Preacher: The East End Boys

by Christopher Harlan

“No bullshit. If you go into my back pocket, you can look at my phone.”

  The officer’s partner, who looks like he’s been on the job for about ten minutes, grabs me under the arm and pulls me up from the chair onto my feet. He reaches into my back pocket and pulls my phone out of my back pocket.

  “Password?”

  “Oh, it’s IHateCops. One word, no space.”

  If looks could kill I would have been dead, but I didn’t give a shit. I knew my rights, I’d spent more than my fair share around police and I learned to read the ones who would really rough someone up versus the ones who just puff their chests and flash their badges.

  But I can tell the younger cop wants to take a swing at me. He looks like a hothead.

  “Stop being a smartass,” the older cop tells me. “The real password?”

  “5567,” I answer.

  The sight of police opening my phone was nothing new, at least this time it’s voluntary on my part. The younger cop opens my phone and goes right to my text messages. I wait for the smug look on his face to change. He doesn’t even look at me, he just hands the phone to the older cop, who goes on to do a dramatic, Morgan Freeman reading of my text.

  “‘Mom’,” he begins. “‘I’m sorry but I’m in a situation that requires me getting into a fight. I can’t stop it now and I’ll explain later, but I wanted you to hear it from me rather than. . .’” He stopped exactly where I knew he would, looked up at me, and then back down. “‘. . .Rather than some asshole cop’.”

  I wait for their reaction. “I’m going to put this back in your pocket.”.

  “No problem. So am I under arrest or what?”

  These guys want to throw me in a cell so bad, but if they were going to they would have. “Not at the moment, no,” he tells me. “But understand that could change if Draven decides to press charges.”

  I hope stupid-name-kid isn’t bitch enough to actually press charges over a little scrap.

  “Would you mind removing the cuffs then? It was a fight between high school kids. He’ll live. I need to get home to. . . Momma. She’s probably making suppa.” There are few things I love more than someone who wants to hit me but doesn’t dare.

  They take the cuffs off and loosen my wrists like in the movies. Before I walk out the front door, the older cop takes his last shot to try and scare me.

  “Be careful son. We’ve got our eyes on you.”

  I turn around. “Been there, done that. Have a nice day, officer. I’ll be seeing you soon I’m sure.”

  “Count on it, son.”

  I walk out a free man.

  I’d better get home. I have some explaining to do when I get there.

  And when that’s done, I have some hot girl to be thinking about.

  I assume Pope is home already. Maybe he’s prepped Mom for what happened and I don’t have to tell her the whole thing. I already know how she’s going to react, regardless.

  Those assholes got what was coming to them. I’m alright, but I messed up my back a little when I took that one kid down. I’m not limping yet. Hopefully it’s not that bad. I haven’t felt that pain in a while.

  “Baby, are you alright? I was worried when I got your message,” is all I hear when I walk in the door. Mom’s standing in the kitchen. Her hug is so hard I feel like she might break a rib. It’s not the greeting I expected. She pushes back and looks me up and down. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine, Mom. I’m fine.”

  That’s when I see Pope. He steps out of the kitchen, facing me, and gives me a look of recognition we’ve exchanged a hundred times before. It means everything’s been covered.

  “I was just telling her how those boys came at us out of nowhere, claiming to be the welcoming committee and how they wouldn’t let up.”

  “Is that true, Lucien? They jumped you?”

  I hate lying to Mom, but there’s enough of the truth in her question for me to just agree with it and not feel like I’m really lying.

  “Yeah. Just like Pope described it.”

  “And you didn’t get hurt?”

  “Me? No. Unlike those dicks, we actually know how to fight. I’m fine. Pope’s fine. I just got a little jammed up with the cops.”

  Mom’s expression changed when I mention the police. Can’t say I blame her, not after all I’ve put her through. “Oh Jesus, not again.”

  “No, Ma, not again. But I did just beat the hell out of a few locals and we’re new in town. Cops asked me a few questions about what happened and I told them. It’s all good—I’m here, not in jail, not out on bail, not awaiting sentencing. I’m standing here talking to you, so stop worrying.”

  Easier said than done, I know, but this was a different thing. “Alright,” she says, running her hands over my face and shoulders. “As long as you two are safe and not in trouble. Just. . . just maybe stay away from those kids, alright. You got lucky this time. It might not go so smoothly for you next time.”

  “That’s going to be a little hard to avoid, Ma.” She turns around and looks at Pope, who still seems like he has a few more rounds left in him. “Remember where our house is and what the real estate agent told you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Those kids, they had Arkham High Varsity jackets on—all of them. We’ll be going to school with them soon enough.”

  Fuck, Pope, way to stick some coarse salt in an already open wound. Mom turns back to me. “Is that true?”

  “It is,” I answer, not wanting to lie to her again. “But I’m pretty sure it’s over, don’t worry.”

  “Good. That’s good.”

  She goes back into the kitchen to get dinner started. It’s early evening and she’s been cooking for our bum assess every night. She’s better than we deserve. I head down the hallway to the room across from Pope. The whole house feels cramped. People like Pope and I need our space—from Mom and from each other. The next fight is likely to be between the two of us. We both know how that story ends though.

  “Good story,” I tell him as he stands at the entrance to my little room. “I was hoping you’d covered.”

  “Of course I covered. We always have each other’s back, right? Even from getting in trouble from Mom.”

  “Especially in getting in trouble from Mom.”

  “And look, let’s be real, no one was bullying anyone in that situation. We’re guys, we fight sometimes. That’s how shit goes. We won. They lost. What else am I missing?”

  I’d admire my brother’s simple way of thinking if it wasn’t so fucking stupid.

  “A lot, as usual. It’s not that simple. We’re not on the prison yard, asshole, there are rules that can get people in real trouble.”

  “You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

  Those words cut into me as if he’d taken a pen and jammed it into my ribs. My brother can be a mouthy little fuck sometimes. I stop going through the boxes in my room and walk up to him, putting my body closer than bodies should be. He doesn’t take a step back and neither do I.

  “You’ve got something you want to get off your chest, Pope? ‘Cause if so, I’m right here.”

  I know what he wants to say. He wants to tell me that he’s pissed at me for having to move to this terrible place. That he missed his old friends. He wants to blame me for everything that’s gone wrong, and he’s welcomed to do that if that’s the story he tells himself.

  He looks away, his body shaking from anger. At first, I think he’s going to swing at me, and that the next rounds of a fight are going to be between brothers instead of with local jock assholes. I look down and his fists are balled so tightly.

  “No, man, I got nothing to say. Just some unpacking to do.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, man,” he says, quietly defeated. “I’m sure. Just wish we didn’t have to do all this.”

  “You know what they say—wish in one hand and shit in the other, then see which ones fills up first.” I go back to my boxes, confident that Pope’s not going to try
anything when my back is turned. Something about what he said is eating at me, and I need it off my chest. I’ve been through enough today. “And just remember something, baby bro. What I did, I did for you and Mom. We all lost something with that. But you’d be wise to remember the past a little more clearly before you blame me for this situation. Now, we’re done talking.”

  He looks shocked. “Oh, just like that? You make the rules now?”

  I can’t help but laugh at that one. “Oh, Pope,” I say, looking at him intensely. “I’ve always made the rules.”

  After dinner, I come back to my room. I have a lot on my mind. I think about what I did that got us in this situation, about the dudes we fought who we may have to fight again, and I think about how I’m gonna keep my grimy ass out of trouble for an entire year so I don’t give Mom a seizure. All that’s enough to occupy my mind for a long time.

  But all of that goes away and only one thought is left—who was that sexy girl who was watching me fight today?

  Eleven—Lyric

  The Present

  He looked. . . incredible.

  Those same eyes that cut right through me like a warm knife through butter. They see everything that I try to hide from the world—they see me.

  Once he’s gone, I catch my breath and walk out into the waiting area, the note folded in my hand.

  Sophie has a giant grin on her face. Of course she does. “So. . .do you need me to ask or what?”

  I know what she’s getting at but I pretend not to. “I’m sorry, what do you mean?”

  “Okay, fine.” She says. “Have it your way—so who was that tall drink of water?”

  “That was Preacher, remember? You booked his appointment.”

  I can’t tell if Sophie gets that I don’t want to talk about him, but she’s relentless with her pursuit of the truth. “I know what his name is—he even introduced himself when he came into the office, that’s not what I was asking. I wanted to know who he was to you. He said he knew you, right?”

  “We knew each other back in the town I grew up in upstate. We went to school together.”

  “This is why I love working for you. Not only are you the best boss ever, but you have your ultra hot ex boyfriends come and smile at me in between appointments.”

  “And who said he’s my ex?” I ask, knowing how transparent my attempts to hide what’s really going on are. “All I said was that we went to school together upstate.”

  I get the eyebrow. “Lyric, I can’t be fooled when it comes to matters of love and sex—sex especially. And there’s no way you couldn’t describe that man’s penis to be in lurid detail—and if you feel like doing that btw, I’m not going to stop you.”

  “I hate to disappoint, but I won’t be describing any penises at the moment, sorry. Now, if we’re done inappropriately breaking the employer—employee relationship I need need to get ready. I have to be somewhere, remember?”

  “Oh yes—O’Malley’s. Dry Toast Man. You definitely didn’t mean that you needed in that hot guy’s bed because. . . reasons.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it with her sometimes. “You’re too much. I need to head out. Can you lock up?”

  “You got it.” She tells me. “And say hi to Andrew for me.”

  ***

  My apartment is close enough to the office to run home, take a shower and get changed before heading out to see boring. . . shit, I have to stop thinking of him like that. Andrew’s a nice guy, a sweet guy, and I can tell that he’s totally into me. He’s tried so many times to get me back to his place but I keep making excuses.

  I let him kiss me, just once, after our second date. I’d had a little too much to drink that night and my inhibitions were about as low as I let them get in public. Let’s just say that the kiss was. . . satisfactory at best. It was too long, too wet, and he tried to jam his tongue into my mouth. Even half drunk, it felt gross.

  I should have ended things right there. If I don’t have any physical attraction to him at all, I really shouldn’t string him along. But he’s nice and he’s comfortable, and I don’t have anything else going on in the dating department right now. I sound like such a bitch, but I like keeping Andrew around so I can have something to do.

  I get undressed slowly. I’ve always been a steaming hot shower girl, and as the heat starts to emanate out of my bathroom and into my bedroom it’s my cue to get in. I stand in front of the mirror on the back of my bedroom door, naked as the day I was born except for one thing—the thing I never take off.

  My right hand goes to it and I rub my thumb in small circles around the silver heart, just like when Sara asked me about it. I didn’t tell her who gave it to me or why—that’s only for me—but seeing him again, I’m starting to think this really is a talisman, like he joked when he gave it to me. I can still hear his voice.

  A talisman is a good luck charm. It has powers, and this one will keep you safe if you never take it off. Keep it here, against your heart, and then it’ll always be with you. I will always be with you, no matter what.

  You’ve always been with me, Preacher, no matter how hard I try to deny it.

  I think about what I said to Sophie earlier—about not ever having sex with Preacher. She thought I was lying to her, but I was telling the truth. We were kids, and I was a virgin when we were together.

  He doesn’t know, but I was planning on giving him my virginity when the time was right—that’s how much I was into him. But he left me before I ever had the chance. Now that ship has sailed.

  But that doesn’t mean I don’t still want him, or that I ever stopped being attracted to him.

  I step into the bathroom and let the steam envelop me. I breathe it in as deeply as I can, letting the hotness inside of me. The outside of my skin is already starting to drip with sweat. The heat is inescapable, just the way I like it to be.

  My clothes are in a heap outside of this room, and there’s nothing against my body except my necklace—the only thing I never take off. Standing in front of the foggy bathroom mirror that I can’t see myself in, I touch it again. Not just touch, I start to rub it again because it reminds me of him.

  I’m great at lying to myself. I’ve said for my entire adult life that I wanted to move on from Arkham, and from Lucien most of all. My mind may want to move on, but my body hasn’t moved on at all. In fact, my body still responds to him like it was the very first time I saw his sexy eyes penetrating me, begging me to come closer to him.

  But it isn’t a long-term memory that I see, it’s a recent one. Today. Him. My office. He was gorgeous in high school, but now he’s so hot I need about three layers of underwear to handle how turned on he makes me. I don’t know what it is—the undying confidence in himself that’s clear with every step he takes and every word he says, or the danger I know he possesses because I’ve seen it first hand.

  He’s like fire—he could warm and comfort, or he could destroy in the most devastating way. And the thing that scares me the most is that I still want to jump right into those flames and let them surround me like the steam in this bathroom. I don’t care if they gently warm or violently burn, I just know that I want to be inside of them, and to have them inside of me—to have him inside of me.

  Still standing right in front of the steam-soaked mirror, I close my eyes and insert my finger deep inside. I imagine that he’s here with me now, behind me with hands on my waist, and that smell of him filling my nostrils. I imagine how rough he’d take me, bending me over the sink and me having to hold on because of how hard he’s shaking me.

  I rub myself faster and faster, imagining my finger was his manhood inside of me, filling me up, bringing me to an orgasm that shakes my entire body, and the harder I imagine him fucking me mercilessly, the harder I come. It’s not a build, it’s an explosion.

  I come all over my fingers and breathe like I just left my first pilates class.

  When my heart slows, I feel the necklace against my chest.

  I’m fucked.

 
I’m oh-so-very-very-fucked.

  Twelve—Lyric

  The Past

  “You are. . .broken and beautiful.”

  What the hell did I just see?

  Who was that sexy ass boy, and why did he talk to me of all the people there?

  My mind is racing with about a million questions and no one to answer them. That means there’s only one thing to do—call Kennedy.

  “It’s okay if you ignore my messages and don’t get me an iced coffee also. Really, it’s fine.” She sounds annoyed.

  “Wait, what are you talking about?” I ask.

  “I texted you like four times. You didn’t see?”

  Shit! I’m really the worst texter in the world, but I have an excuse this time. “I’m so sorry I missed it, but there’s a reason. I just saw a fight right in the middle of town.”

  “Really? Between who?”

  “Draven and that prick who shall-not-be-named.” I can hear myself talking way faster than I should be, but I can’t help it. Everything about what I just witnessed was so exciting, from seeing that jerk get his face bashed in like I’ve fantasized doing a million times myself, to the excitement of seeing. . . whatever his name is.

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Oh?” I ask. I’m a little surprised she’s so laid back about this. “That’s all you have to say? This summer has been about as interesting as watching paint dry. Finally something happens and all you’ve got is ‘oh, okay’?”

  “Woo-hoo!” she yells sarcastically. “Is that better?”

  “It would be if it were real.”

  “Well, look, it’s not exactly breaking news. The Alphas get into it with boys from school all the time. Summer is like their boxing season. Wait, does boxing even have a season?”

  “No, it doesn’t,” I tell her. “But this wasn’t with boys from school, it was with two kids I’ve never seen before.”

  “What!!!” I hear the excitement in her voice because she knows what I’m getting at. New kids. Fighting. “They fought with. . .”

  “The new boys! Has to be.”