Page 5 of Preacher

His attention dropped to my mouth again, and this time neither of us pretended it hadn’t. Then his expression went flat and dangerous as he looked toward the yard.

“Good,” he said. “Because somebody wants Curtis Freight badly enough to pay too much for it, and I want to know why.”

CHAPTER 2

PREACHER

I’d spent most of my adult life knowing exactly where Holly Curtis belonged in my head. Rowan’s daughter, the kid who left her shit around his house and the teenager who invented reasons to walk through the kitchen while I was there.

I’d noticed that part too without being interested in it.

At thirty-six, eighteen-year-old Holly had been a line I wouldn’t cross. She’d been leaving for college and still blushing when Rowan teased her. Whatever crush she’d had on me belonged to her, and I’d had enough sense not to make it anything else.

Nine years later, she’d walked into Curtis Freight in fitted jeans and a white tank top, looked me dead in the eye and told me to ask before touching her paperwork. That had been different, enough that I’d spent the ride back to the clubhouse pissed off with myself for remembering exactly how her mouth had looked when she said it.

Smoke was behind the bar when I walked in, pouring coffee into a mug that had probably been clean sometime last week. Gage sat at one of the tables with his boots stretched out in front of him, scrolling through something on his phone.

Smoke looked up from the mug in his hand. “You find Holly?”

“Found her. She’s got an offer on Curtis Freight.”

Gage’s attention lifted immediately from his phone. “From who?”

“That’s what I’m finding out.” Smoke slid a mug toward me without asking, and I took it. “The offer’s too good.”

Neither man laughed because men like us didn’t get suspicious over somebody making money; we got suspicious when somebody paid more than they had to without an obvious reason. I forwarded the company name from Holly’s paperwork to Deacon. He’d dig faster than I could and had the patience for.

Smoke leaned his forearms on the bar. “Had two strangers asking about commercial storage yesterday. Hit the fuel station, then Moreno’s place out by the old rail spur. Wanted empty properties and warehouse space without paperwork.”

Gage put his phone down. “One came through the garage last week asking who hauled south.”

I looked between them, already irritated. “Why am I only hearing this now?”

“Because some asshole asking questions isn’t usually worth dragging you out of bed for,” Smoke said. “Now it might be.”

That was fair, even if I didn’t like it. “Curtis Freight has yard space, storage and active haulage routes. Buyer wants everything, quick close, cash.”

“And Rowan’s dead,” Gage added.

The words landed harder than they should have. Rowan had been gone long enough that I’d stopped expecting his truck outside the clubhouse, but not long enough for the absence to feel normal.

Smoke watched me over the rim of his mug. “Holly signing?”

“Not for two days.”

His mouth twitched because he already knew the answer. “She actually agree to that?”

“Eventually, and I’m not interested in your opinion about how the conversation went.”

Gage gave one short laugh before asking, “How old is she now?”

My eyes went to him, and he lifted both hands. “That answers that.”

Smoke’s grin was worse because he knew better than to say anything. He’d known Rowan almost as long as I had and remembered Holly leaving Salvation at eighteen with more attitude than luggage.

I set the mug down. “I’m going back out there.”

“Why?” Smoke asked.