Preacher (The Untouchables MC 5)

“Since high school. Junior year.”

“So you were what? Sixteen?”

She nodded, looking fragile and uncomfortable. Like a wounded deer. I felt a sudden rush of understanding. Someone had hurt her. And I had someone fresh to kill.

“Who was he?” I growled.

Her eyes got wide.

“Who?” she asked, avoiding my gaze. Fury rose up inside me. No wonder she was such a frightened bird. But she knew damn well what I was asking and she was going to tell me. Right fucking now.

“I need the name of the man who hurt you.”

Her eyes got as big as saucers. I saw shock there. And maybe a hint of relief. She wasn’t used to people looking under the surface. And I wasn’t just doing that.

I was already under the hood, tinkering with her engine.

“He was just a boy,” she said softly. “He didn’t . . . he didn’t hurt me physically. Just my heart.”

I closed my eyes briefly in relief. I still wanted to kill the little shit, but if he had laid hands on her, I would have gone nuclear. She would tell me who he was. But I decided I could wait until we weren’t surrounded by people. Until I could kiss and hold her after she told me the truth.

“We need a lock for this gate,” she said, changing the subject. “To keep people from coming in at night."

I glanced at the chain link fence at the front of the lot. We had plans to decorate the fence as well. It was going to be something else, if it all came together.

“Leave it open. Give the kids somewhere relatively safe to hang out.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Should we be encouraging that?”

“They’re going to do it anyway. Why not here?”

“What about the produce?”

“If they need it that badly, let them have it. I say we put up a sign saying the produce is free and put out a box every day of what’s ripe.”

“That’s a good idea, Preacher,” she admitted shyly, still avoiding eye contact.

She sighed and nodded, rubbing her hand over the back of her neck. Her thick, wavy dark hair was in a ponytail today, making her look even younger than usual.

If she hadn’t dated since the age of sixteen, then she knew next to nothing about men. Unless she was younger than I thought. I probably should have asked that before I’d started mauling her like a sex-crazed bear.

“How old are you, Cynthia?” I asked, suddenly afraid of the answer.

“Twenty-two.”

I cursed under my breath. She was legal but still too damn young for me. By a long shot. But I couldn’t stay away from her. I kept trying and failing. Maybe when Paul came back. Maybe if I moved far away. It would have to be farther than California or Mexico, though.

It would take an ocean to keep me from turning up at her doorstep.

And even then, I was pretty sure I would find a way.

“We will have words. Soon,” I promised. “When there’s no one else around.”

She looked at me nervously, her gorgeous lips parting. I stared at the shiny plump pink of her bottom lip. Did she think I just wanted a kiss? She really was innocent if she believed that.

I wanted inside those thighs. I wanted her wrestling in my bed till dawn. And I wanted it every night.

For-fucking-ever.

I wanted her for real.

And so help me God, I was going to get her.

Chapter Fourteen

Cynthia

The sky was just starting to darken as the last of the volunteers headed home. We’d cleared the lot but there was so much left to do. Thankfully, there was a core group of ladies who were going to come back every day and tend the plants, the unofficial garden crew spearheaded by Aunt Julia. Clarice and I had promised to help as well. And Preacher had promised to build some furniture for the sitting areas.

The thought of Preacher working with his hands like that was strangely appealing. He wasn’t afraid of hard work, that much was obvious. And he’d already started laying out some plans for the garden using the bricks we had salvaged to mark what would be a wall separating a space for chairs and tables from the raised beds.

I had been trying to avoid watching him put all those bulging muscles of his to good use. It was hard not to stare. The truth was, it was hard not to drool.

His craggy, handsome face was starting to grow on me. And his extremely virile body was impossible to ignore. He was fitter than a man half his age, fit and strong and well put together, looking like a rock star in his leather and denim. Never mind his piercing blue eyes or the unholy way the man kissed.

Preacher was definitely not chaste. And he wanted to be not chaste with me.

The knowledge made me feel hot and cold all over. Mostly hot. Especially when he was giving me sultry looks full of promise every time I turned around.