Preacher (The Untouchables MC 5)

I had no choice. I had to keep this place running for my buddy.

I rounded the corner to the front of the church and froze.

The doors were covered in graffiti. Gang tags, from the look of it. I wondered why Paul hadn’t just painted over it.

But when I got closer, I knew why.

It wasn’t graffiti. It was art. Paul had clearly given some pretty talented kids the okay to spray paint the door. It wasn’t about gangs, though. Or money. Or even a political statement.

It was about God.

It was about brotherhood.

I took another swig from the bottle, admiring the images. A dove coasted above some colored stripes. I blinked, realizing it was the Pride flag. There was a peace sign. A cross. A rose. A lotus flower for Buddhism. A Star of David. A crescent moon and star that were often used to symbolize Islam.

There were artfully drawn faces of every color.

Well, damn. It was fucking beautiful.

“You should see the one inside.”

I turned to see a young kid, pants hanging low and staring at me.

“You’re Preacher, right?”

I nodded.

“Marcus. I live across the street.”

I resisted the unfamiliar urge to ask the kid why he was outside at this hour. Then I glanced across the street and saw the town of ramshackle houses. Most were dark, though a few looked like there was a party going on inside. I grunted.

“Nice to meet you, Marcus.”

“Reverend Paul said you were cool.”

“He did, did he?”

Marcus just smiled.

“See you tomorrow, Preacher.”

I nodded and watched as he walked across the street, sat on the porch, and ignored whatever was going on inside his house. From the sound of it, people were arguing. It was hard to tell over the loud music.

“Well, fuck.”

Just like that, I knew. I knew I was not going to just go through the motions. I was going to put the work in here. I was going to fucking help that kid.

“Goddamn it.” I stubbed out my cigar and then looked at the cross at the pinnacle of the church. “Yeah, I said it. What are you going to do about it?”

God didn’t answer. He never did.

I shook my head and started back around toward the courtyard. As I passed the front gate, I glanced up to see the lit-up display with upcoming events and information about services.

It wasn’t the ungodly hour that the place opened on weekdays that caught my attention.

It was a girl.

Time seemed to stop as I leaned in, staring at the glass. I wanted to go back, get the key from Paul, and take that photo out. I wanted to take it with me.

Huge eyes peered out of a smiling face. It was a group shot, but it was hard to see anybody else. She was surrounded by kids in the photo. I recognized Marcus, practically hanging off her arm.

I didn’t blame him.

The girl was simply the most beautiful I had ever seen.

Of course, it was just a photo. She couldn’t possibly be that radiant. The woman’s face exuded pure joy. With dark shiny hair, tawny skin, and a classically beautiful face, she was stunning. But it was more than that. Just by looking at her, I could tell that she was something I would never be.

She’s good.

“Community outreach,” I said to myself. There was nothing else. Just a list of activities. No name.

Nothing else to tide me over before I could ask Paul who the girl was.

I scowled then. A beauty like that would never look twice at an old bastard like me. Didn’t matter, anyway. I would just have to look but not touch. I was here for Paul, not to make a damned fool out of myself over a girl.

But when I closed my eyes, I couldn’t get her face out of my mind.

Chapter Two

Cynthia

“Okay, you guys, you ready?”

A sea of shining faces nodded almost in unison. ‘The Crew’ was ready. They’d been practicing for weeks.

I gave them an encouraging smile and told Amber to press play on the boombox just as the door to the parsonage opened.

Reverend Paul stood there with a beaming smile on his face. He wasn’t looking good. I was trying not to ruin the moment by bursting into tears when he stepped into the doorway.

A massive, craggily handsome guy stood behind Paul. He was rough around the edges, wearing worn-in denim and leather, with a salt and pepper beard and thick, wavy hair that was more salt than pepper.

I never, not once in my life, judged anyone by the way they looked.

Until now.

This man . . . he looked dangerous. He looked like sex on wheels. Like the bad guy in a movie you secretly hoped would get away. He looked like he was about to mug Reverend Paul. That was honestly what I thought until I saw them exchange a friendly glance.