Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
And she can snoop.
Preacher is one of those rare men who is actually good, inside and out, and he’s a really great fuck on top of it. He likes it rough and dirty, but like, in a sweet way that says he actually gives a damn if it’s my kind of rough too, which most guys don’t bother with. Ever. He’s something I never really believed in. A good man. And now I kind of want to keep him.
Even though I shouldn’t.
There’s a photo t of him with his arms wrapped around Coop and Joaquin pinned to the fridge with a magnet. I turn it over and pout when there’s no month or date or any important information, but it looks recent.
“Dudes,” I growl and head back to his room to snoop through his drawers in search of any piece of information, a half a joint, or a bump of nose candy, but I don’t find anything juicy.
“Damn, he really is this good,” I say out loud, my voice thick with disbelief.
Preacher’s house is totally dry. Not one speck of illicit substances to be found, which means I have to deal with my own damn company sober. It’s not so bad as I dig through the ass-end of his closet in search of photographs of old girlfriends, love letters, or mementos of relationships past.
Nothing. Nada. Zip.
The man is either a fucking ghost or a robot. No one discards everything from their lives before the present. Do they?
I have movie stubs, restaurant napkins, and coasters from Homecoming dates I no longer remember, prom dates that ended horribly, and all kinds of other dates with men who’s faces are nothing more than a blur. None of it matters to me, but I still have it, which begs the question: why.
Maybe Preacher has it right. Move on to the present by getting rid of remnants of the past.
His fridge has two bottles of wine, one red and one white, and I pop the cork on the Cabernet and chug the first glass with a satisfied sigh. The buzz of the washing machine brings me back to the laundry room to transfer the load of laundry to the dryer before I return to my wine with thoughts of Preacher on my mind.
Why did I have to meet him now, when I’ve got one foot outside the city limits of Angel Harbor? More importantly, why do I want to stay so badly? He’s given me no indication that he wants more than a few hot fucks, and here I am weaving fairytales in my mind.
“Idiot,” I say to myself and finish off another glass of the Cab.
I should stop at two glasses, but halfway through the third glass, I decide to do something that I know—going in—is totally ill-advised. I shouldn’t do it, but Preacher’s laptop is just sitting there all pretty and unused. It beckons me to dig deeper into this man and his life.
Of course, there’s nothing of interest or great importance on his laptop other than a few digital photos, a spreadsheet of his monthly bills, which he pays on time, and lots of music and movies. I check his email, and there are no clingy women messaging him, begging for his heart or his dick.
Strange. I guess he’s been telling the truth about his sex life.
That’s as refreshing as it is frustrating.
But still, my curiosity refuses to let up, and I have no choice but to dig deeper. Since Preacher’s laptop offers no information, I bust out mine and do some real digging.
I go back and look into the transfers I made on Frank’s behalf, the ones from the church to those offshore accounts. I smile because just a few clicks later, those accounts sit at zero and Preacher’s accounts are much, much fatter.
He’ll probably be pissed off when he finds out, but I’ll likely be long gone by then. Nothing but a distant memory, which gives me the courage to keep digging.
But you know what they say about looking into shit when you don’t really want answers? You will inevitably find exactly the thing you hope not to find.
There’s plenty of dark web info on the Reckless Souls, much of it regarding sales of firearms, counterfeit designer stuff, and even creative ways they find to ship certain things.
It turns out these guys are a really big deal. Most of it is what I expect to find after all the digging I did into the Iron Kings MC, but the one thing that does surprise me is just how little involvement these guys have in really bad shit.
Or so I think.
An hour into my digging, at least I think an hour’s gone by, I find some shit that makes the wine curdle in my stomach. The guys wearing Reckless Souls gear might pretend to be good guys on the surface, but dig a little, and they are no different from the Iron Kings or any other group that makes a buck from buying and selling humans.