Page 4 of Preacher

“Well …” Arthur holds out his hand.

Moonlight flashes on silver and loud pops echo in the alley as red explodes from his back and chest. I choke on my scream as I slam my hands over my mouth. He aims one last time, making a red soup of Arthur’s skull. The white matter flying out like chunky marshmallows has me gagging. Trembling, I swear when my phone buzzes in a text on the table. I grab it, panicking when I see my mother’s text.

A few minutes out from the shop, see you soon.

No!Blood rushes in my ears. I can’t let my mother walk in on this. Shoving the phone into my bra, I hit the alarm. I rush out of the back door opposite the alley where Flint’s standing. The building explodes by my head as shots ring out. I cough as the cloud of dust chokes me. Ducking low, I cover my head as I run out of the alley onto the street. I dodge a car, grateful that the city never sleeps, and cross the street. Tripping over my feet, I roll down the dusty hill and into the ditch. I hit bottom, hard, grimacing as the wind is knocked from me. Pushing myself onto my knees, I glance around, seeking shelter as the motorcycle engine grows louder. Crawling to keep the land as a shield, I guestimate my proximity to the intersection. Holding my breath, I stand and dart toward the road.

Pressure explodes in my left shoulder like a hard punch, and I jerk forward, but I don’t fall. Eyes set on the lights of the twenty-four-hour gas station, I lurch forward. A truck’s horn blares, and tires screech. Breathing raggedly, I make my way through the automatic doors.

The clerk rushes from behind the counter.

“Call the police,” I whisper as my lips chatter from the cold spreading through me like a cold front. “Bathroom.”

“Through there.” The man gestures toward the hallway. “I’m calling an ambulance right now.”

I press my hand to the ragged hole in my camisole. Blood pours out of the wound hidden behind the fiber. I stagger my way inside of the men’s room to buy time. Taking my phone out, I use a voice command to call the one person I trust to protect me.

* * *

Preacher

“I noticed you were there for a while,” Shadow says with a smirk.

“What are you on about?”

“Come on, we’ve all seen how you eye fuck the funeral director’s daughter.”

“I didn’t know that was a crime, mate. She’s very lush.”

“You saying she’s thicker than a bowl of oatmeal, Brit?” Shadow arches a dark brow. “Because if the answer is yes, I agree.”

I ignore the mischief in his light brown eyes. As the old man of the crew, I get a lot of ribbing.

I shake my head. “Close enough.”

“Why not make a move?” Shadow suggests.

The thought is tempting. Seeing the desire in Queenie’s dark brown eyes earlier made walking away hard. But I know better. “Those days are long gone for me. I had a chance and realized I’m not suited for the long haul.”

“Usually, you’re spot on with your words, but I think you’re off this time.”

“How do you figure?” I ask.

“If there’s anyone out there worthy of finding Mrs. Right, it’s you. You give selflessly daily with a smile. I sometimes wonder if you didn’t miss your true calling.”

“Don’t you start.” I roll my eyes, and he laughs. The boys all get a kick out of my pious roots. I once thought I’d follow in my father’s footsteps, but puberty and high school girls changed my mind.

He snickers. “I’m saying … would it be so bad to give it a shot?”

“Last thing I want to do is break someone’s heart. Queenie’s got her entire life ahead of her. Where would I belong in her world?” He opens his mouth, and I shake my head, seeing his innuendo coming a mile away. “Don’t answer that question.”

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out of my cut. “Speak of the devil.” I hit a button. “Are you all set for me to come back, love?”

“P-Preacher. I-I need help.”

The sound of terror and pain in her voice melts my humor away. I sit up straight on the stool. “What happened? Where are you?”

“At the gas station up from the f-funeral home. I-I’ve been shot.”

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