Max. Max was at the swimming hole.
Debbie was at the swimming hole.
Max, that little fucking gigolo, was with Debbie.
Preacher shot up out of his seat, slipped his blade into his boot, and headed out of camp.
• • •
The heat had brought half the camp to the swimming hole. Overflowing with people, it took Preacher a good ten minutes searching the small space before finding a familiar face.
He spotted Sylvia first, easy to identify by her bulging belly and brightly colored sundress. Wearing a dark blue bikini top and white shorts, Louisa was sunbathing beside Sylvia, her nose in a book. Whiskey Jim and Joe were seated nearby, a pack of beer and Debbie’s backpack wedged between them.
Preacher glanced around. But no Debbie.
Dropping down beside his brother, he snagged a beer for himself. “Where’s everyone else?” he asked, scanning the area again.
Scowling, Joe shrugged. “Not bein’ forced to sit here. Probably havin’ fun.”
Sylvia lifted her sunglasses only long enough to shoot Joe what Preacher assumed was the look Joe had referred to earlier, but thankfully she didn’t say anything. Chuckling, Jim shook his head and pointed toward the swimming hole. “They’re swimmin’,” he said.
Preacher followed his finger across the water to the far end, where the waterfall flowed thick and heavy over the rocky outcropping. He spotted Anne first, wading through waist-high water in a skimpy red bikini top—just a tiny scrap of fabric that barely covered her. He saw Knuckles next, splashing and chasing two young women around. He followed their movements until he spied Max… but still no Debbie.
Just then a body broke through the water surface. Water droplets flying in all directions, Debbie shoved her sopping hair out of her face and smiled at Max.
Smiled.
At Max.
She fucking smiled at Max—his dirty dog of a little brother.
Frowning, Preacher straightened and shielded his eyes with his hand. Max was gesturing to Debbie, talking animatedly about something, and Debbie was… laughing?
Preacher stiffened, irritation prickling along his skin. Getting Debbie to talk was like pulling teeth, but making her smile was ten times more difficult. And yet here she was, smiling at and laughing with Max.
Preacher’s frown continued to deepen as Max drew closer to Debbie. Max pointed at something off in the distance, and when Debbie turned to look, Max casually slid his arm over her shoulders.
Preacher shot to his feet. He was two seconds away from jumping into the water, jeans, boots, and leather vest be damned, and dragging Max out by the scruff of his neck. And he would have if Debbie hadn’t immediately shrugged out from beneath Max’s arm and swam away.
“What’s it gonna be?” Joe asked, standing shoulder to shoulder with Preacher, peering out across the water. “Wedgie? Swirly? Purple nurple?”
“I’m gonna smash his fuckin’ face in.”
“Damn. You’re really diggin’ this chick, huh?”
Preacher shook his head, about to tell Joe that it wasn’t like that when Debbie appeared on the grass, and his words died in his throat.
She’d gone swimming in her T-shirt and shorts, but she might as well have been topless. Preacher could see everything through the thin material—the outline of her full, firm breasts, the shape and size of her rock-hard nipples.
And he wasn’t the only one noticing, either. For a girl who thought no one noticed her, she sure was catching a lot of looks.
“Nice,” Joe muttered under his breath.
Growling, Preacher elbowed Joe in the ribs. “Shut the fuck up, asshole.”
Debbie approached them, wringing out her wet hair, drops of water cascading down her sun-kissed skin, utterly oblivious to the half dozen erections she’d just caused.
“Are you going swimming?” she asked.
Beside him, Joe snorted. “He can’t swim.”
Preacher slowly faced his brother. “This ain’t exactly the ocean. I think I can handle myself.”
Joe smirked at him. “Don’t change the fact that you can’t fuckin’ swim.”
“And you wet the fuckin’ bed until you were twelve, either,” Preacher shot back. “But who’s askin’, right?”
Someone giggled, a high-pitched girly squeak, and Preacher jerked his gaze away from Joe to find Debbie with her hand over her mouth, a tiny dimple indenting her left cheek.
• • •
Taking a swig of warm beer, Debbie glanced over at Preacher. Seated beside her on the sun-warmed grass, he was alternating between scowling at Joe and outright glaring at Max. He’d been agitated all day, it felt like, but now he seemed even more so, leaving her wondering if he’d gotten into another argument with his father.
She nudged him with her elbow, and he turned his scowl on her.
“Are you okay?” she whispered.
His expression didn’t change. “What was so funny?” he asked.
Confused, Debbie shook her head. “What was so funny… when?”
Preacher jerked his chin toward the swimming hole. “You were laughin’. With Max.”
“Uh…” Debbie looked to the water, trying to recall what Max had said. “I don’t remember,” she eventually replied. “He made a joke about something, but I can’t remember what.” She turned back to Preacher. “So, you really can’t swim?”
It was the wrong thing to say. Preacher’s brows drew together, his already tense expression tightening further.
“My parents tried to teach me when I was little, but I was scared shitless. Didn’t like the feeling of bein’ underwater.” He rolled his eyes. “Still don’t.”
Debbie couldn’t stop her smile. After watching Preacher take on those men at the truck stop, and stand up to the Road Warriors and that terrifying man from this morning, the notion that he was afraid of something as harmless as water was laughable.
“Somethin’ funny?” he growled.
Biting down on her bottom lip, squelching her smile, Debbie shook her head. “I just didn’t picture you as being afraid of anything.”
That had been the right thing to say. Preacher’s mouth quirked and his strained expression began to ease.
“Not afraid anymore, Wheels,” he said dryly, “Just don’t like it.”
She shrugged. “Well, I love swimming.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded. “I used to live near the beach, and every day after school I’d stop there.”
She paused to sip her beer. “I went to a private school and we wore these awful uniforms.” Recalling the button-down shirt that had reached clear up to her chin and the heavy plaid skirt, Debbie made a face. “The socks were the worst. So itchy. My favorite part of the day was taking them off and walking in the water.”
It had also been her least favorite part of the day because it had meant she was that much closer to having to head home. And home was hell—complete with Satan himself.
Feeling her stomach tighten, Debbie shuddered through her next breath and wished she’d kept her mouth shut. Even her happy memories always turned dark.
“Private school, huh?” Preacher laughed. “I fuckin’ knew it.” He tapped two fingers to his temple. “Smart.”
Despite her roiling insides, Debbie forced a smile. But the smile didn’t last and she began shifting uncomfortably, suddenly acutely aware of her wet clothes, the way they were sticking to her body, chafing her skin. And the way the prickly weeds beneath her were poking sharply against her. And the way the sun was suddenly too hot, shining too brightly overhead, leaving her feeling as if she was under a spotlight.
Quickly she swallowed the last of her beer and set the bottle aside. The warm brew sloshed uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach.
“I’m going to go change,” she mumbled and shot to her feet. Grabbing her backpack, she whirled away and hurried off through the crowds of people.
Reaching the dirt path, feeling overwhelmed by stomach-turning images, awash in
unwanted feelings, Debbie picked up her pace.
Why had she even brought up the beach in the first place? What had she thought was going to happen? Maybe some small part of her had begun to hate the constant lying. Maybe that same part of her had wanted to set free a sliver of her truth and unburden a bit of her soul in the process.
Her eyes burning, she released a bitter snort. Whatever the reason, she should have known better.
Debbie slowed her steps and dug her sunglasses out of her backpack. She didn’t think she was going to cry—she hadn’t cried in forever—but just in case she did, she didn’t want anyone to see.
God, she wouldn’t ever be normal, would she? How could she hope to let someone else in when she couldn’t even let herself in? The burning in her eyes intensified. Beneath the tinted lenses, she blinked furiously. Her chest tightened. She would not cry. She would absolutely not fucking cry.
Noticing a bathhouse just ahead, she felt a small sense of relief. She would lock herself in a toilet stall and fall apart in private.
“Wheels!”
Debbie jumped, nearly tripping over her own feet. Whirling around, she found Preacher striding up a small incline, concern darkening his features. Her stomach flip-flopped. She didn’t want him to see her like this. She didn’t want him to look at her like that—with concern or pity.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded.
Nothing is wrong, she wanted to scream. I’m normal! Please, just look at me like I’m a normal girl!
“I’m fine,” she managed to squeak out.
“Lie,” Preacher snapped and plucked her sunglasses from her face before she could stop him. She attempted snatching them back, but he held them just out of reach.
“You’re fine, huh? Like hell you’re fine. What the fuck happened back there?”
Standing in the center of the path, a large group was forced to part around them, and Debbie could feel their questioning, curious eyes on her as they passed by. Biting her bottom lip, she looked down at her bare feet.
“Wheels…” Preacher’s hand brushed her cheek, and then he was cupping her chin, forcing her head up, forcing her to look at him.
His hand was cool, much cooler than her overheated skin, and she felt herself leaning into his touch. Her chest loosened, breathing becoming easier. Her stomach unknotted. Everything softened and slowed.
Debbie stared into Preacher’s searching eyes. There were no shadows there, no storms brewing. Clear, dark-brown depths stared back at her without judgment, without pity, without… hunger.
Debbie, all of a sudden, desperately wanted the hunger.
She didn’t remember going up on her toes or wrapping her arm around Preacher’s neck. She hardly registered pressing her mouth to his. It all happened so quickly. One moment she was looking into his eyes and the next she was kissing him.
Harder and harder she kissed him, faster and faster. Their noses bumped, their teeth clacked, their breaths were infrequent, erratic bursts of air between the tangling of their tongues.
She hadn’t meant to kiss him like this—so viciously. One moment she’d been filled with ugly memories, haunted by the touch of a monster, and the next she’d been filled with wanting.
Want rolled through her body like molten lava, turning her insides into liquid fire.
She wanted to erase all the ugly. And replace it with this. With Preacher.
Preacher. Preacher. Preacher.
His name was her pulse. Was the thrust of her tongue. Was the throbbing ache building within her.
His hands were on her now, one on the small of her back pressing her closer, the other cupping her head, angling her face. Their kisses slowed as they adjusted to their new position and then sped up again, his beard grating across her cheeks and chin. Her hands were in his hair now, her body bowed to his, her breasts crushed against his lower chest.
And then, just as she’d gone from aflutter to flying, Preacher was gone. His kisses, his touches, just gone. Dazed and breathing hard, Debbie staggered back a step, much to the amusement of several giggling bystanders.
Then he was back, gripping her wrist and tugging her off the pathway. He led her around the corner of the bathhouse to an alcove partially hidden by several towering pine trees.
Standing there, half an arm’s length away from one another, they stared. Preacher’s eyes were wild, his breaths hard, his chest visibly expanding. His shoulders were squared, his legs spread apart, one hand gripping his belt buckle right above the unmistakable bulge in his jeans.
She wanted him back. Every bit of her he’d kissed and touched wanted more. And in that moment Debbie wasn’t sure she’d ever wanted anything so badly before in her life.
He stepped toward her and stopped. “Ah, fuck, Wheels,” he groaned, looking away. He scrubbed a hand down his face and across his beard. “We can’t do this.”
Still reeling, she pressed her lips together, forcing her heavy breaths through her nose. Adrenaline and lust were caught in her throat—a ball of hot and cold, making breathing difficult.
“Lie,” she said after a moment, and his eyes shot to hers. “We can do this—I want to do this.”
His lips twitched “You’re… sixteen. I’m twenty-four.”
“I’m almost seventeen.” The childish plea slipped free before she could catch it and lock it away.
When he still made no move toward her, she tried again, one last time. “Preacher… I’m not a virgin.”
His nostrils flared. His eyes were liquid fire. But still, he didn’t move. More seconds ticked by. Then, just as Debbie was feeling the faint stirrings of defeat infiltrate her haze of need, he was back.
An arm came down on either side of her, caging her in, and Debbie dragged herself up the wall onto her tiptoes, reaching.
His lips were on hers, her hands tangled in his shirt, and they kissed hard and fast until their breaths grew ragged and kissing was no longer enough.
Lifting Debbie off the ground, Preacher used his body to keep her flat against the wall. Legs around his waist, ankles locked at his back, she brought that desperate, aching place between her thighs flush with the bulge in Preacher’s jeans. He ground himself against her, half growling, half groaning into her mouth, and if Debbie’s eyes had been open, they would have rolled back.
She. Was. Melting.
Melting into nothing. Weightless. Writhing energy. A feather-light slave to the throbbing need between her legs.
Everything else… gone.
She’d finally found it—a place to exist without pain.
Chapter 21
Heat.
Debbie was feeling intense heat all over her body that had nothing at all to do with the warm, sticky night air, the blazing bonfire before her, or the whiskey she’d consumed.
The heat was from the lean body she was tucked against, the muscled arm wrapped around her, and the calloused fingertips tracing invisible lines over and under her collarbone. Back and forth, up and down, Preacher lulled her into a place she’d never been before.
If she let herself, it’d be easy to forget that they weren’t the only ones seated around the bonfire.
Everyone was here; even Preacher’s father had chosen to join them. Seated in one of the few lawn chairs, Gerald stared somberly into the fire, while most of the others engaged in quiet conversations amongst themselves. Janis Joplin’s Summertime was playing on the tape deck and Ginny and June were singing along. Across the way, Knuckles and Max were roasting marshmallows.
Preacher’s fingers stilled as he bent his head to hers. “Tell me somethin’ else about you, Wheels. Gimme more truth.”
She shook her head. There was no way she was going to ruin any more moments with more of her truths. “Nope,” she said, her tone intentionally light. “It’s your turn. Tell me something about you.”
“What else is there to know? You’ve already met my entire family.”
Debbie angled her head toward Preacher. Firelight and shadows danced across his handsome face.
r /> “How’d you get the name Preacher?” she asked.
“Same way you got the name Wheels.” His lips twitched; humor glinted in his eyes. “Some asshole thought it was funny.”
Giggling, Debbie sank down against Preacher’s side and turned back to the fire. His fingers started up again, sliding back and forth across her clavicle before dipping down low. Preacher slowly outlined the swells of her breasts, sending jolts of sensation tearing straight to her core.
Feeling flustered and fevered, Debbie gulped down her next several breaths, then gripped the neck of the whiskey bottle propped between her legs and took a lengthy swig.
As if Preacher somehow realized the fiery thoughts running amok in her mind, he chuckled quietly, his warm breath tickling her neck and sending a heated shiver down her spine.
All day long, since the encounter at the bathhouse, Debbie had been able to think of little else. She hadn’t wanted to stop. It had been Preacher who’d eventually pulled away, who’d said “not here” in a heavy, hoarse tone that belied his words. Who’d then taken her hand and led her back to the swimming hole.
And though he hadn’t kissed her again, Debbie couldn’t think of a single moment since that he hadn’t been touching her. An arm around her shoulders. His fingers brushing against hers. A hand at her waist, sinking slowly down her hip. And in doing so, he’d kept her in this strange state of being, lost in a haze, teetering on the edge between reality and sensation.
“I’m the asshole who coined him Preacher.”
Debbie’s haze cleared. The gruffly spoken statement had come from Gerald. Leaning forward in his chair, hands steepled beneath his chin, his eternal grimace was focused on Debbie.
Feeling the weight of Gerald’s scrutiny as if it were a crushing boulder, she attempted to straighten, but Preacher’s arm across her chest only tightened.
“Like a goddamn preacher, he never did know when to shut his mouth,” Gerald continued. “Had a damn opinion ‘bout everything. Always buttin’ his nose in my business, always thinkin’ he was right and tellin’ me how to do my job.”
Gerald let out a low chuckle and his eyes slid to Preacher. “Ain’t that right? Couldn’t wait to get your hands on that gavel, could ya?”