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FIVE

Bishop was definitely going to hell and, as he stretched out beside a freshly-washed and now-sleeping Kensley, he didn’t fucking care.

He could die tomorrow, and he’d storm the gates of hell with glee, because he’d been able to make love to a man he’d lusted after for years.

A man he never thought would love him back, or who would come so readily to his bed.

Three times in twelve hours.

His shoulders and thighs ached from exertion, and even his dick was a little tender from all the friction, but he’d never complain.

After their first amazing, mind-blowing time having sex, they’d lazed around until the chill sent them for a hot shower.

Together. Bishop hadn’t been able to stop touching Kensley, and Kensley had eagerly given in to being bathed by him.

Bishop had been very thorough, especially with the delicate bits, and they’d ended up fucking for a second time in the shower.

It had been a little awkward and slippery, and they’d finished on the bathroom floor, but no regrets at all.

The rest of the afternoon had been quiet, with them snacking on the not-great selection of food, cuddling on the couch, and waiting for his phone to ring.

Eventually, King texted that he was still finalizing details and would call tomorrow.

Kensley had gotten restless. After a quick exploration of the cabin, he found a drop-down ladder to an attic-like storage space.

He’d discovered an old TV/VCR combo and a box of tapes, and they’d settled in to watch reruns of a black-and-white cop show someone thought was worth recording.

It was cheesy and fun, and the vintage commercials were hilarious.

After heating up a few cans of beef stew, Kensley had plopped himself right on Bishop’s lap, and round three began.

It went from the kitchen to the couch, and finally ended in the bedroom.

Bishop changed the sheets while Kensley showered, and by the time Bishop finished cleaning up, his precious Kens was fast asleep in bed.

He double-checked that the house was secure before sliding into bed with him, loving the way Kensley shifted closer in his sleep.

In its own way, it had been a perfect day. They could have been a pair of newlyweds, spending their honeymoon in a friend’s cabin, so they could hike and enjoy the fresh air. The truth was a far more bitter pill to swallow, so Bishop held onto the fantasy as he tried to sleep.

But he couldn’t sleep. Nightmares kept jerking him awake on jolts of fear and loss.

He didn’t remember his dreams after he woke from them, only how he felt, and he hated feeling so out of control.

Like he’d lost something precious. He could have been dreaming about losing Kensley, or the loss of his old life in that fire, he didn’t know.

But it left him unsettled and restless, and he was out of bed before dawn.

He desperately wanted to go outside and run, but that was dangerous for a whole host of reasons.

The last thing he wanted was for Kensley to wake up alone, panic, and try to drive somewhere.

They were safe enough here, and the odds of anyone finding them were almost zero—but almost zero wasn’t zero.

Bishop wasn’t taking unnecessary risks with Kensley’s life.

He would not lose him now that he had him. For the first time since Kensley went away, Bishop felt…complete.

So, he did a hell of a lot of squats and pushups in the living room, and then made himself coffee.

He’d just settled on the couch with his mug and an old magazine when Kensley shuffled out of the bedroom, the quilt wrapped around his—he assumed—naked body.

His face was creased, hair messy, chin covered in another day’s worth of dark scruff—and he’d never looked more gorgeous.

“Morning,” Kensley said. “I was kind of hoping to wake up with this super-hot guy in bed with me.”

“Sorry about that. I couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to wake you with all my thrashing around.”

“I doubt you would have. I’ve never slept so soundly in my life. I guess a couple of amazing orgasms are good for my REM cycles.”

Bishop was a little jealous, but mostly happy that Kensley had been able to relax and find restful sleep. Bishop doubted he’d be able to do the same until they’d relocated to a more permanent hiding place. “We’ll have to see what we can do for tonight’s REM cycles.”

Kensley wiggled his eyebrows, and then padded into the kitchenette. Poured a glass of fruit punch and joined Bishop on the couch, curling up close. “This feels like a dream. I don’t want to wake up, but I’m also realistic enough to know we might not be here another night.”

“You’re right. I have no idea what King is planning or when he’s going to call. But I have enough experience bugging out of a location in less than ten minutes to know it won’t matter what his instructions are. I’ll get us there, I promise.”

“I know you will.” Kensley leaned in for a quick kiss. “And in case you need to hear it again today, I have zero regrets about anything we did yesterday, and I hope you don’t either.”

“Absolutely no regrets, but it does help to hear it.” Bishop needed a longer kiss so he claimed it.

“I don’t know where we go from here, Kens, but I’m not going to abandon you, or dump you off on some other guy to guard.

I can’t imagine a scenario in which King would ask me to do that, but even if he did, I wouldn’t listen. ”

“You’d really go against my brother’s orders?”

“To keep you safe? Yes. Yesterday wasn’t just me getting off with an omega, or even getting with a guy for whom I’ve had feelings for years. It’s more important than that.”

“For me, too. It’s so strange to think how completely my life has changed in forty-eight-hours. I’m a wholly different person.”

Bishop couldn’t help winking. “Holy person, huh?”

Kensley poked him in the ribs. “Shut up. I told you I hated that life.”

“You said you hated it, but you didn’t tell me about it. Tell me now.”

“I think I’d rather eat cold canned beans for breakfast.” Kensley started to stand.

Bishop was faster. He put his coffee mug down on the nearby table, and then managed to snag Kensley around the waist before he could get away.

Kensley yelped and protected his drink from sloshing on the way back down to Bishop’s lap.

Bishop loved having Kensley on his lap, in his arms. He fit perfectly, like they’d been made to hold each other. Two halves finally reunited.

“Excuse you, you brute.” Kensley put his glass down then crossed his arms, his affronted glare too cute to take seriously. “Am I a prisoner now?”

“Not at all. But I told you a lot about me yesterday, and we haven’t talked much about you. I do understand if you have some deep-seated resentment toward me for forcing you into the Order.”

“That was my brother’s call, not yours.”

“I told him I suspected you were omega.”

“He still made the call to the Order.”

“I didn’t try to talk him out of it.”

“I’m guessing that’s because one, King is your boss so his word goes, and two, you agreed I’d be safest there?

” When Bishop nodded, Kensley sighed. “I was safe there, Bishop, but I also wasn’t living.

I was so angry when I first arrived and began my training, and one of the first things they beat out of you in the Order is your personality.

Your individuality. They strip you of your identity, not just as a person, but especially as an omega male or alpha female, so they can fill you up with prayers and sermons and practiced rhetoric. ”

Bishop’s skin scrawled and his temper rose. “What do you mean by beat it out of you?”

“You know the saying ‘spare the rod, spoil the child’?”

He growled.

Kensley rested his head on Bishop’s shoulder, hiding most of his face.

“Entering the Order isn’t like enrolling in school.

There’s no set schedule that begins in September, so each new member is inducted as they arrive, and I wasn’t the only newbie dumped there my first week.

And I never told anyone this, but when I was ten, my mother had me evaluated by a psychologist because of my behavior, and I was diagnosed as having oppositional defiant disorder.

Whether that was true or not, I don’t know, and being shoved into a life and belief system I didn’t want was… traumatic.”

His voice broke, and Bishop held him tighter. Desperate to take away this pain but unable to do anything except listen. Kensley stretched his left hand out, fingers splayed, and Bishop noticed the odd angle of his pinkie.

“In the first twelve months,” Kensley said softly, “my left hand was swollen for most of it, because of a thick wooden ruler. Something didn’t heal right.

Disobedience was punished immediately. Back-talking was punished, and so was questioning.

We were not allowed to question anything, not our training, our discipline, the Holy Scriptures, nothing.

And everything they did to”—he made air quotes—“beat it out of us? It didn’t always leave a mark. ”

Bishop swallowed down his anger so he could find his voice. “Maybe not a physical mark.”

“Yeah. There was a punishment room we nicknamed Purgatory, because it was a glorified closet. Thin mattress on the floor, a bucket for personal business, no light, only two meals a day, instead of three. Only water to drink. You could be in there a day or for up to two weeks, depending on the infraction.” He released a long, ragged breath.

“There was a girl named Meg who presented as alpha female, and she entered about a month after me. She was sixteen, as defiant as I was, and she had terrible claustrophobia.”

Bishop closed his eyes briefly, hating what sounded like a haunting memory for Kensley.

“Sometimes at night, when it was quiet, I could hear her screaming from Purgatory, that she couldn’t breathe, that the dark was crushing her. After about six months of training, she disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”