The Drift: Preacher Brothers, 3 Read online

  The Drift

  Preacher Brothers, 3

  Jenika Snow

  THE DRIFT (PREACHER BROTHERS, 3)

  By Jenika Snow

  www.JenikaSnow.com

  [email protected]

  Copyright © July 2020 by Jenika Snow

  First ebook publication © July 2020 Jenika Snow

  Cover design by: Lori Jackson

  Content Editor: Kayla Robichaux

  Image provided by: Adobe Stock

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of any part of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

  Please respect the author and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights.

  Contents

  Synopsis

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  About the Author

  I found myself at the wrong place at the wrong time. And because of that, I was now considered collateral damage to the Preacher Brothers.

  So I was taken, thrown in the back of a dark SUV, with a bleeding, dying man draped over my lap, and my future uncertain. I didn’t expect to live at the end of this ordeal, not with everything I’d seen, not when I could identify them.

  But despite my fear of what my future held, I couldn’t help but feel this connection to the man whose life hung by a thread.

  Wilder Preacher.

  He’s mysterious as much as he’s dangerous. He’s gorgeous in a severe, almost brutal manner. And although his brothers terrify me, I could see how much they loved him, as their worry for his life was thick.

  I could see the lengths they’d go to not lose him, even if that included taking me as a hostage.

  I’d never known that, never had that familial tie where I mattered that much to someone.

  And when Wilder woke up, I felt that connection increase until it threatened to consume me. He looked at me like I was the air he breathed, the blood that rushed through his veins. He told me he’d seen me as he was on the verge of dying, that it was my voice, my touch that made him want to stay.

  He said I’m tethered to him now, his lifeline… that he won’t let me go.

  I should run, should put all this behind me. And maybe I would….

  Or maybe I’d been drawn into Wilder’s dark eyes and deep voice until I have no control over my emotions and have no chance of leaving.

  It’s all so crazy, but then again, it’s not as insane as the fact that I don’t want to leave him now.

  Chapter One

  Zoey

  There was nothing lonelier in this world than knowing you had no one at your back, no one in your corner.

  That was me. The poor little orphan who’d been moved around to so many foster homes before her eighteenth birthday she could have filled up a map with all the places she’d been.

  Maybe that was why I considered myself a nomad, never staying in one place for very long. I didn’t have roots anywhere, probably never would. So I bounced around every couple years, working shitty jobs that mainly consisted of bars or nightclubs. That’s all I was qualified for. I didn’t have a college degree, and my high school diploma only got me so far.

  And as I stood by the bar waiting for the drink order I placed, waiting to head back and give the fruity, girly mixed drinks to the women celebrating a twenty-first birthday, it was solidified that it was time for me to move on.

  I’d worn out my stay in this city. The money I earned over the last two years, and the fact that I was as cheap as they came when it concerned where I lived, what I ate, and how I clothed myself, would allow me to be comfortable until I found something at my next stop.

  Normally, I didn’t even give a two-week notice, didn’t let my employers know I was booking it out of town. It wasn’t that I considered myself a shitty person, or that I just didn’t give a damn. The truth of the matter was, I worked at places that were less than legitimate, places with coworkers and employers who didn’t care that sexual harassment was an actual thing, that they couldn’t go around touching and groping their employees.

  I worked at sleazy places that were corrupt and dirty, with men who thought women were nothing more than subservient holes to fill. I wish I had more going for me in the employment aspect of it all, but that’s how the cards fell for my life. That’s where the path of life led me.

  But I’d given my two-week notice at Hoppers, a bar/nightclub in the heart of the city. It was rundown and dirty, part of an old abandoned building that had been somewhat renovated, so it passed inspection. And I loved working here, enjoyed my coworkers’ company, and freaking loved that a woman was the owner. But still, it was time for me to move on.

  I was a wandering soul, and my soul was due time to start over.

  Once it was time for me to head out for the night, I was a little surprised I felt a bit of sadness in leaving this behind. I’d been close with the other employees, and I’d never felt attached to one particular place. I didn’t much care for the feelings moving through me, so I pushed them back and headed down the service hallway that lead to the kitchen, the staff breakroom, and the bathroom and made my way toward the back door. It led out to the alley directly behind the bar, where the massive dumpsters were kept and where the smokers took their five minutes.

  It probably wasn’t the safest place to leave at night, but I’d always left this way. It was closest to my car, and I just wanted to get out of here.

  I pushed the heavy metal open, the cool air wafting over me, the heat lowered now that it was dark, but there were also hints of garbage that clung to the air, enough that it stunk, but not enough it made you gag.

  The shadows danced around this part of the alley, and just as I was about to grab my keys from my purse, I heard a man talking followed by another one. I looked to my right and saw three men standing a good ways away. They hadn’t noticed me, clearly hadn’t heard the door closing. I should have left, because it was clear whatever was going on wasn’t anything good. But before I could take my own advice, the next sequence of events played out in slow motion.

  The two men who faced me were too far for me to make them out clearly, but it was the man who had his back to me, the one who just produced a gun, who had my heart jumping to my throat.

  And then he aimed the gun at one of the other men, pulled the trigger, and all hell broke loose. I heard another shot ring out, my ears buzzing, everything in me screaming to go, to run. I couldn’t go back in the bar, not with the door a one-way-only exit. Two of the men fell to the ground, and I swore I felt the scent of blood fil
l my nose, making me gag.

  I need to run, I thought, yet here I was, cemented to the spot and knowing what a bad idea that was.

  Chapter Two

  Wilder

  I brought the joint to my mouth and took a long inhale. I passed it to Frankie, the smoke still in my lungs as he took it and placed the tip between his lips. The sound of us baking was loud in the alley, the echo of bottles being broken in the distance seeming to bounce off the brick walls.

  “Where the fuck is he?” Frankie asked in a muffled voice, holding the smoke in his lungs.

  “He’ll be here,” I said, the smoke he exhaled a cloud of haziness around us.

  “Well, I have shit to do, man.” He leaned against the building, propped one of his feet on the brick wall, and pulled out his cell. The screen lit up his face as he started messing with it.

  “Chill, Frankie,” I said. “He’ll be here.”

  He snorted. “This is why we don’t do deals with junkies, man. They are unreliable and unpredictable.” Frankie didn’t look up from his cell as he spoke.

  Yeah, we didn’t do deals or set shit up with people known to be junkies, but this situation and opportunity was too good to pass up.

  “Well, when a junkie can give us access codes, schedules, and any other detail that can score us a big job—the biggest we’ve ever had—I’ll take my chance and deal with a tweaker.”

  “Well, better hope Dom isn’t pissed.”

  I clenched my jaw. Yeah, Dom probably would be pissed. “He’ll get over it when he realizes how much money we can score with this. Another five minutes and then we’ll bounce,” I said and leaned back against the bricks. I shoved my hands in the front pockets of my jeans, the baseball cap I wore pulled down low, the brim blocking out the muted yellow glow from the light at the end of the alley.

  And then I heard footsteps approaching. My entire body tensed, and I could see Frankie’s did the same. We both pushed off the wall, him shoving his cell phone back in his pocket, his hand going to the small of his back, where I knew his gun was.

  I slipped my hand in my jacket, my fingers brushing up against the cold metal of the gun. No way in fuck we went anywhere without a piece, and especially not when we were meeting with a junkie.

  The guy was shuffling along, as if he didn’t know how to pick up his feet when he walked. The scrape, scrape, scrape of his shoes along the asphalt filled the small corridor of the alley, echoing off the building walls.

  “Can’t this guy fucking walk?” Frankie muttered under his breath. The tension in his voice would’ve matched mine if I said anything in response.

  And then the junkie came closer, the light from the streetlamp washing over him in this dirty glow. He looked between both of us, his body twitching, his eyes red-rimmed as if he hadn’t slept.

  “Two of you?” he said in a slurred voice.

  Frankie looked over at me, and I could read his expression. He was pissed, all but shouting at me that he “told me so,” that we shouldn’t fucking deal with tweakers.

  “You got the information or not?” I took a step forward, hand still shoved in the pocket of my coat, waiting for him to give us what we needed so we could get the fuck out of here and away from him.

  He took a step back and started looking between Frankie and me, and then he lifted his hand and started picking at his face. “No,” he muttered and shook his head. “I don’t like this. There’s two of you. Why is there two of you?”

  Frankie snorted, and I glanced at him. He shook his head. “Wilder, man, this is fucked. Let’s get the hell out of here.” He shoved a hand in the pocket of his jacket, and I heard his keys jingling around.

  Before I knew was happening, the tweaker started screaming about doppelgängers, a government conspiracy, and why there were two of me.

  I looked over at the junkie, and everything happened in slow motion. I watched as he produced a gun, one he had shoved in the front of his pants. His hand was shaking as he pointed it at me, as his bloodshot eyes went wide and he kept rambling about magic and witchcraft and how there were two of me.

  And then I heard a gunshot go off.

  At first, I didn’t know if it was Frankie’s or the junkie’s. But then the tweaker turned and ran away, tossing his gun to the ground, and I stood there staring at his retreating form.

  I heard Frankie shouting at me, but the words were muffled, this ringing in my ears, this pressure like I was on a plane and they needed to pop.

  “Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Fuck, Wilder.” He had his hand on my shoulder and turned me, his focus down at my abdomen, his eyes wide. I looked down and saw my white shirt slowly becoming saturated with blood, the color a vibrant red even in the darkened ally.

  “Motherfucker shot me?” I looked up at Frankie, feeling my brows knit.

  “Shit, Wilder, you’re in shock.”

  And it was after he said that, as I felt him pulling me toward the SUV, as I heard him call up Dom and shout frantically into the cell, I knew this might very well be the end of my story.

  But I hoped like hell it wasn’t.

  Chapter Three

  Frankie

  Wilder had been shot.

  My brother.

  My twin.

  I smelled his blood coat the air, felt it’s stickiness, the thickness of it, cover my hands. I was barely holding it together as panic swelled in me.

  I pulled out my cell with a shaky hand. Get your shit together. Get your shit together. I punched in Dom’s number, heard it ring, but it sounded distant. My pulse was racing in my ears, filling everything, making it sound like I was underwater.

  “Where the fuck are you two?” I heard Dom ask through the receiver and pulled up my resolve to talk calmly and rationally. I rattled off what happened, that we were on our way over, and for him to get Cullen’s woman to the house, before I ended the call and went into action. I hoisted my brother up. He groaned, and nothing had ever made me happier. He was still alive... for the time being.

  I tried to be as gentle as I could, but Wilder was a big fucker, and I didn’t have the luxury of time on my side. He was losing too much blood.

  I was starting to sweat from fear, panic twisting in my gut, rising up, and tightening my throat. I wouldn’t think about losing him. I wouldn’t let those acidic, insidious thoughts play through my head. He’d make it. I kept telling myself that over and over again. There would be no other option. He’d make it.

  I hadn’t noticed her until I was nearly running right into her small body.

  She was standing in the shadows, her eyes wide and her hand covering her mouth. She had her purse slung over her shoulder, clearly about to leave. And the way she looked at me… I knew she’d seen it all.

  There was no way in hell I could let her leave.

  I couldn’t think clearly as I worked on pure instinct right now. With Wilder slung over my shoulder, I reached out with my other hand and grabbed her by the arm, turning her toward me. A startled cry left her, and she tried to tug out of my grasp. She opened her mouth to no doubt scream, but I took a menacing step forward, leveled her with a stare, and slowly shook my head.

  All it took was that look from me to have her snapping her mouth shut, her eyes widening even more. She knew without me having to say a goddamn word, that I was a dangerous motherfucker.

  I didn’t hurt women, didn’t ever force them to do anything that wasn’t consensual, but right now, I was feral with the thought of losing my twin. I was desperate and would do anything.

  Without wasting another second, I started heading toward the SUV, pulling on her as I went, Wilder still over my shoulder. She didn’t protest—maybe because she was in shock. Either way, it worked to my advantage.

  I had to get Wilder back to the house and pray Dom could get Cullen’s woman to be there when we arrived. She was our only hope. The hospital was out of the fucking question, although I was almost desperate enough to deal with the questions, the cops no doubt being called because of a gunshot wound.

&n
bsp; Once at the dark SUV, I opened the back door and ushered her inside. She stumbled forward then again as she climbed inside. She moved as far back from me as she could, her terror clear on her face. I maneuvered Wilder onto the back seat and laid him down, his head resting in her lap. She gasped at that as she stared down at my brother, her hands raised in surrender.

  I grabbed her wrist, and she jerked in response. I placed her palm over the gunshot wound and pressed it down hard, leveling a look at her. “Keep pressure on this.” My voice was low, deceptively calm. I let go of her wrist, and she left her hand over his bullet wound.

  I slammed the back door shut and ran around to the driver side, climbed in, cranked the engine, and then peeled out of the parking lot. I glanced at her in the rearview mirror. For the shit I’d thrown at her in a short amount of time, I was surprised she wasn’t breaking down.

  She’s just as deceptively calm as I am.

  I couldn’t see Wilder from this angle, but the look of his unconscious, ashen face would forever be branded in my head.

  “He better not fucking die.” I wasn’t speaking to her but in general, yet my dark words had her snapping her head up and staring at me with wide eyes.

  I had no idea why I said it out loud, but it was already out, hanging between us like the damn Grim Reaper. This wasn’t her fault. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I couldn’t leave her, let her go to the cops. I couldn’t have her identifying us.