The Heathen (Preacher Brothers 2)

“You’re my downfall, Kimber, and I’ve never wanted to go down so hard.”

He tipped my head back and kissed me so soundly, so passionately, there was no doubt in my mind he spoke the truth.

And thank God for that, because I wanted that too. I wanted that so damn much.

Chapter Sixteen

Kimber

One month later

Cullen might not be considered a good man, might have done horrible things in his life—still would if the time came—but at the end of the day, Cullen was mine.

All mine.

And I felt my feelings for him grow every day, consuming me.

The danger that surrounded him, the threat that anything could happen in the future because of how he chose to live his life, how he wanted to make his living, was a reminder of how unsure life could be. I had to be on my guard, ready at all times. But the truth was, it was no different than the life I’d led, the job I worked.

And life in general was so fragile and uncertain.

He was protective of me, possessive of my time, and the way he lavished his affection on me was raw and rough. But I didn’t want soft and sweet. I didn’t want gentle.

For the last several months, we’d been getting to know each other, spending all our time together. And when he took me to his home, introduced me to his brothers, I’d seen the shock on their faces that he… loved someone.

Me.

And they’d welcomed me with smiles and happiness that their brother had finally found someone to complete him.

What they didn’t know, what only Cullen knew, because it was for his knowledge only, was that he completed me as well.

I’d been waiting for him my entire life.

Although Cullen wanted me to quit the hospital, wanted me to stay home, to be safe and not around anyone who might hurt me, I’d made it clear we were a team. I was a healer, and without going out there and making sure people got better, I felt empty. It was the same way he felt whole when he was protecting his family, when he was protecting me.

Wilder

I brought the joint to my mouth and took a long inhale. I passed it to Frankie, the smoke still in my lungs as he took it and placed the tip between his lips. The sound of us baking was loud in the alley, the echo of bottles being broken in the distance seeming to bounce off the brick walls.

“Where the fuck is he?” Frankie asked in a muffled voice, holding the smoke in his lungs.

“He’ll be here,” I said, the smoke he exhaled a cloud of haziness around us.

“Well, I have shit to do, man.” He leaned against the building, propped one of his feet on the brick wall, and pulled out his cell. The screen lit up his face as he started messing with it.

“Chill, Frankie,” I said. “He’ll be here.”

He snorted. “This is why we don’t do deals with junkies, man. They are unreliable and unpredictable.” Frankie didn’t look up from his cell as he spoke.

Yeah, we didn’t do deals or set shit up with people known to be junkies, but this situation and opportunity was too good to pass up.

“Well, when a junkie can give us access codes, schedules, and any other detail that can score us a big job—the biggest we’ve ever had—I’ll take my chance and deal with a tweaker.”

“Well, better hope Dom isn’t pissed.”

I clenched my jaw. Yeah, Dom probably would be pissed. “He’ll get over it when he realizes how much money we can score with this. Another five minutes and then we’ll bounce,” I said and leaned back against the bricks. I shoved my hands in the front pockets of my jeans, the baseball cap I wore pulled down low, the brim blocking out the muted yellow glow from the light at the end of the alley.

And then I heard footsteps approaching. My entire body tensed, and I could see Frankie’s did the same. We both pushed off the wall, him shoving his cell phone back in his pocket, his hand going to the small of his back, where I knew his gun was.

I slipped my hand in my jacket, my fingers brushing up against the cold metal of the gun. No way in fuck we went anywhere without a piece, and especially not when we were meeting with a junkie.

The guy was shuffling along, as if he didn’t know how to pick up his feet when he walked. The scrape, scrape, scrape of his shoes along the asphalt filled the small corridor of the alley, echoing off the building walls.

“Can’t this guy fucking walk?” Frankie muttered under his breath. The tension in his voice would’ve matched mine if I said anything in response.

And then the junkie came closer, the light from the streetlamp washing over him in this dirty glow. He looked between both of us, his body twitching, his eyes red-rimmed as if he hadn’t slept.