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And someone had taken him from Bishop.

For the last three days, Bishop had prowled the entire square footage of King’s two-story penthouse, relying on others to bring him what little information they could dig up.

Bishop wanted to be the one interrogating those suspected of collaborating with Kensley’s kidnappers, not relying on updates from King.

Bishop wanted to be on the front lines, doing the work, not waiting.

He fucking hated waiting. And he missed Kensley like crazy.

His heart had cracked into two jagged pieces, and it couldn’t beat right without his charus.

He didn’t know what he’d do if they didn’t get Kensley back.

Find a way to fling himself off the balcony of this twenty-second-floor penthouse, probably.

After he personally found and murdered everyone who’d touched Kensley since his removal from the island.

Three fucking days.

The only thing keeping Bishop from losing his entire shit was knowing Kensley was alive.

Kensley was valuable, not only as King’s half-brother, but also as an omega male.

The natural lubrication that came with arousal made omegas a hot commodity on the black market.

King did everything possible to keep that sort of criminality out of his territory, but they lived in a huge country.

Bishop ached more with each passing hour that they didn’t receive a ransom demand for Kensley.

Ached with the agony of knowing Kensley could be in the hands of someone who’d use and abuse his body and spirit for their own physical and/or financial gain.

Over and over, until Kensley’s body gave out, and he was of no use to his captors.

The idea of Kensley’s broken body being tossed aside like garbage made Bishop want to break something.

The sun began to set on Wednesday evening, their third full day apart.

Bishop paced the first-level kitchen with his phone clutched so tight in his left hand he swore it was going to break, desperate to hear something.

He’d gotten his ears chewed off last night by King, because of how frequently Bishop had been calling and texting, which was interfering with King’s efforts to locate Kensley.

Bishop had toned it down today, but he hadn’t gotten an update in three hours.

The private elevator dinged an arrival, so Bishop changed course from one end of the spacious kitchen, through the all-windows living room, and out to the penthouse foyer. King stepped off the elevator, shoulders back, jaw set, his face a thundercloud.

“What happened?” Bishop asked.

“I lost,” King snarled. “I actually fucking lost!”

“Lost what? What’s going on?”

King stalked over to the living room’s bar cart and grabbed the decanter of bourbon. “Someone sent me a link to a live auction, but the site was only active for exactly five minutes, and I had no idea how many other people were bidding.”

“Bidding.” Bishop’s stomach pitted. “Bidding on Kensley.”

“Yes.” King didn’t even pour, he simply took a long swig from the bourbon bottle. Coughed. “There was a live feed on him. I saw him for those five minutes. He looked scared but not hurt, but goddammit!”

Too many emotions battered him at once, and Bishop tried to tamp them down so he could think. So he could understand what his best friend was telling him. “How the fuck did you lose the bid? Isn’t his life worth everything you have?”

“Of course, it is!” King put the bottle down and rounded so fast Bishop expected his fist to fly, more furious than Bishop had seen King in his life.

“I’d have emptied every off-shore account, sold every building I own, you know that.

But the time was so short. Someone put in more at the last second, and I lost.”

Bishop had an idea of what King’s net worth was, and for some unknown person to bid more than that? No one did that out of the kindness of their heart. They did it for evil. Pure and simple evil. “What’s Ziggy doing?”

“Everything he can with my phone and that link. Whoever set this up has likely done it before. I have no problem breaking the law to get what I want, but human trafficking is my hard limit, and I have a gut feeling that’s who took Kensley.

Not necessarily someone who wanted to target me, but someone who knew Kensley was an omega living outside the protection of the church. ”

“So the people who tried to take him at the spaghetti dinner aren’t the same people who stole him from me?”

“It’s still possible, since no one has taken responsibility for that yet.”

“But I saw the Castle family tattoo on one of them.”

“He could have defected, I don’t know.” And King hated not knowing almost as much as Bishop. “My enemies want my territory and my power. I don’t believe Castle has the resources to pay what this monster paid. These disgusting wastes of life who traffic in human beings only want money.”

“Which means Kensley could be sent anywhere in the country.”

“Or even outside the country, depending on how wide this ring’s reach is.”

“Then we have to find him before he’s moved again.”

“Trust me, that’s what Ziggy is working on. He’s even called in a few favors.”

“Okay.” Bishop was somewhat hopeless when it came to technology, which was why they had Ziggy to do that shit for them.

And Ziggy was the best computer wizard and hacker money could buy loyalty from.

The man was paid very, very well for his services.

If anyone could break into what was probably a highly-protected cyber system for a human trafficking ring, it was Ziggy.

He had to believe it.

For as much as Bishop wanted to be furious at King for not winning the bid and bringing Kensley home, he couldn’t. Not right now. He had to channel his rage into the same place as his fear: a box buried deep-down that would contain his emotions until the job at hand was complete.

Now that they had a quasi-lead on Kensley, he had something more specific to focus on: finding and destroying a human trafficking organization. The scum of the earth.

Bishop palmed his cell phone and made a call.

Kensley did not wear boredom well, and after what he believed to be three days in that stupid room (based on the way meals were spaced out, and not because he’d seen a ray of sunshine since Sunday), he’d made it his mission to dismantle his bed.

He didn’t have any tools, and Marta’s disembodied voice never told him to stop, so his captors must not have thought he was smart enough to use the bed pieces in any useful way.

He’d told Marta he’d never stop fighting, and he meant it.

He also spent a lot of time reciting scriptures out loud.

Not because he thought they would save him, or because he believed in the Holy Scriptures.

He needed to hear someone’s voice in that chilly, lonely room, or he’d go insane.

No one visited him. He had no idea when the empty saline bag had been removed and his IV taken out, but he suspected one of his meals had been drugged. He’d slept extra heavily one night.

So he talked to himself and made an art project out of his bed, peed in a bottle, and slept on his thin mattress on the floor.

He still wasn’t entirely sure he believed he was pregnant, but what motive did Marta have to lie?

This entire scenario was insane and a plot out of a terrible suspense film.

He’d never liked those kinds of movies, even as a young, pre-Order teen, when he was allowed to watch movies and television.

The only reason he didn’t do something to actively harm himself and force human interaction was because he might be carrying Bishop’s child.

And if Bishop was dead…no. Until Kensley was presented with a body, Bishop was alive and searching for him.

Bishop and King would never stop. They’d pay anything to get him home.

Right?

When his dinner tray slid under the door, Kensley tried to peek, but the opening was small.

Maybe two inches off the ground, and only about six wide, exactly enough space to get his small tray and flat food inside before it shut again.

He sniffed at what looked like a slab of gray turkey and gravy next to mashed potatoes, with a side of carrot rounds.

As boring as his other meals, but it was food. Fuel. For him and his maybe-baby.

He ate while it was hot, and within thirty minutes he was yawning. He’d been drugged again, and it hit him too quickly to try and throw up. All he could do, as his mind drifted away, was hope that when he woke up, Bishop would be smiling down at him.