Preacher Man (Renegade Souls MC Romance Saga Book 2) Page 9

  Even her brother Jamie had, to a certain extent. He wasn’t bitching in a corner and expecting handouts that was for sure, what her brother did was more than likely extremely illegal, but still, he didn’t blame their perpetual jailbird dad for every little thing that went wrong.

  Rita, however … the women shared a mother, god knows who Rita’s father was, Ruby had never been able to get it from her mother, and when she’d died of an overdose going through her personal effects, which were sadly meager, she hadn’t unearthed any clue as to who he was. From the number of men that came and went through their house it could have been anyone.

  Rita had been the small brunette kid, much lighter skin in complexion to Ruby, with blue eyes. Ruby the dark skinned frizzy haired tall kid. And then if you added in Jamie who was tall, black hair and a natural tan, the three of them together looked like they were the Addams family with Ruby always in the middle of the two since Jamie couldn’t stand Rita and vice versa. Lucky for her she supposed they had nothing to do with each other, what with not sharing any parents, they only had Ruby in common. To Ruby, they were her only family, fucked up, dysfunctional, criminally minded family.

  But god, they wore her down.

  Her fingers rubbed over her forehead.

  “Jesus, didn’t you hear me? He wants extra fucking rent this week. What am I meant to do? You know I’m good for it, Rube.”

  Ruby snorted and rolled her eyes. She’d never seen one penny of the money she’d given her sister over the years. That was the state of their sibling relationship. Ruby gave most and Rita expected all.

  “Is it for rent?” She felt herself relent on her stance to not dish her any more money this month, not that she even could, but if it truly was for rent, then maybe she could sell something. “You said that last month and when I called the dickhead said you were out buying weed.”

  “Don’t call him that! You know he’s trying to be better.”

  “Rita, if Dwayne was trying then why isn’t he paying the rent? He lives there. Why isn’t he buying groceries? He doesn’t even have a job.”

  “Look I didn’t ring for a fucking lecture. Goddammit, Ruby, can’t you just be a normal sister for once? We all can’t be a perfect saint as you, can we?”

  “He doesn’t need to be perfect, he just needs to contribute instead of expecting handouts.”

  “He’s really trying this time, he promised, sis.”

  Sure. Right. Hey look, flying bacon.

  “Why don’t you move back here, Rita? You can live with me until you’re on your feet again.” Ruby was thinking of the money she’d save. She had no desire to live with her sister and she felt some self-reproach over that thought, but if only she could get Rita out here again everything would be okay, she could help her get clean, she’d be away from that deadbeat drug addict boyfriend at least, who was half of the problem.

  “No way we like it in Greenwood, you know Dwayne has his family here and there’s talk of his cousin hiring him soon. Nice of them, right? We had dinner with his cousins the other night, real swank place, sis.” Right. Of course. Pigs would fly first before that waste of air got a job. Ruby was close to bursting out laughing, but that would only piss her sister off.

  “How is---”

  “So, about the money?” She interrupted. “I need it, Rube. Like for real, do you want me to be thrown out?”

  “Why can’t you go and live with Dwayne’s family, if they’re such great people?”

  “Fucks sake! Why do you have to be like this? No wonder we don’t come to see you, Ruby. You just sound bitter now, you need your own life, really you do, instead of trying to run mine all the time.”

  “Trying to run your life? Are you fucking kidding with that bullshit? I don’t hear from you until you want something. Well, I’m sick of it. The bank of Ruby is closed.”

  Fuming, feeling it rattle through her brain as she’d listened to the impudence of her sister to dare sound annoyed for what, Ruby not opening her wallet and making the money walk to her? Goddamn entitled people made her sick, blood-related or not. She was done.

  Ruby was busting her ass trying to find a second job to support her SISTER and the sister in question was standing with her thumb up her own ass just waiting for handouts.

  Enough.

  Enough now.

  “You know I need help.” Rita changed her tactic instantly and here came the sickly whine Ruby always fell for because she hated that Rita had basically been raised with no motherly love at all.

  “Yes, you do. I agree. Get into a program. I can take---”

  “I told you no! God's sake, you never quit, do you? I’m so fucking sick of this. All I want is a real sister.”

  “You want a bank, you mean. You want a never-ending money tree. I am your sister, always have been, Rita. I raised you as best as I could and you’re never satisfied, never once do you say thank you, or please, or sorry. It's all want-want-want with you. I have my own problems you know, my own bills, how am I meant to pay my own and look after you at the same time?”

  “Ruby… please.”

  “I’ve offered you a solution, you can live here with me and I’ll give you all the support I can. It’s up to you if you take that help. But I can’t send any more money this month, Rita. It’s impossible. I can’t give what I don’t have.”

  “That’s bullshit!” Here came the nasty. “You have savings! You are little miss do-right, you always were. You’d even save your pocket money from that golden boy brother of yours when we were kids. Oh no, Ruby can’t spend it on candy, she had to put it away."

  “And you always stole it.” Ruby reminded her quietly. She’d been jealous of Jamie even then when he was no more than a teenager himself.

  He’d liked Ruby then. On certain days, she missed her brother. Her belly clenched with pain and hunger, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since yesterday.

  Times had changed drastically once their father went to jail this last time and Jamie had taken over for him, they barely talked anymore. He'd had the chance of his own life, instead decided to wear their father's criminal shoes on for size. From the little amount of information, she had heard he was doing well at it.

  “You never let me forget it. We were kids.”

  “Stealing is stealing. Can I talk to---”

  “No, you can’t. I gotta go, Dwayne is home. If you can send that money, Ruby, send a text, don’t call, you know how it annoys Dwayne if he’s sleeping.”

  Fuck you, Dwayne.

  “I’m not sending money. My offer is there. Please consider it. We can make things better, but you have to meet me halfway, please for-----”

  Her sister wasn’t about waiting when she couldn’t get her own way, and she interrupted again. “I have to go. Please, we need it, Rube. You don’t want us kicked out do you?” It was as though Ruby hadn’t even spoken. She sighed hearing their call disconnect.

  The call lasted less than five minutes and Ruby was sick with it and mad at the same time. When would her sister grow up? She was in permanent Peter Pan syndrome, and that just didn’t work for life.

  One of the crappiest soul-destroying things had happened to Ruby last year and any normal sister would have turned their sibling for help. Ruby hadn’t confided in anyone, Rita would have just told her to get over it. Real compassionate. Instead, she’d gone home, locked herself in her apartment for three days, licked her wounds, mentally rallied herself and re-joined life because bills had needed paying and she wasn’t letting one insane psychopath ruin her existence. Evil shit happened to people who didn't deserve it.

  She’d chosen to dust herself down persist rather than flounder in self-pity.

  She would respect Rita a hell of a lot more if she’d only dust herself once in a while.

  No-one was perfect, it was how you dealt with problems that warranted what kind of character you had. Sink or swim, Ruby had her arm bands on.

  Guilt troubled her. Would Rita get kicked out for real if she didn’t have more mone
y? She was sure it was drugs money, Rita never thought logically about the things that mattered, rather than her recreational habits became a priority.

  Her life was one giant clusterfuck of crazy, she was the epicenter, and no matter what she did to outrun her own personally designed hurricane there it was sweeping her off to Oz.

  It was tiring, fucking annoying.

  And she didn’t know how to avoid it or the guilt factor of one in the name of Rita. She pressed Ruby’s buttons.

  With no plan B, she was barely skating by on plan A and that had gone on for months now. She’d be lucky to eat this month, as it was she was sneaking food at work, and that would get her fired if Otis found out.

  Love was a bitch because it shackled you as hard as steel cuffs, leaving you gasping and hollow for any connection. Caught in that family self-condemnation simply because of the blood tie The love in her family was one-way traffic, nothing came back her way, it was depressing, hurtful, just once she wanted to be someone’s priority, fucking ached for it sometimes. She wanted to not be the person who had all the answers to everything, exhausting.

  She should tell Rita no and mean it.

  And yet still, she agonized about it all day while she applied for jobs, smiled at prospective bosses as she handed over resumes and informed them as articulately spoken as she could just how hardworking she was and so looking forward to working for them, god in heaven, all the fake smiling for jobs she absolutely was not looking forward to having, her cheek muscles hurt, she even dropped off a resume at the gross Tiki bar across town where the waitresses wore panties, a bralette, and a bowtie. Ugh. she really hoped she didn’t get considered for it, talk about losing what little pride she had left. Shaking her ass in public for grubby pawing hands to grab, she might as well be swinging on a pole for more bucks.

  By the end of the day Ruby knew several things;

  She was fucking exhausted and her feet hurt.

  Pole dancing was now on her job prospects list.

  God still wasn’t picking up his phone.

  And she was going to that Renegade Souls party.

  And getting laid.

  Preacher man didn’t know just what kind of frustration she was about to abuse on his massive body.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “I’m just saying. If Preacher eye-fucked her any harder we all would have been knocked up.” - Snake.

  “Mujeres are just like motorcycles.” Announced Capone. His coarse native Puerto Rican accent only enriched to a warmer timber when he was amused, about to educate everyone on the similarities between women and machines. Guffaws followed so that even Preacher twisted his neck away from his work to eyeball his brother. “Go ahead, smartass. This I have to hear.”

  It was a normal day and he was glad of that. He needed the normal and the average of his club, for months he’d had days when he couldn’t wait to get back here, away from the animosity and disruption of trying to drag another chapter out of the shitter it had gotten itself into, that had been a task in itself, but when he’d left Nebraska he felt he could deliver good news to Rider. Not that he minded pitching in, as road captain he planned the trips religiously tight when it was time to ride, usually it was not months on end like the Nebraska trip had been, add in the fucking face-to-face hate from Red Light most days, it hadn’t been a pleasant vacation at all.

  Good to be back with his club.

  Even if one of his buddies was talking utter crap from his Spanish speaking tongue.

  “Isn’t it obvious, hermanos?” Capone strutted in that big bastard kind of way of his. “She might grumble and sputter down the road, and give you mucho trouble and expense until you're on your knees broke, but you shift her in just the right gear at the right time and she gives you the smoothest fucking ride that will blow your brains out.”

  That was Capone. Preacher laughed at the smugness on his face, tugging one of his ear gauges he sauntered across the shop to grab the tool he needed laughing all the way.

  “That’s the biggest load of shit I think you’ve ever come out with, Cap. Even worse than when you said women were like a bottle of Morgan Spice; what was it, because she was wet and lethal if you drank it for too long. I mean really, I think we have to deport this guy back to the land of the burrito.”

  And that was Snake, if there was a stereotype to stomp an ism all over, he was doing it in his size fourteens. Preacher counted to three, the amount of time it would take ... Yep and there it was, Capone fired a finger salute and told Snake to go fuck his mom in Spanish.

  “Nah, too busy fucking yo-----”

  “Snake!” Hissed Preacher in warning, his head rearing up so fast the moment the words fell like a bomb from his stupid mouth, of all the things to say mentioning family to Capone was a no-no for good reason. Snake realized his fucking mouth vomit mistake instantly, his face shaded and he scrubbed a dirty hand down it before he beat feet over to Capone, laying a hand on his shoulder. His face deathly still beneath his stubble. “My man. Fuck. Goddamn me to Satan's asshole. I got shit for brains you know that. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

  “Forget it, papi.”

  “I’m a fuckhead, do you wanna smack me around?”

  “Fuck. Say no, Capone, run, run fast, that pervert will enjoy it, and I only just ate lunch.” Guffawed Grinder to break the tension.

  Snake may be a comedian, mused Preacher, watching the two men kiss and makeup, thankfully not literally, just a lot of back slapping and fist bumping, but he didn’t have a mean bone where the club brothers were concerned. He’d probably work over time now for the rest of the day to make it up to Capone.

  Yeah, he thought, so good to be home.

  An hour had gone by since that ruckus when Preacher heard a shrill wolf whistle. Ordinarily, it wasn’t the norm to hear in the bike shop, not unless Pretty-boy was stripping off again and Preacher just didn’t need to go blind today with all the milky skin on show. So, he reared his head up warily, saw all the boys gaping out into the forecourt. The hell was going on out there? Curious, he tried to see around Snake. If those clowns were ogling Zara, Rider was gonna crack skulls and dig graves. He’d never seen a guy more possessive over his old lady before, and Preacher ought to know since he was the biggest fool to rag on the prez for his newly in love Facebook status.

  Nah, it wasn’t Zara strutting around. It was a familiar car he’d recently worked his balls off to fix pulling in.

  “Well. Well. Well. Lookie who it is.”

  It wasn’t a gentle rousing when he spotted who stepped herself out of the car. The moment his brain realized he was seeing Ruby it sent out an alert faster than a social media notification to his body. High alert. Every neuron woke rushing blood down to his dick, drying his mouth before he got with the program and made his feet move.

  “Looks like Preacher has a visitor. It’s always the big and ugly beasts the pretty girls come to see, fucking tragic. Can’t understand it. I mean we’ve all seen the gerbil dick he’s carrying around.” Smirked Snake. Preacher rolled his eyes and fired a finger at him, but made sure to fix his gaze all over Ruby a second later.

  Her skirt rode up a little around perfect curvy hips as she strutted forward, just a slight nervous twitch in her fingers as she tried to pull it down, belated she turned and hit the motion sensor on the car, giving him a wicked look at her ass, and fuck him, don't get him started on that ass, holy fuck, she was business in front but all party in the back, his mouth turned to cotton. J-Lo was jealous, he had to avoid the ass altogether because he would sport wood instantly, all Preacher could think was rolling that soft red material up her legs to see what delights she hid beneath.

  He bet it was lace. He just bet.

  He was a simple man, really, with simple hungry tastes.

  From the look on her face, it told him she wouldn't be agreeable to that. Oh well, shit. He smiled some megawatt charming smile most times than not it won over a woman, pushing himself forward past the nosy-asses he called friends.

 
; His smile didn't work. She stayed stony-faced. Ruby was gonna make him work for it.

  His eyelids were hooded, his stare fixed to her hips. She had the most incredible swish. if Preacher was in any way a poet or man of words he could have written verses about how he wanted to bump his belly up against that ass day and night as he rode her into oblivion. As it was he sucked at words of any kind, fucking dyslexia could suck a dick, so he was stuck to staring and admiring.

  "Another meeting, beautiful, must be my birthday. What can I do for you?"

  Seeing her visibly inhaling she took all three seconds before she replied.

  "You haven't billed me for my car. I'm here to collect it in person.”

  "Told you there's nothing to pay, it was simple enough, didn't take long, not worth making up a bill for."

  "Preacher, I want to pay, my car was fucked, I know it was fucked, I was the one it fucked up on, you fixed it, that is not a simple it was nothing."

  "Ruby, really, it was nothing." He pushed off the oil drum he’d stationed himself at when he’d caught her climbing out of the scrap heap he’d performed some wicked magic on to get it working again.

  Swerving around her, making sure to brush her shoulder to hear her inhale. Wrench in hand he went down on his haunches in front of the bike he had taken half apart to find the oil leak. A look over his shoulder real quick had him grinning to himself. Her eyes were all over him.

  The bad girl liked him dirty covered in oil, did she?

  Her brow bunched in the middle, damn, she was cute. He wanted to do something stupid like reach out and cup her face drawing her in for a kiss as he brushed back the hair from her face. She'd tried to tame it today with some sort of clip at the back but riots of curls still escaped. He wished she’d let it go free...her body with it in his direction. Stop being so bottled-up, baby.