Preacher (Audio)

Preacher (Dixie Reapers MC 5)
Harley Wylde
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Copyright ©2022 Harley Wylde

"You here to see Johnny?" he asked.

"Yeah. Thought I'd surprise him."

"Oh, he'll be surprised all right. He's inside," the prospect said, tipping his head toward the clubhouse. "But then, you aren't allowed in there are you? Too pristine for a place like that."

"I'm not pristine," I snapped.

I might be a virgin in the strictest sense, but I was far from angelic. I'd never technically had sex, even though I'd given a few blow jobs and fooled around, but I'd used my trusty vibrator to take care of my virginity. I'd heard it would hurt, and no way was I trusting a guy with something like that. Especially not since the guys I knew were selfish and fumbling. No finesse whatsoever.

"Just remember that you were warned." The gate slid open, and he motioned toward the clubhouse. "Enter at your own risk."

That sounded like something the creepy guy in horror movies says right before the heroine does something incredibly stupid, like enter a house full of mass murderers, or choose the darkened pathway filled with deformed, dying trees instead of the brightly lit path. This was just a clubhouse full of bikers, one of whom was my brother. How bad could it be?

I stepped through the gate and made my way across the lot to the building with Dixie Reapers across the top in neon, and slowly climbed the steps. The noise from inside was even louder now, and I pushed open the doors, not sure what to expect. The way my brother talked, I half-expected naked women and orgies going on out in the open. My gaze scanned the room, but I didn't see my brother -- or any orgies. The place was packed wall-to-wall with men and women in leather cuts with Dixie Reapers stitched across the back. Other than some smoking and drinking, I didn't see anything wild going on. Not that those things were wild, but to hear Johnny tell it, all kinds of shit went down in here. They just looked like your average group of adults having a nice time.

No one paid me any attention as I moved farther into the room, but the fact I was the only one not sporting one of those leather cuts made me feel a little out of place. At least I'd worn my black top and not the red one I'd picked up first. Still, I didn't exactly blend, even if some of the women present looked to be my age or close to it. I'd learned enough from Johnny to guess those were the old ladies. He seemed rather fond of the President's woman, and I wondered if I'd ever get a chance to meet her. To hear Johnny tell it, the woman was up for sainthood. I didn't think anyone could ever be that perfect.

At the end of the bar, a man sat alone, a line of shot glasses in front of him, and an old worn Bible nearby. I hadn't taken the club for being religious, but then this man didn't seem quite like the others. He wore the same cut as everyone else, but as I studied him, I realized he was more somber. There was almost a haunted look to him, as if he were trying to drown his demons in whiskey, or whatever he was drinking. I felt this pull, as if I were supposed to get closer to him.

Slowly, I made my way across the room and slid onto the stool next to his. He didn't even so much as glance my way, but I could tell from the way his mouth tensed that he was more than aware of my presence, and didn't seem to care for it. I didn't know what he was trying to run from, and it was honestly none of my business, but I'd found that sometimes people just needed to be reminded they weren't as alone as they thought. Despite the fact the room was full of people, not a single one had come to sit by him. Maybe he'd chased them off, or maybe they left him alone because of the vibe he was putting out. Neither was going to deter me. Someone as sexy as he shouldn't be drowning their sorrows. Not alone anyway.

The guy behind the bar came over, a swagger to his step and a cocky smile on his face. His cut said Prospect, but thankfully he wasn't someone I knew. The minute my brother found out I was here, he'd likely escort me back to the gate and send me home, which was the last place I wanted to be.

The guy leaned on the bar, his arms folded so that his biceps bulged. I assumed I was supposed to be impressed, but he looked just like every other asshole in my neighborhood who wanted in my pants. Not happening, buddy.

"What can I get for you, beautiful?" he asked, his lips tipping up on one side in a way I supposed most would find sexy. It wasn't making me drop my panties, that was for sure. I was completely immune to guys like this one.

"Rum and Coke," I said.

The guy next to me snorted.

"What?" I asked, turning my attention his way.

When his gaze clashed with mine, the breath in my lungs froze. Dark hair and a close-cropped beard were sexy enough, but damn... The man's eyes were truly things of beauty. I saw blues, greens, golds. Maybe even a hint of gray. Those were the kind of eyes a woman could get lost in, the kind of eyes that would make her do something really stupid.

"You ever actually had a rum and Coke?" he asked, his voice deep and smooth.

"Maybe."

He smiled a little. Not a full-out smile, and not even a smirk. It was almost like his lips had turned up without his permission because it was gone almost as fast as it happened.

"Why don't you give her a Sex on the Beach?" the guy next to me said.

The Prospect leered at me. "Oh, I'd be delighted."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "Just the drink, thanks."

I could tell he wanted to say something, but he refrained, walking off to fix my drink. I focused on the guy sitting next to me again, and noticed his cut said Preacher...