Page 2 of Preacher

Tag’s leg tapped mine. “Hook me up with Maria.”

My sister might’ve slept with plenty of losers, but even she had limits. “How about I hook you up with a dentist instead?”

Gap’s laugh came out as a wheeze. Before I could blink, Tag had a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back until my neck cracked.

“Think you’re funny?” His breath hit my face like a toxic cloud.

Hammer’s eyes caught mine in the rearview mirror. “Save it for later,” he said, his tone flat as week-old soda. “Nobody touches him until I get what’s mine.”

The threat barely registered. By the time Tag got his chance, either Deluca’s crew would have already put bullets in my head or Hammer would do the job himself once he figured out I lied. Either way, I had more pressing problems than Tag’s dental hygiene. Like staying alive for the next hour.

Tag released me with a shove. “You and me later,” he promised, eyes narrowed to slits.

I wasn’t sure why, but my mind immediately went to sex and I was dry heaving all over again.

I’d rather let a cactus hump me.

The brakes squealed as we pulled into Deluca’s lot beside a black Nissan. Heads turned our way immediately, conversations dying mid-sentence. The garage stood like a fortress—an L-shaped concrete building set back from the road, surrounded by barbed wire fencing.

Classic Cadillacs and a blood-red Jaguar lined one wall, but what made my mouth go dry was the row of motorcycles along the fence. At least fifteen chrome monsters were gleaming in the sun like weapons on display.

You should’ve told them Blackflower Cemetery and saved everyone the extra trip to dump your body.

Tag was the first one out. Despite my lungs screaming for fresh air, I froze as men in leather cuts emerged from the garage. Not grease monkeys but the kind of men who made violence look like an art form.

Hammer’s crew suddenly seemed like Boy Scouts in comparison.

Only one guy in a faded blue work shirt looked as if he might actually fix cars.

“Drag him out,” Hammer ordered.

Tag reached in with a ruthless grin. I swatted his hand away, but Gap shoved me forward. Then I was yanked out like I weighed nothing.

“Is my stuff inside or out?” Hammer asked with unnerving politeness.

“Outside.” My eyes darted between the strangers sizing us up.

Hammer’s fingers dug into my bicep as he dragged me toward the garage bays, forcing me to keep up. Each step felt like concrete was hardening around my feet, but his grip left me no choice but to scramble forward, his entourage trailing behind us.

For a split second, I considered kicking over the nearest motorcycle. A quick death was preferable to prolonging the inevitable.

Then one of them stepped forward, flicking a lighter to a cigarette. He inhaled deeply, tucked the lighter away, and started walking toward us as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.

Holy shit. If this was my executioner, at least I’d die with something gorgeous to look at.

Blue bandana, worn jeans hugging all the right places, white tee stretched across a chest that belonged on a billboard. A chain swung from his belt loop, disappearing behind him. Silver rings adorned each finger like brass knuckles with style.

My stomach knotted with a confusing mix of terror and lust that had no business existing in the same moment.

“Something I can help you with?” The guy’s eyes swept over Hammer’s crew before landing on me. I tried to look away from eyes the color of frozen whiskey, but my neck muscles refused to cooperate, as if his stare had short-circuited the connection between my brain and body.

Hammer’s fingers dug deeper into my bicep. Tomorrow I’d have a bracelet of purple bruises. If I lived that long. “My friend here left something valuable at your garage,” he said, his voice smooth as polished steel. “Just need to grab it real quick.”

As Blue Bandana stepped closer, the patches on his leather cut came into focus. “1%” was stitched in the top corner. Below that, “I’m not your fucking brother.” Another declared “It’s not a lifestyle. It’s a way of life.”

But the patch that turned my blood to ice simply read “President.”

Oh god. Preacher Deluca himself.