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Ex-convict turned preacher.
He’s tasked with helping her find her way.
Together they begin something innocent…
His freedom is at risk.
All rational thinking says they
A deep, dark craving.
They have much to be forgiven for…
***Warning: This is an insta-love TABOO romance novella. Only proceed if you can handle things outside the norm.***
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The hunger for love is much more difficult to remove than the hunger for bread.
“This is the start of a very bad joke,” Dane says with a laugh as he holds open the door to the bar. “A preacher, a judge, and a gay man walk into a bar…”
I snort at my friend I’ve known since we grew up in the same neighborhood. “Very bad joke. So bad, don’t even tell it.”
Max, the judge of our stupid joke, laughs as he saunters in and heads straight for our favorite table. “Oh, and look, our joke just got even more lame.” He waves at our friend Rick. “Sheriff. Good seeing you here.”
Dane chuckles as he makes his way to the bar to order our drinks. Rick strolls over to us with his friend Brandt and shakes our hands.
“I thought you were still in jail,” Rick jokes.
“Ha. Ha,” I grunt.
“Seriously though,” Rick says with a wicked grin. “Won’t God strike you dead or some shit for bar hopping?”
“Jesus did love his wine,” I argue.
Dane shows back up and hands me a bottle of Bud. “Our boy Easton here is allowed to leave the stuffy confines of that church every now and again for a boys’ night. Sheriff, you’re just lucky God didn’t strike you down for boning a teenager.”
Brandt smirks and Rick jabs him with his elbow.
“And you’re lucky God didn’t strike you down for looking at my ass,” Rick retorts to Dane.
“You losers do realize God doesn’t strike people down, right?” I laugh before I take a sip of my beer. “He just waits until you die to send you to hell where you’ll burn in intense agony for all of eternity.”
Max starts laughing along with Brandt while Rick flips me off.
“Way to be a fucking buzzkill, man,” Dane grumbles.
“Your ten o’clock is already here,” Lucinda, Brown’s Church of Christ’s secretary, chirps as I saunter past her. The woman is older than my mom but much more chatty. She’s a nice lady though and cares for this church as though it’s her own. We have that in common for sure. “She went to the restroom but will be back soon. Shall I send her in?”
My head is throbbing and I could go for a bacon cheeseburger right about now. Going out with Dane and the boys was a lame idea knowing full well I had an appointment this morning.
“Please,” I grunt as I walk into my office with my motorcycle helmet under my arm. “Send her in. Can you bring me some coffee when you get a minute? Also, whatever you want, Lucinda, and it’s yours. I owe you.” I toss the helmet on my desk with a loud thud and fall into my squeaky leather desk chair.
The heavyset woman with greying brown hair shuffles into my office with a wide smile and steaming cup in her grip. “You always look a little worse for the wear on Saturdays,” she says in a conspiratorial tone. “I knew you’d be needing this. But I might take you up on that offer later.”
I smile gratefully at her as she sets it down on my desk beside my Bible. The same Bible that got me through some tough times when I was incarcerated. It was the one my dad brought to me not long after I went to prison. Finding a job after all the crap I went through was nearly impossible. If it weren’t for my father, a deacon at this church, I’d probably still be living at my parents’ house trying to sort out my life. Luckily, the church believed in forgiveness and wanted to give me a shot. That was ten years ago, and I’ve been happy ever since. Had you asked me when I was eighteen what I wanted to be when I grew up, I’d have said a mechanic or something. Not a damn preacher.
But here I am.
And truth be told, I love it.
At first, it was rocky getting people to trust me but I kept at it. With my dad’s encouragement and guidance, I powered through the hard times. It’s truly been a blessing and I feel as though I’m helping people. And that’s always been my goal.
My thoughts drift to the moment things in my life began to change for the better.
“A week in the hole ain’t bad, runt,” a gruff voice grunts nearby.
My hackles raise and I fist my hands, ready to battle. Last week, three thugs tried to do the unthinkable to me. I was naked and showering when they rushed me. All I could imagine was how horrifying it would be to get raped by three grown ass men. It’s something my fucking friends and I would joke about all the time about people in prison. ‘Don’t get ass raped.’ But there I was in fucking prison trying not to get my ass torn out by a trio of black motherfuckers. Rage, like I’d never known before, reared its ugly head. When the shank poked into my thigh and the first prick pressed his hard cock against me, I went mental. Woke up with two swollen shut eyes, bruises all over the fucking place, and a broken rib. Yet my ass was intact.