Page 16 of The Hitman's Omega Priest
“Okay.”
Bishop adored the blind trust. He slipped his gun into his coat pocket and began inspecting the property. The cabin was dark and cold, nothing of note. Snow would have made it easier to tell if anyone had been around, but the ground was simply damp and covered in the remnants of last year’s leaf fall. No new tracks in the soft earth. Satisfied, Bishop got the generator going before he returned to the car.
“We’re good to go,” he told Kensley. “Please, grab the bag I gave you. I’ve got stuff in the trunk.”
“Okay.”
Bishop continued observing the darkness surrounding them, while he gathered the last of their supplies. Even though he’dalready inspected the cabin, he still went inside ahead of Kensley. They turned on lights as they settled in. The single-story cabin had a large living space with a small kitchenette tucked in the rear, by a door that led to the bedroom and bathroom. One bedroom with a king-sized bed. A bed for Kensley. Bishop would sleep on the couch.
Yeah.
“This is nice,” Kensley said after he’d taken a quick look around. “I mean it. It reminds me of the apartment I lived in with my mom. It was cozy like this. Just without the mountain views.”
Bishop wasn’t sure how to respond. “I grew up in a stone row house. We had windows facing front and back of more row houses, and on both sides, we had all the noises of the attached neighbors.”
“We aren’t competing for the worst childhood, Bishop. Or who had the best house. Money has never mattered to me. Just relationships. Genuine relationships I could count on.”
“You can count on me.” He began organizing the kitchen with their supplies. The cabinets had the expected supply of canned goods, shelf-stable meals, and bottled water. Nothing that took a lot of effort or energy to prepare.
With everything in place and all the doors locked, Bishop checked the time. Almost two in the morning.
“Kens?”
He found Kensley asleep on the outdated, floral-print sofa, both arms curled around a flat throw pillow. Kensley looked so young, so unbothered while asleep, even though he’d yet to change out of his robe. Bishop shoved away the burned-in mental image of how Kensley had looked naked, kneeling in front of him in that dim closet. That had been a moment of pure survival, nothing else. Certainly not one to tuck into the back ofBishop’s mind for when this was all over, and it remained the only truly glorious moment of his life.
Be professional, you idiot.
He gently shook Kensley’s shoulder, and when he didn’t wake, Bishop gathered his limp body into his arms. Carried him into the small bedroom. Tucking Kensley into bed took a bit of effort, but he managed, leaving enough room for a second person, but that was out of the question. As much as Bishop longed to curl his bigger body around Kensley’s and sleep together until sunrise, Bishop couldn’t.
For as safe as he did believe they were for now, Bishop could not indulge in forbidden fruits best left untasted. He’d gotten too close for comfort (and personal safety) back in the janitor’s closet. And it hadn’t just been the handsome, naked omega male on his knees; it had been the fact that Kensley had also been aroused. Aroused and dripping wet, and if he’d turned around…if he’d begged to be fucked…
Bishop was thankful he hadn’t.
After securing all the cabin’s windows and doors, he found a blanket in the bedroom’s freestanding wardrobe, curled up on the couch with his gun, and tried to sleep.
FOUR
Kensley woke with a start,surrounded by pitch black, and in a much bigger bed than he was used to. Softer sheets, thicker blankets, and a slightly musty smell, instead of his favorite incense. He gazed around the room, allowing his eyes to adjust to a faint glow from beyond the open bedroom door. Definitely not his room at the abbey, but where?—?
Bishop. Their escape to a cabin in the woods.
Kensley remembered arriving, looking around, and then sitting on the couch to wait for further instructions. He must have passed out after the last of his adrenaline waned. Had Bishop carried him to bed? His shoes were off, but he still wore the robe, which was now awkwardly twisted around his hips and kind of stifling in the warm room.
He shoved the sheet and blanket down, and swung his legs over the side of the wide bed so he could unbutton the robe. Shucked it off so he was in his undershirt and shorts, allowing his heated skin to cool. Silence lay thickly around him. No howling wind, no crickets or frogs singing in the night. The room had no clock that he could see, and dark curtains had been drawn over the windows, giving him no idea of the time, only that it was still pre-dawn.
What would happen today? Would Bishop finally give Kensley the answers he craved? Would they talk about what had happened in the janitor’s closet? Would Kensley find the courage to tell Bishop about his long-suppressed feelings? To act on those feelings and obliterate the vows he never wanted to take in the first place?
As quietly as he could, Kensley slid off the bed and into the attached bathroom. The glaring orange light stung his eyes, and he waited for them to adjust. The mirror was water-stained and had a crack on one edge, and the shower needed a good scrubbing, but it was mostly clean. The toilet flushed after he used it, water swirling down the rust-stained bowl. Not the luxurious accommodations he was sure his big brother was used to in his daily life, but they couldn’t exactly use conspicuous locations as safe houses, could they?
Uncertain where the bag of clothes he’d been given last night had ended up, Kensley used a scratchy face cloth to wash up. His butt was a bit crusty from last night’s arousal. He typically shaved every morning to keep his persistent five-o-clock-shadow at bay, but it didn’t matter today. No one was going to give him demerits for being unkempt. Not today and, if he had any say, not ever again.
When he exited the bathroom, a light was on in the living space, so Kensley followed it to the source—a tall lamp beside the couch. Bishop was sitting up, hands resting on his knees, a black handgun on the cushion beside him. Kensley’s stomach squirmed at the sight of it, because he abhorred violence, but this was the life he was in now. One of violence, vengeance, and danger. The gun was a necessary evil.
“Did I wake you?” Kensley asked.
“Water in the pipes did.” Bishop shrugged. “Old cabin, small space, plus I tend to sleep light. Comes with the job.”
“Right.” He finally spotted the digital clock on the microwave. Almost six. No wonder he’d woken up. This was close to typical rise-and-shine for him. “So, um, what’s for breakfast?”
