Chapter 13

Seated on the edge of the bed, Preacher puffed on a cigarette, staring daggers at the back of Debbie’s head. The curtains covering the motel windows were parted, letting in a thin shaft of moonlight that stretched far across the room, highlighting her sleeping form.

She slept with his jacket on, her backpack and sneakers too—as if she didn’t trust him with her belongings. And if Preacher hadn’t been in such a shit mood, he’d laugh at the irony of it all.

Still glaring, he brought the cigarette to his mouth. It crackled and hissed along with the steady rhythm of Debbie’s heavy breathing and the muted sounds of a television left on in the room next door.

He was so goddamn angry he couldn’t sleep.

Angry because his duffel bag had been shredded, reduced to ribbons by the Road Warriors when they’d stolen his cut. And not all of his belongings had fit into Debbie’s backpack, forcing him to leave a third of his clothing behind.

He took another searing hot drag off his cigarette, feeling his lungs recoil in protest. Coughing, he blew out a breath thick with smoke that billowed and swirled in the moonlight.

The loss of his duffel bag wasn’t his only bone to pick with the Road Warriors. Today’s unplanned meeting had stirred up some shit inside of him, picked a scab that had only just formed. The life he’d been running from? It had just slugged him in the gut tonight.

Preacher stubbed out his cigarette and quickly lit another. Forget the Road Warriors. He was horny—really, irritably horny. Months had gone by with barely a twitch below his belt. One kiss with a teenage pickpocket and he was suddenly flying at full mast. One goddamn kiss.

He’d kissed a lot of women. So many that he’d gotten bored with kissing years ago. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d paid attention to a woman’s mouth other than to direct it to his lap.

And the way Debbie had looked at him after spotting Angel and Rocky off in the grass…

Preacher’s nostrils flared. I want to be fucked right here, right now, and just like that, had been all but engraved onto her expression.

All of it had been playing on repeat in his head for the last several hours, his dick trapped in this agonizing, semi-hard state that he didn’t quite know what to do with.

The guy he’d been before? That guy would have already enjoyed the hell out of Debbie. He wouldn’t have given a single shit about her age or what would become of her after he was done with her. But this new Preacher, this infuriatingly indecisive half-man, was sitting here thinking about how there were consequences to every action—something he’d learned the hard way. And a meaningless fuck was not worth hurting this girl, especially a girl who had nothing and no one.

Jesus-fucking-Christ. If he wasn’t going to fuck her, what was he still doing with her? He’d already fulfilled and surpassed his good deed quota for the entire year. Whatever the hell he was doing now bordered on philanthropy. Or self-flagellation.

Once the sun came up, he needed to cut her loose. She could resume her trek to New York City and he could get back to wandering.

Except, the longer Preacher stared at Debbie, the less comfortable he felt with that plan.

She was too good for the streets, too good for the shit life she was living. And not nearly hard enough to hold her own in New York City.

He sighed angrily. Why did he care? What was it about this girl?

He liked her—that much was clear. But why?

Was it because she made him laugh, and it had been a very long time since anyone had?

Or was it because he recognized something in her—something that spoke to that empty hole that had taken up residence inside his chest? They were both out on the road, running from their lives, weren’t they? And even though Debbie claimed to be running toward New York City, Preacher knew a lifeline when he saw one. That’s all New York City was: a goal to keep her going, even when the odds were stacked against her.

Rolling his eyes, Preacher shook his head. Maybe she was nothing more than a distraction—a reprieve from the self-doubt he couldn’t seem to shake.

Whatever it was about this girl, it was just one more thing to add to the ever-growing list of things taking up space inside his overcrowded head.

Lying back on the bed, Preacher stared up at the ceiling until his eyes began to close. His last coherent thought before he drifted off to sleep was that, come hell or high water, he would not be spending another day in or around Wayne County.

This place was cursed.

Turning, he cracked an eye at Debbie.

Either the place was cursed… or the girl was.

• • •

Sitting cross-legged in bed, elbows propped on her thighs and chin resting in her hands, Debbie stared across the room. Snoring loudly, Preacher was sprawled across the center of his bed, one arm slung across his face. He was shirtless, and staring back at her was the face of a horned demon—a dark tattoo inked onto his bicep.

He’d been asleep when she’d woken, was still sleeping long after her shower and her not-so-shabby job of turning her torn jeans into cutoff shorts.

It was nearly noon now, and she had debated waking him several times. Only… she wasn’t sure what waking him might mean for her. When it came to Preacher’s generosity, Debbie knew that she’d already overstayed her welcome. That she should thank him and be on her way.

The only thing stopping her was a pesky bit of truth: she didn’t want to leave.

It was weak and she knew it. Allowing the lonely solitude of her lifestyle to overshadow reason and sensibility.

She barely knew Preacher, yet she found herself liking him more than she liked being alone. She trusted him, too. How could she not? He’d proven himself half a dozen times already. It was she who’d been untrustworthy.

Conflicted, Debbie reached across the bed and plucked a cigarette from the pack on the nightstand. As she smoked, she resumed watching Preacher sleep. He continued to snore, the heavy rumbles in perfect sync with the rise and fall of his chest. Her gaze drifted to where his unbuttoned jeans sat low on his waist, exposing the tapered cut of his abdominal muscles and the trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath the denim.

Recalling their kiss, the demanding way Preacher’s tongue had swept through her mouth, warmth began to spread through her. Curling low in her stomach, it unfurled up and down her body, heating every inch it touched. Breathing in deeply through her nose, Debbie’s bottom lip disappeared beneath her teeth.

Chock full of feelings she didn’t know what to do with and jittery with unspent energy, Debbie rolled out of bed. Leaving her cigarette burning in the ashtray, she rifled through her backpack. Notebook and pencil in hand, she settled back onto the bed and flipped to a clean page.

She drew Angel and Rocky first, using her imagination to fill in what the night sky had kept hidden. When she was satisfied with her sketch, she turned the page. Head tilted, pencil poised, Debbie began to draw all those hard lines and smooth planes she’d been ogling for the last two hours.

Eyes flicking from Preacher to her notebook, she drew him as he was—half naked and sleeping. She smoked cigarette after cigarette while she sketched, her pencil strokes as quick and precise as her breathing had become.

Lost in concentration, Debbie didn’t notice when Preacher stopped snoring.

It was only when his leg twitched that she cast a glance to his face and found him wide awake and watching her.

Heat exploded in her cheeks and she quickly slapped her notebook closed, covering it with her hand. “Hi,” she said lamely, hoping she didn’t look as embarrassed as she felt.

“What’s that?” Preacher gestured to her notebook.

She shrugged. “I draw sometimes.”

“You any good?”

Another shrug.

“Can I see?”

“No.” Debbie tightened her grip on the notebook.

“No?” Preacher quirked an eyebrow. “Why not?”

Because I just sketched you half naked and sleeping.

“Because.”

“Because? That’s it? That’s all I’m gonna get?” His eyes were light; a teasing smile tugged on his lips. “After all we’ve been through together?”

Debbie started to smile—a smile she quickly squelched as Preacher sat up and swung his legs out of bed, a maneuver that dragged his jeans further down his hips. He reached for his cigarettes while Debbie struggled to keep her gaze above his waist, away from the evident bulge in his pants that hadn’t been there earlier.

“Did you smoke all my cigarettes?” Frowning, Preacher shook the empty pack.

 “Shit,” she muttered, scrambling out of bed to hand him the half-smoked cigarette in her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Goddamn, Wheels, you are an expensive date.” He flashed her a wry look. “Least I still got my wallet.”

Debbie looked down at her lap, her bottom lip disappearing beneath her teeth. She deserved the jab, yet it still stung.  

“Jesus,” Preacher groaned. “’Bout to lose another day of riding.”

Debbie’s gaze shot to Preacher and found him scowling at the table clock. Angrily he stubbed his cigarette into the ashtray.

Realizing he would be leaving soon, the candy bar she’d eaten earlier turned to stone in her gut. There would be no more motel rooms, no more hot showers. She would be alone again with nothing but the road to keep her company.

Weak, weak, weak, she thought bitterly. After all she’d been through, all she’d survived? She shouldn’t be this weak anymore.

But she could already sense all those unwanted feelings rising to the surface. And even as she attempted to steel her emotions, ready to battle them back down to where they belonged, she knew it was pointless.

She’d only spent a few strange moments with Preacher, but those moments had been enough. He’d given her beautiful glimpses of things she’d long gone without: protection, companionship, and conversation.

It was Sunshine all over again—a stranger unexpectedly dropping into her life, filling all those secret holes inside of her, the ones that had been carved from loneliness and starved for companionship… only to end up leaving her.

Preacher climbed out of bed and Debbie’s gaze lifted. Arm muscles shifted and rolled as he stretched, reaching for the water-stained ceiling. The movement caused his jeans to slide another half inch down his hips. Visually tracing the long lines of his body, Debbie’s mouth went dry

The urge to touch him, to run her hands over his suntanned skin, to tug his jeans down just a little farther, was so palpable that her fingers began to twitch.

“You still headed to the city?”

Debbie jerked her eyes away from Preacher’s gaping waistband and hurried to school her expression, hoping he couldn’t read her and wouldn’t know what she’d been thinking about.

Her hope died a quick death when she found him staring at her, his features tight, his eyes burning. Her breathing hitched. Her grip on her notebook turned crushing. A hundred butterflies fluttered inside her.

It took her several seconds to recall he’d asked her a question, and several more to answer as she made a concerted effort to keep her gaze away from his sagging jeans.

Swallowing, she nodded through the fog that had taken up residence in her brain. “Yes,” she said quietly.

Despite Preacher’s warnings, her plans hadn’t changed. If not New York City, then where would she go? She couldn’t live like this forever—moving from truck stop to truck stop, living out of her backpack and off the kindness of strangers.

This wasn’t a life. At least not a fulfilling one. And Debbie wanted more.

Preacher cleared his throat. “You want a ride?”

Debbie blinked up at him, her eyes widening.

“But I’m gonna need to make a pit stop upstate before showin’ my face in the city,” he hurried to say. “If you’re cool with that, you got yourself a ride.”

Was she cool with spending more time with Preacher? Debbie pressed her lips together—an attempt to prevent the burst of excitement inside her from making a noisy escape. Her stomach somersaulting, she nodded happily.

The corners of Preacher’s mouth lifted, his lips twisting into a small smirk. Idly scratching at his beard, he started across the room.

Pausing just outside the bathroom, he tossed her a glance over his shoulder. “Hey, so, you gonna tell me your real name?”

She floundered for a moment. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to be honest with him, genuine. But at the same time, she never wanted to hear that name again, be that girl again. She wanted that girl to disappear forever.

“I like Wheels,” she finally said.

She truly liked the nickname. Maybe because Preacher had given it to her, and therefore it wasn’t a lie. It was real, genuine—the latter being something she was not.

A slow smile split Preacher’s lips. “Fair enough, Wheels.” He knocked his fist lightly on the wall. “Lots of people where we’re going. Lots of wallets to steal. You’ll love it.” With a wink, he disappeared inside the bathroom.

Staring at the empty space he’d just vacated, Debbie bit down on her bottom lip, barely breathing. She remained that way until she heard the shower turn on, and then she propelled herself face-first onto a pillow… and grinned.