Preacher (The Untouchables MC #5) Read online Joanna Blake

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, MC, Romance Tags Authors: Series: The Untouchables MC Series by Joanna Blake
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Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
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“In the war?” I asked.

“Yeah, and in the parking lot at the clubhouse.” He cackled. I rolled my eyes, realizing he was not impressing my lady. I glanced back and my stomach sank. Cynthia looked pissed.

Uh-oh. Cynthia had that look on her face. The look that said I was in the doghouse. I hated making her mad.

Worse yet, there was no pussy in the doghouse.

I stared, distantly hearing the guys call the hand and flip their cards over. They must have flipped my cards over too.

“Preacher, you said a hundred pushups if you lost. We’re waiting.”

“If you even think about doing a pushup right now, you will not see one inch of this for a month,” Cynthia said, gesturing to her body. “Maybe longer.”

Gulp.

“I owe you, Hunter,” I said, not tearing my eyes away from my woman. “As soon as the doc gives the go ahead.”

“Those pushups had better be the first thing you do,” Hunter groused. “Or I’ll double them.”

“Well, maybe not the first,” Nick added. I glanced at him to see him leering at my woman again. I growled and he shrugged.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, her eyes looking worried.

“Okay,” I said, still staring at her.

“Alone.”

I nodded and followed her into the living room. I shut the kitchen door, though the truth was that they could probably hear us if they wanted to.

She sat on the couch, her hands primly folded in her lap.

“Maybe this isn’t the right time . . .”

“Talk to me, sweetheart.”

She chewed her lip, clearly deciding something. Then she sighed and shrugged.

“Okay. It’s about Marcus.”

“He’s a special kid.”

“He is,” she said, then took a deep breath. “And he’s in trouble.”

“What’s up?” I said, a sense of unease starting to settle in my gut.

“He told me that he came to talk to you. He told me what it was about.”

“Right. Someone close to him was breaking the law. I told him to sit tight and let me know if I needed to intervene.”

She frowned, staring at me.

“You are slurring your words, Preacher.”

“I may have drunk a bit more than I intended to,” I admitted. “I’m out of practice.”

She shook her head.

“Maybe we should discus this tomorrow.”

“Tell me,” I said. “Now I’m worried about the kid.”

And I was. The little guy had wiggled his way into my heart. A lot of the local kids had, but especially him. When Marcus looked at me, I felt like I mattered. Like I could do something to help him.

I was praying to God that I hadn’t fucked all that up.

“He came to talk to you. He wanted to confess to you.”

“Confess? What could he have to confess? I hope you told him I wasn’t a Catholic, anyway.”

“No, not like that. He . . . he wanted to tell you that it was his cousin who shot you. He was the one he came to you about.”

I stared at her. The irony was not lost on me. I wouldn’t have been shot if I had told the kid to go to the cops, or better yet, handled it myself with a firm talk and a little Spiritual Intimidation, as I liked to call it.

But it might not have worked. And Marcus himself could have gotten hurt for ratting the little thug out. I realized I would take a bullet for the kid again, if I had to.

“That’s not his fault.”

“I know, and I told him that. But that’s not the only problem. This cousin, he runs with a bad crowd. I don’t see that changing.”

“We don’t give up on kids,” I said gruffly. Even if the little shit had called Clarice names and shot me. I believed in redemption, especially since the little turd didn’t know better.

Ignorance can be cured. Racism, bigotry, it was all learned. It could be unlearned.

I’d seen it happen.

“Paul and I have tried with him. And I’m not saying that we stop. But that’s not the issue. Marcus lives in the same house with him. And his mom’s not much better.”

“Drugs?”

She nodded, rubbing her hands nervously on her legs.

“I think . . . I think we might need to get him out of there, Preacher.”

“What, like call CPS?”

“That might be a first step.”

“I thought you didn’t take drastic measures.”

“We don’t unless someone is in danger. And I . . . I think he is in danger, Preacher. It’s eating me up inside.”

I nodded. It was eating me up inside too.

“At the same time, if he knows it’s us, we could lose him. Push him in the other direction.”

“That won’t happen,” I growled. “We won’t let it.”

I stood, clumsily reaching for her. I wanted to hold my woman, dammit. I pulled her up and into my arms.

“We’ll figure it out. Maybe we call CPS, maybe we don’t. I want the kid to be okay.”

But she pulled back.


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