Preacher didn’t like leaving loose ends. In his fifteen years of being the Twisted Monsters’ MC President, he had learned many valuable life lessons. Never leave loose ends. Never show weakness, and never allow someone to believe you’ve got any morals.
Morals.
What the fuck were they?
He didn’t have them, had long since gone without them.
Lucky for Preacher, he didn’t miss them. They had all died away a long time ago. Long before he became club President.
Holding the blade that he’d sliced Phillip’s tongue off with, Preacher stared at the man who had threatened the club and dared to hurt him. Without any feeling of guilt or remorse, he plunged the blade into the man’s neck and watched. He held Phillip’s head up by his hair, waiting, making sure with every passing second that he was dying.
Death was such a fascinating beauty to see. First there was the panic. The hope of getting away. The fear and need to escape, to get as far away as possible. The fight or flight response always fascinated him.
Then of course, like all disappointing endings to a movie, there was the acceptance. The will ebbing out of the body, not allowing them to fight another moment. Their life draining away with no help or no will to stop it.
Pulling the blade out, he wiped it on a cloth before walking over to the sink. His hands were covered in human rat blood, and it pissed him off.
The water ran over his hands, and he watched it disappear down the drain. Once they were clean, he nodded at Grave to call the clean-up crew.
“Tell them I want him burned and his ashes brought to me,” he said.
His cell phone began to go off, but he wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone. Right after a kill the only thing he wanted was a soaking wet pussy wrapped around his dick, but he stepped out of the old garage into the eerily silent ghost town.
“What the fuck could you possibly want from me, Billy?” he asked.
Billy was one of the few cops he had in his pocket, and he was kind of a suck-up about it as well. He truly believed Billy wanted to be part of the Twisted Monsters MC, but Preacher wouldn’t have a fucking cop on his team. They were too easily bought, and well, he needed him in the thick of it to be able to call him when he needed to move shit from one place to another.
For as many cops as he had on his books, willing to take his money, there were some who had a code and tried to bring him down constantly. It was cute, he couldn’t deny it. So far, they had only trashed his clubhouse, one of his homes, a couple of his workplaces, and for the pleasure, he’d gotten to see them all look like fucking assholes. Sure, he had to pay a great deal of money to move the drugs or guns, or whatever the fuck they were looking for, but he was more than happy to do it.
“What has the little shit done now?”
****
Bishop burst out laughing as he collapsed to the ground out in the open field. Robin Rose Riley, yep, that was her name, smiled at him.
“You do know your dad is going to be pissed right?”
“Oh, please, for what?”
“You damaged school property, not to mention setting off the fire alarms, and setting fire to the gym. It was kind of a scary move.” She sat down beside her friend, tucking her long brown hair behind her ear.
“You should have seen Principal Asshole’s face when he saw it was me. Especially when I pulled you through the broken window. How is your arm?” he asked.
She held out her bandaged arm. She’d torn the bottom of her shirt and wrapped it around the wound. She didn’t have the heart to tell him it was hurting or that she believed there was a piece of glass inside of it as she felt some pressure within her arm.
Instead, she let Bishop laugh. He liked to piss off the teachers at school. Being Preacher’s son, well, it gave him a lot of leeway to be a disruptive ass.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not like they’re going to do anything, you know. I won’t get in trouble.”
“Your dad will be pissed.” Robin didn’t want to think of the last and only time Preacher was angry, and that had been directed at her. While he’d made sure she knew the score, her own father had held her still, keeping her in place as he yelled in her face, dictating what she had to repeat back to him.
Shaking off the memory, she tried not to think about it, ever. It was the only time her father had ever hurt her, and it had also brought the reality of what her parents were into crashing down. They were not normal parents with normal jobs. There was no way she’d ever see her mother, Rebecca, working in a library. Far from it. She’d be at the bar, smoking, or taunting some of the club women with their lack of status.