“But… I thought I was supposed to wait here for you?” Confusion flickered across her features as she glanced around the campsite. “You should have left,” he said, veering her away from questions he couldn’t answer.ĭebbie blinked. “What does the president tell you to do?” “Whatever the president tells him to do.” “What does the vice president of a motorcycle club do?” He grimaced through another swallow of whiskey before answering. Out of the corner of his eye, Preacher noticed Debbie studying his leather cut. “So you’re the vice president of a motorcycle club?”
Preacher took a swig of whiskey, grimacing at the bitter taste. Several yards away Rocky had tugged the black-haired girl onto his lap, and his hands were all over her. Another, gripping a large hunting knife, was sharpening the blade on a nearby rock. One Road Warrior cozied up beside a woman with her face buried in a magazine. Some of the Road Warriors headed back to the fair while others found seats around the fire. Someone else complied, and a country song filled the space between idle chatter. Knowing better than to put himself in a moonshine coma, Preacher gestured for the whiskey. “Right outta the backwoods of West Virginia.” “We’ve got whiskey and moonshine.” Rocky stepped forward, a bottle in each hand. “Wheels, huh?” he whispered, and Debbie ducked her head, burying her face in her hands. Her cheeks had gone pink and her bottom lip had disappeared beneath her teeth.Ĭhuckling, he sat down beside her and nudged her shoulder with his. “Wheels seemed to like it.”īrows up, Preacher looked to Debbie, who quickly turned away.
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A head full of drugs was the last thing he needed while among men he didn’t trust. Things might seem amicable at the moment, but the Road Warriors had still coerced him into a meeting. Holding up a hand, Preacher shook his head. Flicking the case open, she revealed several neatly rolled joints. “You wanna smoke? It’s my own blend.” The proud declaration came from a raven-haired girl shaking a silver cigarette case at Preacher.