Preacher (The Untouchables MC 5)

“I knew him when he was a young man. He had his moments.”

“But he’s a man of the cloth!”

“Exactly. He’s a man first. Paul is as good as they come, but nobody is that good.”

“So, you don’t even try to be good?” I challenged.

He leaned his hands on the desk and gave me a look laden with meaning.

“I’m trying to be good right now.”

And just like that, my nipples got hard. It must be getting chilly outside, I thought distractedly.

I could almost hear Clarice in my head saying, Chilly, my ass.

I crossed my arms and frowned, ignoring the intense sexual tension that had suddenly filled the room.

“So, did he go somewhere for treatment or not?”

Preacher’s eyes got dark and pensive. His craggy face was so expressive. I could tell exactly what he was thinking, even though he barely moved a muscle.

“He either went to get help or to go somewhere and die in peace without these creditors hanging over his head.”

“That doesn’t sound like Paul.”

“Dying changes a person.”

“How would you know?”

“I’ve come close more than twice,” he said as if it were nothing.

“Really?”

“When you ride, death is a constant companion. Plus, I spend a lot of time with disreputable sorts.” He grinned. “Being one myself.”

“But you believe in God and right and wrong?” I asked, feeling confused. How was this the man Paul thought could take over caring for his flock?

“Hell, yes, I believe in God. I just don’t always like him. We’ve had some . . . profound disagreements over the years. But I know he’s up there. Right and wrong, on the other hand . . . that can get pretty fuzzy. I prefer to ‘live and let live.’ ”

I chewed my lip, trying to make sense of his words.

“Disagreements? Like what?”

I saw a shutter come down over his eyes. Clearly, I’d intruded on something personal. Or painful.

“That’s a story for another time.”

I nodded, relieved to end this line of conversation. I was worried about Paul. And the more I learned about Preacher, the more grudging respect I had for the man. But he was confusing. Preacher didn’t fit neatly into the world. I couldn’t put him in a neat box with a label. He wasn’t black and white. Not good or bad.

I didn’t like being confused, and I really didn’t like how intriguing I found him. Or how dangerously appealing.

Did the man have to be so masculine? And those sensual lips! Who ever heard of a man of God with bedroom eyes?

“What do we do about the bills?”

“I’ll make a list. If he wants to come back, I can try and pay them.”

“Pay them? You mean yourself?”

“I live a simple life, but I’m not a pauper.”

“But medical bills are—”

“I’ll handle it,” he said. Oddly enough, I believed him.

“What about the Rev? I hate to think of him all alone out there.”

“A man with Paul’s faith is never truly alone. But don’t worry.” He gave me a determined smile that sent a shiver down my back. “I’ll find him, whether he wants me to or not.”

Chapter Nine

Preacher

I paced in the courtyard, smoking a cigar. I had a few minutes before I had to be back in the office for spiritual counseling. A few weeks ago, I would’ve been grumbling about having to show up anywhere, scratching my ass and half drunk, yelling at people to leave me alone. But so much had happened. This was real life. I had to fucking step up.

I had to be present.

Paul had set me up. I knew it. He never intended to come back. And I knew in a twisted way, the bastard thought he was doing it for me. He’d called me ‘aimless’ and ‘unmoored’ a hundred times since I got my first ride and took off, never to return.

Well, now he was the shiftless motherfucker and I intended to track him down.

Cain picked up on the third ring.

“Cain,” he said by way of greeting. I hid a smile. He was the most stoic bastard I’d ever met, except when it came to his woman. But he was also one of the best men alive.

“Need a favor.”

“For you? Anything. Just keep your hands off my wife.”

I chuckled dryly. I had a reputation for kissing brides. I’d spent most of my life crawling with easy women, so I deserved a good degree of suspicion.

“My friend from the old neighborhood disappeared. We grew up together, roomed together in seminary school . . . fuck, that doesn’t cut it. He’s a brother to me.”

“When? Any thought as to where he might have gone? Or was he taken?”

Cain was on the job already. I could almost hear his brain working over the phone. Thank fuck.

“He’s sick, Cain. Cancer. Dying, maybe. He left me in charge of his congregation and—”

“Wait, what?”

“He asked me to take over his church while he got treatment. But he told me he was going one place and his staff he was going another. Left behind a pile of bills, too. It looks bad.”