Page 30 of The Hitman's Omega Priest
“I’m sorry,” Bishop said without thinking.
“For what?”
“For all the things you lost from your childhood when we sent you there.”
“You didn’t send me there. King did. And on some level, I do resent him for it. I haven’t fully forgiven him, but I wasn’t a prisoner. Not really. I simply wasn’t brave enough to leave on my own.”
Bishop disliked the upset frown on Kensley’s face, so he walked over and kissed it away. Kensley tasted so sweet, an addictive mix of root beer and his own unique flavor. He could stand there and kiss him for hours, but he didn’t want their steaks to burn, so he pulled back. Rubbed his nose against Kensley’s. “Set the table while I finish up dinner.”
“Okay.”
Watching Kensley search for the plates and flatware was highly entertaining, and Bishop grinned through the rest of meal prep, finally presenting them each with a juicy, medium-rare steak, microwaved “baked” potato, and a frozen veggie medley he’d nuked and tossed with butter and a local spice blend.
Kensley gaped at his plate. “Wow, this is the best-looking meal I’ve been served in…I don’t know how long. A real steak is…yeah. Wow.”
“I’ll feed you steak every day if it makes you happy.” He reached across the table to clasp Kensley’s hand. “No loving god would want you to constantly deprive yourself of life’s pleasures to prove how pious and faithful you are. That’s the church’s way of controlling you, so you don’t think for yourself or question the way they limit you.”
“I know. I’m seeing it more plainly every hour I’m away from that place. I never wanted or believed in that life. Now that I’ve truly tasted freedom, I’d rather die than go back.”
Bishop squeezed his hand. “It won’t come to that. There are always other solutions.”
“I hope so.” Kensley returned the squeeze then picked up his utensils. “I cannot wait to eat this, oh my word.”
“Dig in, m—uh, enjoy.” Lame, but Bishop couldn’t quite make himself say “my love” in casual conversation. Sweetheart, in the heat of the moment, was one thing, but “my love” was practically a declaration, and it was way too soon to make it.
He watched Kensley cut into the center of his steak and peek at the interior. His skeptical frown was beyond adorable. “Is it supposed to be so pink?”
“Yes, this is the best temperature to eat a good steak,” Bishop replied. “Trust me, it’ll be tender and juicy. If steak is gray, you might as well eat the sole of your shoe.”
“Okay.” Kensley sliced off a bite and made a show of sliding it off the tines of the fork with his lips. Of chewing slowly, his gaze drifting off to the side as he tasted this new thing. Swallowed. “Okay, you’re right. Wow. You’re good with meat.”
Bishop laughed at the innuendo that Kensley didn’t seem to get. “Yes, I am.”
The meal was the best one Bishop could remember in years. Not only the simple, yet delicious food, but also the company. Watching Kensley eat real food, rather than what they’d cobbled together out of boxes and cans, invigorated Bishop with a newsense of wonder. That there were still new and amazing things to experience in life, and he wasn’t finished finding them. And he had the honor of giving Kensley all new experiences that had nothing to do with sex.
He couldn’t wait to take Kensley down to the beach tomorrow. To swim and sunbathe and experience the ocean together. If it was safe, he wanted to take the launch over to the open air market, so they could shop local booths for food and fun and maybe lunch someplace. He wanted to treat this as much like a vacation as he could, until the real world threats against them inevitably reared their ugly heads and ruined the illusion.
Kensley deserved it all and more.
Bishop drank another beer with his meal, positive the one-and-a-half he’d imbibed on a full stomach wouldn’t affect his judgment. Kensley volunteered to do the dishes and clean up. Bishop used that as a good excuse to go outside and get the hot tub uncovered and heating up. He selected a temperature that would be bearable with the evening’s warmth, and then tracked down a couple of large, fluffy towels. It felt strange to wander the villa in just a robe, no firearm holstered behind his back, his cell phone at the ready in case of emergency. He was here as a guard, after all, not on vacation.
But there were enough motion sensors and alarms around the property to notify them if anything larger than a ground dove landed on their soil. And speaking of safety…
Kensley was wiping down the counter with a towel, all remnants of their meal put away, every surface spotless—probably something he had to do after meals at the abbey. Bishop took his hand and led him to what looked like a floor-sized gilded mirror in the hall near the bedroom door.
“It’s unlikely we’ll ever need to use this while we’re here,” Bishop said, “but I want you to know where it is, in case.”
“What’s where?”
Bishop hooked his fingers behind a scrolled detail at chest-height and pressed a latch. The mirror popped forward, and Bishop pulled it open to reveal a set of stairs that descended into darkness. “A panic room. If, for any reason, which I highly doubt will happen, we are attacked, you are to come here.” He took Kensley’s hand so he could feel the latch, then showed him the light switch and how to shut the door from the inside. “Only a handful of people know it’s here. There is a supply of water and food, flashlights and batteries, as well as a satellite phone. There’s also an upholstered chair with a handgun inside the cushion.”
Kensley blanched.
“Again, this is just a worst-case scenario option,” Bishop continued as he closed the mirror. “If you have to hide down there, you don’t come out again unless it’s me, King, or someone else who knows the password.”
“Which is what?”
“Hyacinth.”
