night sky. Protecting people was what he'd always done well. Until he didn't. And now it seemed he was fucking up left and right and because of his slightly colourful illegal past, Ruby might lose the kid to the system for good if they proved he wasn’t a good stepfather material. How much worse could they deem him up against the junkie father he did have? Jesus, the shit was stacking up. The right thing to do as far as he could reckon was to step away from her, to have her disassociate from him, why did that make his chest ache?
Motherfucker, couldn't one thing just go right for once? He craned his head back, the thing feeling like it weighed a small country hanging on his thick neck, the night sky swallowing him whole as each emerging star appeared to twinkle their judgment down on Preacher.
So incredibly vast and still he felt like an ant. His lungs inhaled the cooler air, summer was coming, it would be hotter than Satan’s ballsack soon, not that he gave a shit about the seasons only that it was difficult to ride his hog in the thick snow.
He liked the summer, liked the cookouts with the club and other chapters, they'd arrive in a few months’ time for the fiftieth anniversary of the Renegade Souls MC, but he couldn’t think of any of that right now while this hung over him.
He thought of a lot of things standing with his smoke, the smoke he shouldn't be having, that was two now. Tension rode his spine; the latest drama was a doozy and he really fucking wanted to help Ruby.
Because you want to keep her and fuck her and never stop.
It wasn't just that.
Not only that.
He wanted to love her like she’d never been loved before, until she was so fucking drunk on the love he was giving her she wouldn’t doubt a second of what he felt for her.
Preacher recognized something in Ruby that was missing in himself, like he’d taken one look at her and saw the same empty hollowness he had in his chest, she was a complex girl, that was more than evident, had secrets a mile long, sometimes he had
n't even known if she was telling him the truth, they'd turned the corner on that.
"You gonna step in and help any time soon, ass-clown?" He asked the sky, not expecting the stars to part and his big brother's face to look down on him, but knowing Shane it was still a possibility, he always did like showboating. "It's the least you can fucking do, bro, since you went and got yourself killed, don't you think?" Pain lanced under his ribcage, he took a long drag on his smoke, flicking it into the dirt with his thumb, he needed that poison in his lungs like he needed a hole in the head. “Bro. I could do with a hand. This is so far out of my wheelhouse I’m screwing it up for her.”
Anyone with PTSD will tell you it’s not the moments when you’re having an episode it’s all the times before it, worrying when it’s coming, that slight white noise in the ears, was that a flashback about to happen? Those days when every little thing just winds you up causing the biggest moods, was that an episode about to happen? Preacher worried every day that he would come unhinged and wouldn’t have a say in the matter as he cowered on the floor, or god forbid beat the fuck out of some unsuspecting person because he thought he was an insurgent come to kill him.
So, on one hand, he was doing all he could to help bring the kid home, but then was it the better outcome if he wasn’t in the picture if one day he lost his shit around him?
As he’d learned, never decide a life decision on what that fucker PTSD was whispering in its musty voice, it was always wrong, and Preacher wouldn’t cave to the possibility of what ifs, not when he could have something good, something real. Keep going forward, bro. He could almost hear Shane in his ear. Keep going forward.
He did, by walking through the main entrance to the clubhouse, he was in time for the meeting, taking his seat next to Texas. “Rider not here yet?” He asked the money man who seemed distracted, his eyes flipped up. “Hm? Ah, yeah, seems so, haven’t seen him all day.”