Page 35

FOURTEEN

Ziggy deserved a massive raise for uncovering all the information they needed to locate Kensley, and if King didn’t give him one, Bishop would.

Not only had Ziggy found the brothel, codenamed the Farm, but he’d also managed to locate a special weapons importer from the west coast, who was seeking a missing loved one: his alpha female sister.

King generally disliked trusting strangers, but he and Oswald had a common goal in finding their siblings, and so they threw their resources together and found the brothel hours before it would have been relocated.

Bishop couldn’t imagine how much more difficult their recovery would have been if that had happened.

How much worse for wear Kensley would have been if he’d been with his purchaser much longer.

Six days had been bad enough, judging by the way Kensley clung to Bishop and refused to be parted from him.

Not during their flight from the secluded farmhouse where Kens and eight other victims had been imprisoned and abused.

Not during the long ride to the safe house they’d prepared two hundred miles east of the Farm’s location.

Oswald and his men had taken his sister and gone their separate ways, and Bishop wished her a full recovery.

That left Bishop and King with Kensley, Malori, and six remaining victims, one of whom was an alpha female, and one other omega male.

The other four were two young men and two young women who’d been trafficked into Arye Decker’s house of horrors.

Tormented and abused, many of them for years.

They’d divided into three black vans, no windows or markings, that made their way steadily east.

Bishop sat on a bench seat with Kensley dozing on his lap.

They hadn’t spoken much, beyond their initial declarations, but this wasn’t the time to inquire about the lengths to which Kensley had suffered.

On the seat behind them, King sat with Malori’s head in his lap.

Malori’s shoulder had been bandaged, but they couldn’t do much more for the gunshot until they arrived at the safe house.

No one spoke. There was nothing to say.

Bishop’s one regret was that Decker was dead before Bishop could kill him. His consolation was the shot right through Decker’s dick—and that no employee of that monster had gotten out of the house alive. And Decker’s victims were free. Now they had to make sure they stayed safe and began to heal.

He gently combed his fingers through Kensley’s black curls, while his beloved slept, beyond grateful for such a simple touch.

Touches he’d taken for granted during their time on the island, but never again.

Every touch, every smile, every second was precious, and he wouldn’t squander them.

They’d take every penny of Bishop’s money and start over somewhere far away, where the Kingston name didn’t reach.

Where King’s enemies would never think to look.

Where no one would ever touch his charus without Kensley’s explicit consent.

Thoughts of what Decker might have done to Kensley continued to plague him, engaging his temper, and sending his stress levels through the roof.

Desperate for a distraction, he peered over the back of his seat.

King held his phone in his left hand, thumb constantly moving over the screen, while his right remained on Malori’s chest, several inches below the bandage.

Malori seemed to be fighting sleep, as if unsure if this was real, despite reassurances from Kensley that they were the good guys.

So to speak.

King’s unusual attentiveness to Malori amused Bishop.

He’d never seen King act like this with anyone other than Kensley, and once with Bishop when he’d been recovering from the explosion.

King no longer took long-term romantic partners of any gender, and he certainly didn’t dote over them.

He slept with sexy, strong-willed people who challenged him, kept him on his toes until the novelty wore off.

This was a new, tender side of the man, and it was with a much-younger, horribly-abused, submissive omega.

Interesting.

King caught him staring and raised a single, slender eyebrow, daring him to comment.

Bishop turned around and stared out the front windshield, not able to see much beyond the thick mountain foliage.

Their safe house was a favor King had called in—the use of an off-season lodge that wouldn’t open for another eight weeks.

The lodge was several miles from a summer tourist town, and it had its own well and generator, so no one would notice the spike in off-season electricity.

They’d already flown in King’s personal doctor, and he should be waiting for them at the lodge, ready with all the supplies he’d need to physically treat his traumatized patients.

The psychological trauma was a far bigger issue, and one beyond their current means.

All King could really do was help them find their families again, or a new safe place to live with a new family.

They had the connections to make it happen.

“About ten minutes to destination,” their driver said, his voice snapping Bishop out of a light doze.

Kensley still slept deeply, and he didn’t stir until the van began rocking gently on the rough climb to the lodge.

Kensley yawned, tried to stretch, and then remembered he was on a narrow seat with his feet hanging off the end.

His disorientation dissolved the instant he recognized Bishop.

“We’re almost there,” Bishop said, thrilled to see Kensley’s lovely gray eyes. “We’ll have a doctor there to examine you, and then you can keep resting.”

“Not really that tired.” Kensley struggled to sit, so Bishop helped him, until Kensley was tucked under Bishop’s right arm, snuggled up close. “I slept okay there. Malori needs the doctor first.”

“He’ll see him,” King replied. “Your friend is very strong, Kens. He’s refused to sleep since we left that godforsaken place.”

“Don’t wanna fall asleep,” Malori said, so softly Bishop barely heard it over the rumble of the engine. “Might wake up back there.”

“You won’t. You have my word. I’ll keep you safe.”

Kensley turned wide, surprised eyes to Bishop, then smiled. Seemed Malori had a new protector.

The van went behind the lodge to what Bishop guessed was the employee and delivery entrance, and parked there.

The driver opened the side door so he could help Kensley and Bishop out first. He also supported Malori until King was out and could properly carry Malori inside.

They entered a large storage room by an industrial kitchen.

A very familiar face, Dr. Arwin Melish, was waiting for them, and he ushered King down a hallway to a small office that had been rigged like a field hospital’s surgical unit.

Once King, Malori, and Dr. Melish were inside the office, Dr. Melish shut the door, leaving Bishop and Kensley alone in the hallway. “Dr. Melish is the best,” Bishop said. “He took care of me after the explosion.”

“Then Malori is in good hands,” Kensley replied.

“He’ll see you as soon as possible.”

“I’m all right, Bishop.” He turned, wrapped his arms around Bishop’s waist, and pressed one cheek to his chest. “I was mostly stressed out and terrified, and the Sadist drugged me once, but I’m not physically wounded.”

“Drugged?” He ground that single word to dust. “Decker drugged you?”

“Not like unconscious.” Kensley glanced around, but the other victims were being taken to a different part of the house.

When he looked up, his cheeks flamed red, but his eyes were furious.

“The drug was like an arousal stimulant. I got hard and wet, and then Decker came in the room. I thought he was going to rape me, Bishop, and I would have fought him until I bled.”

Bishop’s temper blazed through his chest like wildfire.

“But he just watched me. Played on his phone. He sat there until it wore off, said it was only ninety minutes, and his clients preferred two hours.”

He growled long and low. “But he never touched you?”

“No. I mean, I was unconscious between the place Marta stashed me and waking up in that apartment with Malori, and they changed my clothes, so who knows who fondled what. But I don’t feel damaged, I promise.” Something in his gaze flickered. Not necessarily negative, but it was there.

“What? What else?”

“It’s not important right now. Can we find a room, preferably with a bed, and just hold each other? I need you to hold me until I hear Malori will be okay.”

“We can absolutely do that.”

“Thank you.”

On the second floor, Bishop found a suite that hadn’t been claimed yet, and he locked the door behind them.

The rustic interior might have been charming if he’d been here on vacation.

All the beds had been hastily made with rubber mattress protectors (probably to prevent mattress staining in case of injury) and whatever linens their people had brought with them. Didn’t matter.

He shucked his shoes and climbed under the covers with Kensley. The room was chilly, but their body heat more than made up for it. Kensley snuggled close and tucked his head beneath Bishop’s chin. And Bishop never wanted to let go.

Kensley’s brain had been running at a hundred miles an hour, for what felt like weeks, from the time he discovered the gun in the dumbwaiter, until the moment he flung himself into Bishop’s warm, waiting arms. He’d calmed slightly on the journey from his prison to the escape vans, and he’d finally relaxed enough to sleep once he was safely alone with Bishop, King, and Malori. Plus, the driver, but whatever.

He’d rested for a long time, and now he was back where he belonged: in bed with his charus. Holding each other. Loving each other. Existing in joy and peace and, for a little while, keeping the dangerous outside world at bay.

“I’m so sorry I failed you,” Bishop whispered in the quiet.