Pulling away from the abandoned building, he glanced back over his shoulder, and it was like they never visited there. No one would think of the blood and death shed at the building. This one was owned by Dog, under an alias he had no doubt.

Preacher liked to use offshore accounts to make certain purchases, especially ones he didn’t want traced back to him.

There were always means and ways of getting shit done.

Grave and Frost headed back to the clubhouse while he went in search of Billy, the cop on his payroll who had requested a meeting.

They didn’t go into town.

Billy was a little paranoid when it came to his identity and would often only meet with him out of town at a diner that was off the beaten tracks, and owned by an old woman who cooked everything in bacon fat or lard.

Parking several miles before their destination, he and Bear removed their leather cuts, folding them up and placing them in the sack on their bikes.

Rolling down his sleeves, he covered up his ink, and also pulled the neckline on his shirt up so no one caught sight of any distinguishing ink. He had a lot of it.

A lifetime of stories and tales that would shock the hardest of men.

He was one of the scariest motherfuckers walking on earth, not rotting in a prison cell where he deserved. Preacher was under no illusions about how bad he was as a man. He even knew he was a shit father, and when it came to Bishop, he’d fucked up big time.

It wasn’t his fault, not really.

No, that was passing the buck. He didn’t know how to be a father, a good man.

All of his life, he’d known the worst men could be. His own father, whom he never talked about, had been a monster.

Preacher knew real torture because he’d watched and suffered at the hands of a sadist. Only, he’d grown up in a world where all the abuse and violence were done behind closed doors. When hearing the sound of footsteps terrified because you knew without a shadow of a doubt what would follow those very footsteps.

The pain.

The humiliation.

Sometimes even the hunger.

He’d been starved many times throughout his childhood in order to be taught a lesson. It often surprised Preacher when he took the time to look back, which he rarely did, how big he got considering some weeks and months he was only allowed to eat stewed beans.

Damn, he hated the taste of beans.

Even now, he’d avoid them like the fucking plague.

Pushing those thoughts aside as he continued driving, he realized he would have to do better by Bishop. He figured him hanging around Robin would straighten him out, but all that had done was get Robin in trouble or hurt her.

Parking in one of the few available spots, he and Bear entered the diner.

Billy, like all the times before, sat low, baseball cap, sunglasses, looking like he was in some kind of conspiracy movie.