Chapter 9 - Preacher
Preacher pulled up to the laundromat and parked his Harley. He had mixed feelings about the ride being over. He enjoyed having Macy wrapped around him, but he knew it wasn’t right. Even though he felt a pull towards her, he had to put his club first. Then she climbed off and beamed up at him, and he forgot whatever his argument against it was.
“Lead the way Hummingbird,” Preached demanded, as he climbed off his bike.
Macy turned away and headed around the side of the building, then climbed a set of stairs. He eyed the stairs in concern, and cringed as the first step sagged a bit under his weight. He knew Snake used to stay here, and he immediately wondered how the fuck he made it up and down them. When Preacher reached the top, he actually sighed in relief.
Macy unlocked the door and Preacher followed her inside. He fucking prayed the inside was better than the outside. He almost wanted to close his eyes, because if it was bad, he didn’t know what he was going to do.
When she moved to the couch and he got a clear view, he looked around. It wasn’t as bad as he expected, but it wasn’t great either. The place was fucking small, and it was all white. It did however, look clean. Then he heard the loud rumbling noice from downstairs.
“What the fuck is that noice?” Preacher questioned with a frown.
“It’s the washing machines,” Macy explained. “They run twenty four hours a day. I’m getting used to them.”
Preacher bit his tongue and stomped away, searching for the bathroom. The first door he opened was a bedroom, and he quickly shut the door. All he needed was to get a look at the bed she slept in and start fantasizing about that. Thankfully the only other door was the bathroom. He stepped inside, then grinned as Macy squeezed in the tight space with him.
Before she could protest, he threw the bag with the shower head in the bottom of the tub. Then he grabbed her by the waist, picked her up, and placed her so she was sitting on the counter in front of him.
“Time to look at your head,” he growled in explanation. Macy blinked at him again and tilted her head to the side. She was killing him every time she did that, and he knew she had no idea what it did to him.
Preacher slowly raised his hand and peeled off the blood coated bandaid. Then he leaned in to get a better look, and smirked knowingly when he heard her breath catch. It was nice to see she was as affected by him as he was by her.
“First aid kit,” he ordered.
“I think there’s one under the sink,” Macy whispered. He bent down, snagged it, and placed it on the counter beside her.
Preacher took an antiseptic wipe and carefully cleaned the cut as best he could. Once done, he was happy to see it actually wasn’t that bad. He patched it up, adding a bit of antibiotic cream and some butterfly bandages. Satisfied, he kissed the hair just above it then stepped back.
“You got any tools,” he questioned. She only stared at him blankly, so he asked, “you okay Hummingbird?”
Macy nodded, fucking blinked again, then answered. “Absolutely.” Then as an afterthought stated, “no tools.”
“I have some in my bike, I’ll be right back.”
Preacher turned and took off, braving the stairs once more. When he was at his Harley he paused. He had heard about finding your one from the brothers, and he had a terrible feeling Macy was his.
He shook his head and looked at the laundromat. He wasn’t real impressed with the apartment, but it would have to do for now. He grabbed his small tool kit and headed back up the stairs.
When he entered the bathroom again she was still sitting where he left her. He winked at her, then turned away and got to work. Ten minutes later he was done. He packed up his shit, lifted her down, and headed to the door.
“You got a phone,” Preacher asked. She nodded, without even questioning why he wanted it, and hurried to the kitchen counter.
A minute later she was back and handing him a fucking flip phone. He had to bite his lip to stop from cursing, took it, and programmed his number into it. Then he called himself so he’d have hers. Finally he snapped a quick pic of her, then growled when he saw her head was fucking tilted in the photo. She was definitely killing him.
“You call me if you need me,” he ordered gruffly. Then he kissed her head, turned, and walked out the fucking door before he did something stupid.