Page 54 of The Hitman's Omega Priest
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 thehallway. “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.”
