Page 87 of Bad Bishop

“What do you mean?” I glowered. He put me down.

“Nothing is wrong with the baby or with you. Your body self-lubricates when it gets turned on, because your brain tells it you’re about to have sex. It’s natural.”

“Oh, thank God.” I collapsed against the wall, crossing myself. “I thought something was seriously wrong with me.”

“Get used to it,Gealach.” He pushed forward, leaning down to capture my mouth with another kiss. He held my face up, so I could see his lips when he spoke. “You’re going to be very wet for me, very often, and you’re going to love every fucking minute of it.”

_______

A few minutes later, we were in the lobby with Jace, who was hunched over a pile of paperwork.

Tiernan watched as Jace stamped his concealed-carry permit. Then my husband quietly slid my ID across the counter to Jace and jerked his chin toward it. “Process this one, too.”

Jace froze on the other end of the counter. His eyes landed on my birthdate, and his throat bobbed with a swallow.

“She’s, uhm…” He coughed into his fist nervously. “Not twenty-one yet.”

“You saying I can’t math, lad?” Tiernan raised a perfect eyebrow.

Jace rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Wh-what? No, man. Not at all. My bad. I’ll get that permit handled straight away.”

When we got into the car, I decided to needle him again. It was my favorite new pastime.

“Why wiseass?”

“Mm?” He twisted his Rolex on his wrist.

“My nickname. Why did you call me wiseass the first time we met, on the fountain?”

The night you almost killed me; I didn’t complete the sentence.

“Because,” he said slowly, “calling you hot ass didn’t seem appropriate at the time.”

I grinned as I stared out the window, watching the scenery wilting as we left the pretty parts of New York and entered Hunts Point.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO

The last time Tiernan had seen the sun was ninety-six days, three hours, and fourteen minutes ago.

Just as well, as he’d always preferred the moon.

The moon was a constant. It appeared every night, be it winter or summer, providing him with the kind of stability the pesky sun never could.

And it was beautiful. Pale and glowing in the ocean of darkness.

The moon was his friend. His assurance that no matter what, something bright waited in the gloominess.

He was lying in his cot next to his sister. Tierney was fast asleep, wrapped in both their blankets. He always gave her his.

“Does it ever get any warmer?” a heavily accented voice asked to his right.

Tiernan slowly turned his head to detect its source. A man in his late sixties, pale and malnourished, shivering under his quilt. He wasn’t going to make it to the end of the month. Tiernan had seen people like him come and go. He was usually the one tasked with scraping them onto a gurney and dumping them in an unmarked grave.

“Niet,” Tiernan said simply.