Morals.

What the fuck were they?

He didn’t have them, had long since gone without them.

Lucky for Preacher, he didn’t miss them. They had all died away a long time ago. Long before he became club President.

Holding the blade that he’d sliced Phillip’s tongue off with, Preacher stared at the man who had threatened the club and dared to hurt him. Without any feeling of guilt or remorse, he plunged the blade into the man’s neck and watched. He held Phillip’s head up by his hair, waiting, making sure with every passing second that he was dying.

Death was such a fascinating beauty to see. First there was the panic. The hope of getting away. The fear and need to escape, to get as far away as possible. The fight or flight response always fascinated him.

Then of course, like all disappointing endings to a movie, there was the acceptance. The will ebbing out of the body, not allowing them to fight another moment. Their life draining away with no help or no will to stop it.

Pulling the blade out, he wiped it on a cloth before walking over to the sink. His hands were covered in human rat blood, and it pissed him off.

The water ran over his hands, and he watched it disappear down the drain. Once they were clean, he nodded at Grave to call the clean-up crew.

“Tell them I want him burned and his ashes brought to me,” he said.

His cell phone began to go off, but he wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone. Right after a kill the only thing he wanted was a soaking wet pussy wrapped around his dick, but he stepped out of the old garage into the eerily silent ghost town.

“What the fuck could you possibly want from me, Billy?” he asked.

Billy was one of the few cops he had in his pocket, and he was kind of a suck-up about it as well. He truly believed Billy wanted to be part of the Twisted Monsters MC, but Preacher wouldn’t have a fucking cop on his team. They were too easily bought, and well, he needed him in the thick of it to be able to call him when he needed to move shit from one place to another.

For as many cops as he had on his books, willing to take his money, there were some who had a code and tried to bring him down constantly. It was cute, he couldn’t deny it. So far, they had only trashed his clubhouse, one of his homes, a couple of his workplaces, and for the pleasure, he’d gotten to see them all look like fucking assholes. Sure, he had to pay a great deal of money to move the drugs or guns, or whatever the fuck they were looking for, but he was more than happy to do it.

“What has the little shit done now?”

****

Bishop burst out laughing as he collapsed to the ground out in the open field. Robin Rose Riley, yep, that was her name, smiled at him.