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He pulled himself away from old memories, then looked Larry in the eyes. “Any last words?” Priest asked him.
“Fuck you and the club,” Larry whispered.
“How unoriginal,” Priest said, raising the gun.
Larry squeezed his eyes shut as Priest took the safety off and fired. At such close range, Priest didn’t miss. Once the task was done, he tucked his gun in his holster and returned to the clubhouse.
Priest could use a drink or two. Once back inside, he gestured toward the nearest prospect.
“Miller, clean the mess in the shed. Make sure the place is spotless when it’s done,” he said. Miller gulped, then nodded.
Priest returned to his usual seat at the bar. Cross, the club’s sergeant-at-arms, soon joined him.
“It’s done?” Cross asked as the bartender set a cold one in front of Priest.
“Sure,” Priest answered.
He doubted he’d get any sleep the next few days. Larry would haunt his nightmares for a while, but give him a week, maybe two, and Larry would just be another ghost.
“You know what you need, Priest?” Cross asked.
“What’s that?” Priest asked, not really paying attention. He drank the entire bottle without pause, but still couldn’t wash the awful taste in his mouth.
“An old lady of your own,” Cross told him.
“While I’m happy for you and Dana, I’m happy with what’s available,” Priest said.
Priest nodded to the two club whores chatting at a nearby table. In truth, he really had no plans of taking a woman to his room tonight, even a willing one.
The last time Priest executed someone, he fell into bed, drunk, with additional company. When he woke up the next morning, Priest found his fingers wrapped around a club whore’s neck. Thankfully, she hadn’t died. That incident only served to worsen his already black reputation in the club. Priest wasn’t going to take risks.
“Well, I can see you’re not in a chatty mood tonight so I’ll leave you and go home to my wife,” Cross said. He gave Priest’s shoulder a pat.
Several bottles later, Priest was still at the bar. He should probably call it a day, but he wasn’t looking forward to another sleepless night. Maybe Cross was right. Priest should find a woman to call his own, someone permanent, but how the hell would Priest find a woman who wasn’t scared shitless of him or what he did?
He could make out laughter and jeers amidst the distant rumble of motorcycles. There was some kind of commotion outside the clubhouse. At first, Priest dismissed it. It might just be some of his brothers messing around. If a serious fight broke out, there were still a few senior associates around to sort the mess out.
The noises persisted. Turning away from the bar, Priest cast a scrutinizing glance toward the entrance. The heavy door swung open, revealing two figures stumbling inside. The first was a young man in his twenties, wearing a button-down shirt and chinos. He looked a fish out of water in the biker bar. The second figure, though, grabbed Priest’s attention right away. A woman, also in her mid-twenties, clung to the guy, and she looked roughed-up. Her makeup was smeared and the dress she wore under an oversized jacket, was ripped. Priest also noted she only had one shoe on.
As she scanned the room, her eyes met Priest’s, and for a moment, time seemed to pause.
Standing from his stool, memories from his past and present collided in Priest’s mind. Recognition flickered in his eyes as he stared at the golden-haired woman who stood a little straighter when their gazes crossed. The last time he had seen her, Sadie White had entered his confessional box in a white knee-length dress. He thought her a demon in an angel’s guise, sent to earth to tempt him from his vows. This woman was trouble. He thought that the first time she entered his little box, and kept doing it, week after week.
Priest pushed away from the bar. Realizing he was still foolishly holding his beer bottle, he set it back on the bar. A ripple of hushed conversations spread through the room as he approached Sadie and the uncertain young man who had accompanied her.
Priest closed the distance between him and Sadie. For a fleeting moment, he questioned if the alcohol had played a trick on his senses. Maybe after offing Larry, he had imagined Sadie appearing in the clubhouse. That was crazy, though, because he hadn’t thought about her in years. No, that was a blatant lie, because even when there was a random club whore under him, Priest sometimes pictured Sadie’s face.
The young man with Sadie eyed Priest with uncertainty.
“This is him?” he asked Sadie.
Priest briefly wondered who this guy was to Sadie. A boyfriend? No, he decided, a relative then? But all of Sadie’s relatives, to his knowledge, were jerks. A friend, then, who had courage enough to take Sadie to a place like this. Priest soon forgot all about the guy, because his attention was on Sadie.
Sadie took hesitant steps toward him but stumbled at the last moment. In a reflexive motion, Priest instinctively reached out, firmly grasping her arms. He didn’t miss the wince that marred her delicate features. Whoever did this to her, hurt her good.
A surge of rage, primal and fierce, welled up from the depths of Priest’s being. An involuntary growl escaped his throat. The guy with Sadie even took a step backward from him. The protective instinct that lay dormant within him flared to life, a wildfire threatening to consume reason. Forcing himself to calm down, Priest assessed the woman before him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this angry.
All he wanted in that moment was to hunt down the bastard responsible for reducing Sadie to this vulnerable state. The fury evaporated the moment Sadie ran her fingers over his stubbled face. She cupped his jaw and her touch was unbelievably soft and warm. Her ocean-blue eyes locked onto his, and for a suspended moment, Priest wondered what she was thinking. What did she see when she looked at him? Displeasure? Disappointment? Relief?
