Preacher (Reckless Souls MC Book 4), page 1
Preacher
Reckless Souls MC Book 4
KB Winters
Copyright © 2022 by KB Winters and Bookboyfriends Publishing Inc
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Photo - R+M Photo (Thank you Reggie Deanching!)
Cover Model - Ryan Stacks
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Thank You So Much!
About the Author
Also by KB Winters
About Preacher
When a blue-haired hacker with lips made for sin, steals from us, I break into her bedroom to see what I can find.
I didn't expect to be so drawn to her.
Gia's not like any woman I've ever met. She's strong, independent, and she doesn't take crap from anyone - including me.
She's desperate to cooperate now, but can I trust her?
And if she lies about the theft, what else is she lying about?
I need to find out the truth, but I can't resist Gia for long. She's under my skin and in my blood.
And the more I get to know her, the more I realize she's not only a hot headed thieving minx, she’s in deeper than I thought.
The Kings want her to do their dirty work, but I'll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.
Even if it means putting my own life at risk.
WSJ and USA Today bestselling author KB Winters brings you the fourth book in the Reckless Souls MC Series. You’ll fall in love with this Army vet and the woman he chose to protect.
No cliffhanger, no cheating, and a happily-ever-after.
Love hot bikers that melt your kindle? Scroll up and one-click Preacher today!
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Chapter One
Gia
“Just do another fuckin’ bump, Ro. It’s no big deal.”
I grab the rolled-up dollar bill from my best friend’s hand and snort another line because why the fuck not? I feel the hit and give a satisfying sigh.
It’s a party. I have no place to be in the morning, and everyone here except my bestie, Romina, is boring as fuck.
“Here.”
I offer a line to her again, but Ro shakes her head, thick black curls swishing across her shoulder. This time she pushes my hand away.
“I’m good, Gia. I’m already too fucked up as it is.”
She slides a finger under her nose, her dark eyes wide and alert as she reaches for her beer.
“The booze is plenty, unless you got a joint to even me back out?”
I shrug and scan the people inside the house on Elm Street. I know most of these people and consider many of them actual friends, as much as I can be friends with people I hang out with for the sole purpose of getting wasted.
Drunk or high, none of us care as long as we can escape the shit that is our lives for just a little while. I spot Jason over by the keg set up in the kitchen. He always has weed. “I’ll see what I can find, Ro.”
“Be careful,” she calls after me, and I wave her off.
Jason is a bit of a sleaze, always trying to get in my pants, but he knows exactly where the line is, and he never crosses it. I can handle him, and when I want something, I handle him really well.
I sidle up to him and lower my eyes. “Hey, Jase, lookin’ good.”
He looks at me with a hungry grin, his blue eyes sparkling with desire as they laser in on my tits.
“Gia!” He acts surprised to see me as if he hasn’t been oglin’ my ass all night. “You look good enough to eat.”
He licks his lips and leans in to whisper in my ear over the loud hip hop music blaring through speakers set up all over the house. “Just say the word, and I’ll eat you out until you beg me to stop. Again.”
I shiver at his words. Jason isn’t my type, but after a little too much booze and blow, he gives head like he was born to do it.
“Maybe later,” I tell him around a fake pout. “If you’re a good boy. Anyone here got any weed? Ro wants a joint.” I lean my elbows on the counter next to the keg and watch as his eyes widen in delight. “So?”
His blue eyes crawl up my body full of heat as he settles on my face. “What’s in it for me?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and shrug. “What do you want, Jase?”
“A kiss.” His lips curl into a smile that I think is supposed to be sexy, but it fails.
“On the cheek.”
“With tongue,” he counters.
“Try again.” I smile to take the sting off my words. “No kissing.” It’s not really my jam and definitely not with Jase.
“Let me suck your tits for five minutes.”
“For a joint?” I roll my eyes. “You’d better throw in an eight ball for that.” And even then, I can’t see it happening.
“Tease,” he growls. “How about this? You let me do a shot from your tits, and this joint,” he pulls it from the pocket of his denim jacket to tease me, “is yours.”
I tap my cheek, pretending to think about it, making him wait a little to let his anticipation grow. Jason isn’t the first guy to drool over my tits, not even the only one in the room drooling over them now. They’re just tits, and guys have been making fools of themselves over them since I was a teenager. Now, in my twenties, they’re no big deal to me. I push away from the counter with a grin. “Where’s the salt?”
Jase laughs and hands me the joint. “You remembered my favorite drink. I know you want me, Gia, and I can’t wait for you to stop playing so hard to get and give me some.”
“You’re not sleeping alone, Jase, so cry me a river.”
“Only so I can keep my skills tight for you, babe.” He winks and wedges a double shot glass between my tits, swipes a smidge of tequila across my collarbone before he pours on a few dashes of salt.
He’s really making a production of it while his buddies stare with envy, laugh, and crack jokes. And in five seconds, the salt is gone, the glass is in his mouth, and my tits are covered in tequila.
“Fuck me. I’m hard just from that little taste. Come on, Gia.”
I smile and give his jaw a gentle-ish pat. “Don’t beg, Jase. You’re too pretty for that.”
I laugh and saunter off while his friends laugh and joke. Ro stares at me as I make my way back to the worn sofa and drop down before I hand her the joint.
“Thanks,” she grins. “But I’d never ask you to do all that just to get stoned.”
I smile and pat her bare thigh. “Yeah, you would. We’re besties, Ro. You don’t have to ask. Besides, I had to talk him down from a kiss or getting my tits sucked. A body shot is the least I can do for you, girl.”
Ro laughs and pulls out her pink Bic lighter to torch the end of the fat joint. “Thanks, Gia.” She inhales deeply and closes her eyes as the weed takes effect, relaxing her body deeper into the sofa.
“Fuck, I needed that. Coke gets me too amped up.”
“Then stop doing it,” I tell her sarcastically.
Ro sighs heavily and stares out at the room. “I know, but my folks always trip when I come home smelling like weed and coke has no smell.” She sighs again, and I feel her pain.
“Too bad we don’t have the money to get edibles. Just the homegrown free stuff,” I say.
“Right? Then we’d be stoned all the time, and no one could smell it.” Ro giggles.
We’re both twenty-three years old and still live at home—next door to each other—with our parents. Well, Ro lives with her mom and dad, but at my house, it’s just me and my mom. She works at the elementary school to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. Nothing extra for edibles.
“Life sucks, Gia.”
“Yeah, it does,” I agree. “But to move out of our parent’s houses, we need jobs, and I’m not talking shitty fast food jobs. We can’t even rent a studio apartment with what they pay.”
Nothing we can do pays well, enough whether it’s housekeeping, waiting tables, or any other crap job people do on this side of Angel Harbor.
Ro turns to me with pleading dark eyes. “But, Gia, you’re talented as hell when it comes to computers. You can get a really good job doing your thing, and I’ll wait tables at someplace that sells booze. Maybe even at a titty bar where the tips will be really good. I’ve got big enough tits.”
It’s a good plan, but there’s just one problem. “That’s a great idea, Ro, but we both know every time I go interview all they see is the blue ha ir, the tattoos, and ask for that college degree. Then when I make excuses for why I don’t have one, or why I went to work straight out of high school, it’s don’t call us, we’ll call you.”
I hate that those fuckers judge me based on my looks when every college grad loser in the building dresses like they live in a van.
“I’ll find another way. I promise.” There are other ways to use my skills that don’t require putting on a facade and punching a clock. I just need to get off my ass—stop partying so much—and make it happen.
Ro leans back on the sofa with a lazy smile on her face, high as fuck and no longer worried about her problems. At least for the rest of the night.
“Maybe I should take Ricardo up on his offer to sell weed for him,” she muses in that slow way that only a weed high can achieve.
I laugh. “You want to take the risk of selling weed in a state where it’s legal? Girl, now I know your ass is high.”
She flashes a sleepy smile and grabs my hand. “I might be a little stoned, Gia, but I really want us to get a place of our own. I hate living with my parents.”
“We will, Ro. We just have to plan, and that’s my specialty.” I stand and yank her to her feet with enough strength to shock her.
“Watch it, Superwoman. I’m wearing heels.” She looks down at her black lace-up fuck me pumps and kicks a leg out to the side. “Lot of good they did me tonight. Not.”
“Let’s walk home and let the fresh air sober us both up a bit.”
Ro snorts. “Defeats the purpose of getting high, but it’s not like I’m gonna spring for an Uber if they’ll even come to this part of town.”
“We’ll walk slow and enjoy the high, yeah?”
She nods, and after five minutes of goodbyes, we hit the sidewalk and start the walk home. “That is the filthiest fucking couch ever,” she growls and swipes cat hair, cigarette ash, and who knows what else from the back of her skirt, her shirt, and even her legs. “Why do we come here?”
“No parents. Free booze. Drugs.”
She shrugs. “Worth it then, I guess.” We both fall silent, and then Ro stops. “What if you work at one of those hacker collectives or robot farms?”
I laugh. “What the hell is a robot farm?”
“You know, those places that put out false information or work together to steal money from rich people. You can do that, can’t you?”
I nod. “I have the skills,” I muse. “But I’m not cut out for jail, Ro. I’m too pretty, and my mouth is too fucking smart.” Something my mom tells me every chance she gets. And every teacher I’ve ever had. Every boyfriend, too, both mine and my mom’s. “I told you, I’m working on it.”
“Promise?”
“Pinky promise.” Ever since we were little girls, we’ve been making pinky promises to each other about everything from wearing the same color—purple, on Fridays—to promises we would move out of Angel Harbor and become bigshots, or at least bigger than was possible in this town. We even pinky swore on losing our virginity on the same night, and technically, that’s what happened.
We walk another block in silence and then she asked, “Are you gonna sleep with Jase?”
I gave her a look. “Where’d that come from?” Jase wasn’t the answer to getting a place of our own. “Probably not. He’s too thirsty and not really my type.”
“What’s wrong with Jase?”
“Nothing,” I shrug. He’s a nice guy, but he gives off desperate vibes that don’t do anything to make me want to get naked with him. “I’m looking for a man who knows what it means to be a man, who wants to take care of me in his way and let me take care of him in my way. That guy isn’t Jase.”
Hell, I’m not even sure that guy exists in the real world. He’s just some fucking Jax Teller dream girls like me pretend are possible because how else do I keep hope alive?
Ro groans and grips my bicep. “Please don’t tell me this is about you becoming an old lady again, Gia? You’re more than that, and you deserve more than that.”
“Of course I do, but I’m tired of struggling, of barely scraping by. I want someone to take care of me for a change. It doesn’t make me less to admit that. It makes me smart.”
“True. My mom always says you’re too smart for your own good.”
“My mom too. And my grandma.” And pretty much anyone else who has ever met me. “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
“Probably not,” she agrees. “You always seem to land on your feet.”
“Yeah. I guess,” I say around a heavy sigh as I think of the one time recently I didn’t land on my feet.
Ro stops and turns to face me. “Promise me you won’t try that shit again, Gia. I can’t lose you, not now and not ever. No more trying to off yourself, or I’ll kill you myself.”
I snort and nod. “Okay. I promise. It was a lapse in judgment. A poor combination of too much intoxication and feeling sorry for myself. It’s over now, I swear.”
Ro accepts my words at face value, and we turn the corner onto our block of tract houses, side by side and in every color of the rainbow. “No more of that. Pinky promise.” I hold up my pinky, and Ro hooks hers into mine.
“I’m going to hold you to that, Gia. I swear to fuck I am.”
I fling an arm around her shoulder as we make our way to the middle of the block where our houses sat, close enough we could almost touch hands through our bedroom windows. “I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her. “Unless of course, I meet my knight on shining chrome and leather.”
“So you want to be a biker slut?”
“For the right man? Hell yeah, I do.”
Ro laughs. “Well, don’t look now, but there’s a leather-clad biker right in front of your house.”
The excitement I feel fades quickly as my flight or fight instincts kick in. The guy is a biker, without a doubt. He’s wearing a kutte and a helmet is resting on top of his bike. Other than that, I can’t see any details from this distance, just enough to know that this guy is trouble.
“I don’t think this is the guy I’ve been waiting for, Ro. Slow down.”
Ro is immediately on edge, and I know I shouldn’t have said anything. But this guy is basically on my front porch, and Mom is probably still sleeping, so he’s not here for her.
“Gia, what did you do?”
“Nothing that I know of,” I answer honestly. But the closer we get to the man, the clearer his patches become. Iron Kings. Those guys are fucking dangerous and crazy. Crazy dangerous. You don’t grow up in this part of town without learning early in life who to steer clear of, and these guys are at the top of the list of men to avoid.
“Gia, right?”
Stunned, I nod like a fool. “Who’s askin’?”
“They call me Hammer.” He grins and swings one leg over the seat so he can loom over me with his broad chest and thick body.
“Is that your real name?” Every biker I know has two names, the name on his birth certificate and tax papers and the one he goes by on the streets.
“It’s what you can call me. Or you can just call me boss because I have a job for you.”
A job? “I don’t even know you.”
He steps closer, getting in my face to make sure I know who’s in charge right now. Him. “You don’t need to know me,” he says.
I reach into my back pocket and grab the switchblade I keep there for rowdy men who can’t take no for an answer.
“Yeah, I do. If you’re asking me to do something for you, I sure as hell need to know you.”
The guy laughs, his shoulder-length dark hair falling over his face in a devilishly handsome way, at least before he rushes me and presses me up against the rickety railing and puts his own knife to my neck.
“See, bitch, that’s where you got it wrong. I’m not asking you for shit. What I’m doing is telling you how to stay alive.”
