Page 34 of Preacher

“Does it hurt to change into one? I’m not sure if I can deal with pain on a constant basis.” His eyes snapped up to meet mine. “I don’t have to eat raw meat, do I? Or sniff butts?”

The questions were so ridiculous I nearly laughed. “No, you won’t turn into a wolf, and we don’t sniff each other’s butts.”

If the pack had heard him say that…

* * * *

Trent

I grabbed my popcorn and my soda, dragged a chair to the edge of the grass, and made myself comfortable. Preacher and half his terrifying biker pack were hunting for the silver rings that had apparently slipped off during the shift. I ate a handful of popcorn. They were going to be out there a while.

“Found something!” Holler held up his prize triumphantly. “Oh. It’s a lug nut.”

I snorted into my soda. “You guys need a metal detector.”

“You’re being a shit,” Crowbar corrected, returning empty-handed again. “Sitting there like the queen of England while we’re—fuck!” He yanked his hand back from whatever bush he’d just reached into. “Something bit me!”

“Probably karma,” I suggested sweetly.

Preacher’s lips twitched as he moved to another section. The man was trying so hard not to laugh, but I caught the way his shoulders shook slightly.

“Found another lug nut,” Mayhem announced. “And what I think might be Jimmy Hoffa.”

“That joke’s older than you are,” Drift told him.

“Your mom’s older than I am.”

“My mom’s dead, asshole.”

“Then she’s definitely older.”

I munched my popcorn and watched them bicker like kids while searching. It was surreal—these big, dangerous men on their hands and knees in the dirt, like they’d dropped their keys at a picnic. Less than twelve hours ago, one of them had literally taken down an armed intruder with his teeth. Now they were having a “your mom” fight in the woods.

“Trent,” Preacher called out. “Come help.”

“Can’t.” I lifted my soda. “Hand’s full. Besides, someone needs to supervise. Quality control, you know.”

“I’ll show you quality control,” Crowbar muttered then yelped again. “Son of a— What is in these bushes?”

“Nature,” I said helpfully. “It’s what happens when you go outside.”

Ghost emerged from deeper in the woods and held up three rings. The man was efficiency incarnate. He’d probably found them ten minutes ago and had just been waiting for the rest of them to suffer appropriately.

“That’s five,” Drift counted. “Two more.”

“Check near that oak,” I suggested, pointing with my soda. “You guys haven’t looked there yet.”

They found the sixth ring wedged between two roots near the oak, exactly where I’d suggested. Crowbar shot me a look that promised retribution, probably involving caramels and emotional manipulation. I was just as shocked at my lucky guess.

“Last one,” Preacher said, and I could hear the relief in his voice. The man really loved those rings.

Twenty minutes later, they were no closer to finding it.

“Could a bird have grabbed it?” Diesel suggested. “Like a crow or something?”

He was the largest of the pack. Not tallest. Diesel and Preacher were the same height, around six-five. He was just the bulkiest in muscles.

“Why would a bird steal jewelry?” Drift asked.