Page 43 of The Hitman's Omega Priest
“Our goal is not to torture you, Elder Thorne, only to keep you alive. We will provide you with food and any necessary medicines.”
“Yeah? What about a bathroom?” And now that he’d asked, his bladder throbbed.
“To your right, you will find a bedpan and urinal bottle. When one is full, place it by the room’s door. It will be removed and replaced. You are always under surveillance, Elder Thorne. I do not wish to embarrass you, but please do not assume you will ever have a chance to escape.”
“Don’t assume I’ll ever stop trying to escape. This is not my chosen life. I’m a prisoner, and I will do whatever it takes to protect myself and my baby. From you and whoever you try to sell me to.”
“You have heart. I admire that. Your meal will arrive in one hour. Try to rest until then.”
Kensley wanted to scream at the top of his lungs that Marta could shove her rest right up her ass, but it wouldn’t change anything. He was chained to this bed, in a room with no obvious exit, and someone watching him at all times. Resistance might be futile, but vigilance would save his life. And his baby’s.
“What about my illness on the island?” Kensley asked, not expecting a response. “All the vomiting? What was that?”
“The emetic is out of your system, and there will be no lasting damage. Rest now, please.”
The finality of those statements did little to relax Kensley. Emetic told him that he’d been drugged somehow, which had forced Bishop into requesting a doctor. A doctor who’d obviously been a fraud or replaced by this Marta woman. Someonewho’d betrayed them all, possibly killed Bishop, and kidnapped Kensley, all for profit.
But they’d been so careful. Who had betrayed them? Walsh? Someone else inside of King’s organization?
With no way of knowing anything for a while, Kensley snagged the urinal bottle, pulled the blanket up over his entire body so the spying cameras couldn’t see anything, and relieved himself. Even though he wanted to throw his piss at a camera or other spying device, he didn’t know where they were. He also didn’t want to stink up his prison, so he put the bottle back on the small table and tried to find a comfortable position on the bed.
The room had no TV, no books, no magazines, nothing to occupy him, except his own tumultuous thoughts. He had nothing to do but sleep. The problem was he had no idea how long he’d been unconscious. Was it still Sunday? Monday? Had more than one day passed? He definitely wasn’t sleepy.
He closed his eyes anyway and thought back to the island. Found his last memory of swimming with Bishop in the lagoon, and he clung to it while silently praying that Bishop was still alive and already planning his rescue.
Bishop hadn’t felt this helpless since he first woke up after his residence exploded, and he’d been unable to do more than blink at basic yes or no questions. He’d hated relying on other people during his recovery, but hehadrecovered. He’d gone back to work, and he’d become reacquainted with Kensley. Fallen in love with Kensley. Found his charus.
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 offlast 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?”
