Page 3 of The Preacher's Pet

Ophelia Sinclair.

What a blast from the past.

She’d gone missing when she was only twelve years old, while on vacation with her family to Texas. I’d been heartbroken when I’d heard, though a part of me had also been disbelieving. I’d always thought it had all been one big mistake and I’d just wake up one day to learn that she’d come home, and things would go back to normal.

Our families hadn’t known of our secret friendship. Families like ours tend to be more self-contained than most. We can hardly be regulars at the neighborhood barbecues with what we do for a living. Most people have an inkling, and you find invites tend to be few and far between But somehow, Ophelia and I found each other.

I’d come across her one day, trying to build a small dam in the stream that separated our properties. She’d been kicking at some tree branches and cursing like a sailor at only ten years old. She’d had mud up to her knees and scratches all over her arms and legs.

“What are you doing?” I’d asked her.

She’d jerked up and blinked in surprise. “What does it look like?”

“Building a dam?” I’d guessed.

“Yeah, but it won’t work. Every time I put something in to stop the water, it just gets washed away.”

I’d let my gaze trail up the bank. “You’re in the wrong spot. The water flows too fast here. You need to check for the place where the water dumps all the twigs and leaves naturally and work your way out from there.”

She’d straightened and put her hands on her hips. I’d noted how her gaze had landed on the bruises on my arms, but she hadn’t asked how I’d gotten them. The sun had caught on her hair, and it had been so pale in the sunlight, it had almost looked white. I remembered thinking that she looked like she should be in a movie about elves or some other supernatural creature. She was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen.

Though she was pretty, she also didn’t seem to mind getting wet and muddy. We’d spent the rest of the day working on the dam, and when that was done, we decided our next project was going to be a rope swing, and we’d arranged to meet back in the same spot the following day.

I found myself going home that evening with a big smile on my face. I hadn’t even cared when my father had been angry that I’d been absent all day. It was like those hours spent with the white-haired girl by the stream was a precious stone I’d tucked away in my pocket, and every time something bad happened that tried to drag me down, I just reached inside me for the memory, and it made me smile all over again.

That had been the start of a perfect summer, and the start of our friendship. We’d been firm friends right up until the day I’d learned she’d gone missing. I was devastated; she’d been my sanctuary. I’d often found myself sneaking into her room, where I’d sleep curled up on the floor. It felt safe in her house. Her family was warm, inviting, always full of smiles. The exact opposite of the dour, oppressive air in my home.

Ophelia had seemed like an angel to me, sent from heaven as a safe haven. She even looked angelic.

Now, by some miracle, it seems my angel is back in my life again.

I think of her face when she saw me, and my heart sinks. She was terrified of me, and that isn’t right. Did her fear have something to do with the scar on her beautiful face? She hadn’t had that scar when she’d gone missing, and I can’t help but wonder what had happened. It hurts my heart that someone so perfect has been hurt. Had someone seen her beauty and decided to take it away? She’s still perfect to me, though.

I’d given chase on instinct, needing to look at her face, take her in, tell her that it was okay.It’s only me. Cain.

I have no idea what she’s gone through during all these years she’s been missing, but the terrified waif of a girl who ran from me now seems nothing like the mud-covered, cursing spitfire I’d met by the stream all those years ago.

Then again, I’m not the same person I was either. I’m big enough and mean enough now that no one fucks with me. So maybe her running shouldn’t be surprising.

My frustration boils inside me, and I blow out a breath as if I can release it like steam. I didn’t want her to run. I wanted her to stop. To explain to me where the hell she’s been.

To tell me that she had missed me as much as I’ve missed her.

Maybe she’s pissed because she found me gone when she returned from wherever she’s been? I hadn’t left any kind of forwarding number or an address for her to find me again. That wasn’t my fault, though.

Our families weren’t friendly, and so when we moved, we didn’t keep in touch. Even though the acres of land our properties stood upon shared boundaries, there were far bigger boundaries than that between two crime families who weren’t exactly on the same side.

“What the fuck is going on, Cain?” Malachi folds in two, his hands planted on his thighs as he regains his breath.

“I know her,” I tell him.

“Yeah, we figured out that much,” my other fellow Preacher, Roman, says with a literalness that make me want to smack him upside the head. “But where from? And why is she running away from you?”

“We knew each other as children. She vanished one day. This is the first time I’ve seen her in almost eight years. “

I still can’t believe this is happening.

Roman cocks his blond head. “That still doesn’t explain why she ran away from you. She’s obviously not pleased to see you again.”

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