Page 16

SIX

Bishop Anders hated few things more than he hated uncertainty.

Uncertainty over tonight’s final destination, and uncertainty over how to proceed with Kensley—not only physically but emotionally.

Emotions were not his strong suit, never had been.

He was very aware that he’d gotten nicknames like “Ice Cold” and “Checkmate,” not only within the organization, but also outside it. It never used to bother him.

He didn’t want to be ice cold with Kensley, but he had no real experience being open.

In sharing his thoughts and fears and emotions.

Thankfully, Kensley seemed to be in a similar boat, because Bishop had to pry answers about his training out of him yesterday.

And Bishop knew there was a lot more Kensley wasn’t saying.

They’d spent the rest of their last day in the cabin eating whatever they wanted, watching a lot of VHS tapes, and kissing.

Lots of kissing that Bishop prevented from going any further (mostly), no matter how many towels Kensley soaked through from his arousal.

Around ten o’clock, after complaining about his boner for most of the day, Bishop happily sucked Kensley off and put him to bed.

Kensley had slept soundly, while Bishop paced and worried most of the night, finally dropping off next to his Kens around three.

He planned to leave by seven, so he set his phone’s alarm to wake him at six-thirty.

It jolted him awake, and he was surprised to find Kensley snuggled up close, one arm thrown across Bishop’s chest.

The simple and wholly unique experience had sent tender feelings right to Bishop’s heart.

He hated getting up, but they had a schedule to keep.

They could snuggle all they wanted when they reached their destination tonight.

Bishop was pretty sure he knew where, based on King’s mention of the “amenities,” but he was still uncertain.

The uncertainty left him grumpy after a quick shower, and a mug of coffee did little to perk him up.

“Breakfast options seem to be instant oatmeal packets,” Kensley said with an exaggerated grimace, “or canned ravioli.”

“Tough choices.” Bishop produced two protein bars from his bug-out bag. “I say option number three.”

“Good call.” Kensley happily plucked one of the bars from Bishop’s hand. “Birthday cake. Interesting flavor for a big guy like you.”

“Hey, I can have muscles and still like sweets.” He scarfed his bar down while gathering the last of their scattered belongings.

Cleaning the place made no sense, because their DNA was all over the furniture, bedding, and probably on the rugs, too.

Now that they’d used it during such a crucial operation, King would probably offload it or hire an arsonist to make it go away.

“Is it strange that I’m kind of going to miss this place?” Kensley asked once they were in the packed car. “I had a lot of first-time experiences in this cabin.”

“Not strange at all. And the good news is there are still quite a few first-time experiences I want to help you with, so you’ll have new memories to treasure somewhere else.”

Kensley cast him a sultry grin. “I’m holding you to that.”

“Good. Because I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

“I know. You’ve never lied to me.”

Bishop flinched as he turned the car around in the narrow parking area beside the cabin. “I mean…Drew Burton?”

“That was different. You didn’t lie to hurt me, it was to protect yourself. The same way I lied to save myself from pain while in the Order. Pretending to acquiesce and believe in everything they shoveled at me. Spewing it back whenever prompted. I lied every day for years to protect myself.”

“You have a very unique way of looking at things.” Bishop drove down the dirt tracks toward the paved road to town.

He’d checked their route last night, and he could get them mostly there before risking his GPS.

He’d already powered down his cell phone for the next few hours, until they were out of state.

Kensley didn’t respond to his comment, choosing to fiddle with the radio instead.

They got a lot of static until he hit a country station.

Must have decided it was better than silence, because he left it on at a low level.

“I miss listening to music,” Kensley said.

“Music that isn’t from a hymnal and played on an organ. ”

Ah, that made sense. “Listen to anything you want.”

“Oh, I plan to.” He winked and relaxed into the passenger seat.

The woods and mountains passed in a blur of browns and greens, and they soon left the bumpy dirt track for the slightly less bumpy paved road.

Bishop did his best to avoid potholes now that he was driving in daylight.

Kensley hummed to the music and might have even sung if he’d had a clue of the lyrics.

It was peaceful, and in no time, they were driving southwest, heading toward Pennsylvania.

They chatted about the scenery, the billboards, other cars, anything except where they were going, or anything too personal.

Bishop stayed alert for police cars or obvious tails, and he kept up with traffic without speeding or attracting unwanted attention.

He crossed the NY/PA border around noon, and found a small town with a local deli so he could buy them lunch with cash.

They ate at a rest stop, and for a little while, Bishop forgot they were in a life-and-death situation.

He could have been any guy on a road trip with his lover.

I want that. One day, when this is over and we’re out of this shit.

He hoped.

After their break, Bishop turned on his phone and the GPS.

Less than an hour later, he pulled up at a private airstrip King had used more than once to charter small flights, and not always legally.

A burly man with white hair and a cigar clenched in his teeth showed Bishop where to park his car inside a small hangar.

Bishop and Kensley collected their things and followed their guide to a larger hangar, where a pilot was waiting with a manila envelope.

The envelope had their passports, as well as a copy of their flight plan.

Just as Bishop suspected, they were going to a private island near the Bahamas, in the greater Lucayan Archipelago.

King had “inherited” it from a previous competitor, and Bishop had gone on vacation there a handful of times.

It was secluded, with private security on land and in the water, and King paid handsomely for the privilege.

Their passports were obviously assumed names, but King had gone a step further and made them a married couple.

No one would look at that and suspect one of them was a priest. When he showed them to Kensley, Kens began giggling in an adorable way.

“Gosh, however will we pretend to be such?” he whispered, careful the pilot didn’t overhear.

Bishop winked. “How indeed?”

“I’ve never been to the Bahamas or anywhere close.”

“All the islands down there are beautiful. And other than some security, we’ll have our island all to ourselves. Private villa, private beach.”

“King mentioned a market?”

“If we need supplies, we can take a boat to a larger island that has an open air market.”

“Got it. Just, um, one other thing?”

“What is it?”

“I’ve never flown on a plane before. Not a big commercial jet and definitely not a small plane like this one. I’m not afraid of heights, but I don’t like enclosed spaces.”

“Well, this is a private plane, but it’s about the same size inside as the cabin’s living room. We won’t be cramped. My boss travels in style, remember? This isn’t a rickety, hollow puddle-jumper. I’ll even hold your hand.”

“You are definitely holding my hand.”

“If you’re both ready?” the pilot asked. He indicated the short set up steps up to the plane’s interior.

Bishop clasped Kensley’s hand and led him inside.

Flying over the ocean was one of the most humbling experiences of Kensley’s life.

He’d been terrified during takeoff, and he hadn’t released Bishop’s hand until the small plane had leveled out.

Then he’d dared to look out the window, and he’d marveled at how tiny everything below was.

Patches of green and brown and gray. Mountains and farmland and small cities, and other things too tiny to identify.

He’d felt infinitely small himself, finally getting a view of the world the way Heavenly Father might see it.

If he believed Heavenly Father existed, which he didn’t.

He believed in things like fate and karma, and maybe even in soulmates, but not that one all-powerful creator was responsible for everything.

Life was too infinite and varied for that.

Bishop found a stash of food and drinks.

Nothing fancy, but Kensley still accepted a cold cola, and they snacked on cheese and dried salami with crackers.

“If King was on this flight,” Bishop said, “it would have been stocked with good Scotch and smoked salmon. But this is better than canned ravioli.”

Kensley laughed and enjoyed another cracker.

The flight over land was briefer than he expected, and soon they were flying over a vast panorama of different blues: the darker blue and white of the ocean, and the paler blue of the sky, dotted with the occasional fluffy cloud.

As a child, Kensley had gone to Ocean City, New Jersey, with his mother, but this was wholly unique.

He couldn’t touch the ocean, smell the salt air, or feel the moisture on his skin, but he wouldn’t trade the experience for anything.

When the pilot announced their descent, Kensley buckled back into his seat and closed his eyes, once again squeezing the life out of Bishop’s hand, so he missed the new scenery.

All Kensley could do was breathe and hope they landed safely—which they did, and Kensley didn’t open his eyes until they’d come to a complete stop.