Page 6 of Preacher

“I know I’ve asked you for a great deal over the years, but none of them deserved your mercy and healing like the woman in front of me.” I hold her hand, watching her for signs of waking. She’s slept like the dead since I sedated her. Which is good for healing but bad for my mental health and Grimm’s patience as he stalks back and forth in the clubhouse. The president likes to stay on top of what’s going on with his club and investments. The fact that she was attacked during a job for us doesn’t look good. Her phone rang off the hook, so I turned it off and took out the sim card to keep her location a secret. I’m unsure who’s a threat and if she’ll be tracked.

It’s the right choice, but I feel like a proper asshole. I can’t imagine what Queenie’s family must be going through waiting for her to contact them. By now, the bodies have been found outside, and the place is swarming with police. Tossing and turning as the drugs begin to wane, she swims closer to the surface, mumbling and crying.

“It’s okay, Flower. I’m right here. No one will touch you,” I vow, rubbing the back of her hand with my thumb.

She jerks from me, breathing heavily.

I grip the edge of the bed. “Come back to me, Queenie.”

Her head tilts toward me. “P-Preacher?”

“One and only. I know you’re tired, but it’d do an old man good if you open your beautiful brown eyes.”

Her eyelids flutter open, and I grab my pen flashlight off the dresser, shining it into her eyes. They dilate appropriately, and I breathe a sigh of relief. She could probably use a bit of blood, but I wouldn’t dare try to give her blood without knowing her blood type. It’d do more harm than good. Her capillary reflex is sluggish but nowhere near what I’d see if she was in the danger zone.

She smacks her lips. “Thirsty.”

“I know. I’ll get you water in a moment. After you answer a few questions for me. Do you know what year it is?”

She wrinkles her nose. “2022. I was shot, not clonked in the head.” Her breath leaves her in a rush. “He shot me.” She shudders

“Who?”

“Flint. Flint Creed.”

“What?” I bark.

She shrinks, and I curse.

“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m just shocked.”

“He killed Councilman Bane.”

“Son of a bitch. Why?”

“I-I don’t know,” she croaks. “They were in the blind spot and talking about exchanging information.” She clears her throat.

“Hold on, I’ll get you water.” The chair scrapes across the floor as I rush out of the room and down to the kitchen.

Grimm is on me with Aries by his side when I open the fridge, pull out a bottle of water, and rummage through the junk drawer for a straw.

“Is she awake?”

“Just, but lucid. We got a shit storm on our hands, brother. Flint Creed shot Councilman Arthur Bane in the blind spot, then her. We should be the only ones privy to that weakness in their security. I suggest you put out an all-hands on deck alert and send out feelers.”

“The fuck?” Aries roars. “We keep plugging leaks, and they spring up.”

I nod my head. “It’s been stormy sailing this year.”

Grimm shakes his head. “Did she tell you anything else?”

“They were supposed to be exchanging information.”

“The councilman hates our guts. Why the hell would he be running with Flint Creed? Do you think his president knows?” Aries asks, speaking more to himself than me.

“That’s a very good question.”

“Fucking mess.” Grimm grunts as he runs a hand through his locks.

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