Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76082 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76082 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
I can’t deny that he's good-looking, but it’s Animal, Quickshot and Badass that are filling my daydreams, not him. “Do the church puns usually work for you?”
He laughs and doesn't sound discouraged at all. "Absolutely. Last night, it got me laid three times."
I roll my eyes. "Then you should be good for a while."
He holds out his hand. "I'm Preacher."
"Natalie." His handshake's firm, unlike most guys who shake like I'm a delicate little flower. "And I'm sure they're around. I just needed something to drink."
"That's pretty strong, even with the decoration. Trouble?" He takes a sip from the glass Chef sets in front of him with an annoyed grunt. "Need an ear?"
"What, you do confessions too?"
His grin widens. "Fucking love ‘em. Especially the hot ones."
"I'm sure." I sigh and take another sip.
It burns just as bad this time, but the pain helps me focus. At least that's what I tell myself. Preacher does a half shrug and raises his eyebrows in a gesture that signals for me to go ahead. What the hell? If my trouble is bikers, then maybe some biker insight might help.
“This place isn’t my usual scene, you know?”
He laughs. “Could’ve fooled me. You looked plenty comfortable coming in the other night, and you’re still here, so…”
I focus on the glass, unable to meet his gaze. “It’s kinda complicated.”
“What fucking isn’t? Look around. You think anybody in this place opened their eyes one day and decided this was the easy choice? Every single fucking human in this building walked a path that led them here, and it isn’t always the fucking scenic route if you get me.”
“But is this the end?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if my path leads me right out that door again?”
He smirks and runs a hand through his unruly black hair. “Then you go. Not to be an asshole, but what’s keeping you? This isn’t a fucking Clash song. Stay. Go. Nobody knows your fucking path but you.”
“Give her a break, Preacher,” Jewel interrupts. She might not know everything, but she helped me when I first got here so I’m sure she knows things aren’t as simple as they look. “Animal, Badass and Quickshot will kick your ass if you chase off their woman.”
Preacher snorts. “If you love something let it go and all that shit, right? If me reminding her that the door fucking exists is enough to scare her off, then they’re better off.”
"You’re awfully philosophical for a biker."
"What? Just because we love the freedom of the road and fucking with authority, you don't think we can think beyond that? I'm called Preacher for a reason, babe." He puts his glass down and waves at Chef.
Chef responds by sliding the whole bottle over. "I'm not your fucking servant. Pour it yourself, fuckhead."
"And what reason is that?"
He shakes his head. "Story for another time, maybe. All I'm saying is that maybe you should take a good look at why you think you’re so much better than the men you’re fucking, because we’re all sitting right here, aren’t we?"
"That's not what I think," I snap in reflex.
“You sure about that?”
I got into this for Sandra. To eliminate her debt. Now I’m in too deep to just leave, but once we’re done, I'm going home, right? My life isn't here. How could it ever be? What, a biker baker? Would I get a nickname? If it's up to the guys it'd probably be Cupcake. That alone is probably reason enough to get the heck out of here.
But what do I have waiting for me?
Sandra’s pissed, obviously, but will she get over it when I get home? I've never lied to her like this before, but we’re sisters. She's got to be willing to forgive me, right? Once I explain?
And work? I have to assume my apprenticeship is toast by now. I don’t have a good excuse I can actually tell Ramona. I’ll be lucky if this doesn’t completely blacklist me all over town. If I don't have a job when I get back, I need to figure out something. Sandra doesn't make enough to pay the rent on her own.
My life isn't so amazing, but I built it up from wreckage and I can't just drop it like it doesn't exist, no matter how tempting the guys are. Sandra needs stability. I look up to find all three of them watching me, Chef, Preacher and Jewel.
Preacher shakes his head. “You seem to be thinking real hard on it. Can’t say I’m surprised.”
“I’m not any better. It’s just different. I’m training to be a baker.”
Chef snorts. “Yeah? So? Faith runs a damn bookshop. You think everyone here just drinks, fucks and changes oil all day? We’ve got fucking hobbies and jobs and shit.”
A bookshop? What—No. I can’t let them get me all mixed up. I’m here to keep my sister safe, and the guys need me because of the Unwanted. It’s temporary. Even if I wanted to stick around and see what happens, there’s no guarantee that they’d want that, too.