Bayou Bishops Box Set: Books 1-12

CHAPTER 6

It was another virtual meeting, thank God. Beth took the same seat she had before in the dining room of the main house. They were doing it early because Spook and Maggie had some kinky swamp journey to take for Spook to marry her sister of all things. She was full of mixed emotions with all of it and beyond curious about what he would do. Not sure why she was nervous seeing as Maggie was fully able to take care of herself. She’d never get the sight of her sister pummeling Katrina out of her brain. But there were other dangers involved in this, like the non-physical ones. Mental ones, emotional ones.

She fully trusted what she knew of Spook. Which wasn’t much, and that was the problem. Sahvrin trusted him implicitly and that helped her for a distance.

She focused on her notes, making sure they were in order. Sahvrin had asked her to come up with a plan of action for the celibacy stuff and she’d happily dismissed the right-hand non-sense drama into his hands. She loved the trade-off. She much preferred having her hands in the love and passion aspects of a war than the blood and guts. She just hoped they were okay with her ideas. Mah-Mah and Juliette both thought they were brilliant. With getting ready for the Bat-tie, she’d had no time to write anything down so it was all in her head up until late last night. She wasn’t sure how she’d had the energy but knowing the meeting was the next morning didn’t let her sleep till she wrote down things. And it wasn’t the Bat-tie that wore her out as much as Sahvrin once he’d gotten her in their room. Her heart raced and she cast a look at him across the table where he texted somebody. Wonder who it was giving him that sexy smirk.

Her phone buzzed and she lifted it off the table, seeing he’d messaged. Her smile tugged as she put the phone on her lap. Did you enjoy last night?

God, why did he like doing this to her in public?

She texted back under the table. Very much.

I see you’re still able to walk, that’s good.

She grinned and flicked her gaze up at him, wanting to give him a taste of his own torment. I’m still dripping from it. Which was true.

She giggled at the look on his face as he shook his head. I knew I shouldn’t have opened that nasty door. My cock is so fucking hard right now.

Jesus, he was playing dirty. I need to go over my notes, please. I’m begging for mercy.

The sexy smile he gave at the phone melted her insides. Fine. And I can’t wait to see what you came up with, Ma Petite Amoure Ange.

His little love angel. She smiled, liking that title, and liking even more that she understood the French so quickly.

Your mom and dad look really, really, happy this morning.

“Mon Dieu,” he muttered, bringing her snicker. I’m trying not to notice.

Maybe I need to show her some of those positions in that book.

Maybe I need to tie you up and fuck your ass with a dildo while hammering your pussy with my cock for even talking like that.

She put the phone on the table and cleared her throat, getting his sexy, gorgeous laugh.

“Okay, it’s nine on the dime,” Mah-Mah announced, apparently a stickler for doing things of this nature exactly on time. Everybody joined the little group chat as Beth hurried to organize her thoughts and notes. Her phone buzzed and she saw he’d sent a pic. She really shouldn’t… “Oh my God,” she gasped when his cock filled her screen with his hand wrapping it. She wanted to look under the table to see if he’d just done that while he sat all serious and cool. So unfair.

Mah-Mah opened the meeting, getting the standard jargon out of the way in a hum-drum tone then followed with the officializing of the vote they’d agreed to vote on. After all the Yays went around for both the celibacy amendment and the right-hand rule, she handed over the reins with, “Now, our lovely Belle Eveque will be taking over from here with the details of the celibacy amendment. Remember, nothing is set in stone, and whatever she’s devised can be doodled upon. When we all agree on procedures and so forth, then we’ll put it to a vote. You have the floor.”

“Okay, thank you.” She cleared her throat. “So, I’m going to try and be quick and… concise,” she began, forcing her voice to carry past her inadequacy. “My plan was to lay down a sort of preliminary type…thing which would involve the…” She shot a blind glance around the table “…I’m having trouble finding an accurate term for this…but in keeping with the simple and direct English used in such things, we can call this TheSelection phase of the celibacy amendment, since that’s the first order of business when considering not being celibate. One must…select a mate.” She cleared her throat, heat flooding her neck and face at hearing herself. One must? How pomp could she get?

“We’re on pins and needles,” Sahvrin said, winking at her when she braved a look at him. The heat in his gaze he held on her said he was mentally selecting sexual things to do to her later. The rest of The Twelve muttered their agreement in one form of communication or another, putting her back in the spotlight.

She wet her lips, fighting not to feel Sahvrin’s hot gaze licking over her as she focused on the shaking paper in her hands. “So…my first proposal is having a list of must haves and must not haves similar to the existing rules that The Twelve adhere to in general, only tailored to females and dealing with marriage and the selection of a mate.”

“I’m definitely down for a list. The more details the better.”

She read the name under the person who’d spoken. Nitro. The rest of The Twelve seemed to all agree, as if picking a woman was like picking a kidney. She had the feeling that unless it involved blades, bullets, or blood, none of them would be volunteering to touch that.

“But we don’t have to pick.”

The statement question came from Bullets.

“No, you do not,” Mah-Mah said. “But I encourage it.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” one of them said. She looked to see that it was Nitro again. “We’re a brotherhood of Twelve but we’re still a single unit.”

“This isn’t the same as all of us getting a tattoo,” one said. Hurricane.

“I don’t know,” the Bacon member muttered in light warning. “Tattoo’s are forever and they become a permanent part of you.”

“Nice analogy,” the 8-Bit man offered dryly. “But tattoo’s don’t have ti-- female parts and a mind and mouth that speak.”

“Ohhh, it has a mind and amouth, and it speaks,” the Patches one announced in a doomy voice, making Beth giggle. “Seriously,” he went on. “We’re not dickless. We do remember what being a non-celibate man means and looks like. None of you can tell me you haven’t considered this very amendment.”

Beth held her breath as the grumbling came through, most of it indiscernible but not all of it negative.

“I’m with Nitro. I say we do this as a brotherhood.” That was Lesion, surprisingly. She wasn’t sure why she was surprised though, she didn’t know much about any of them. First order of business was getting a fuller bio on all of them.

“I like doing things as a brotherhood.” That was Bullets.

“What part of this you thinkin’ of like a brotherhood?”

Okay, Shank, good question. She was glad to see them all engaging. Beth chanced a look at Sahvrin, widening her eyes with a pleading look for him to contribute. He answered with both hands up like it wasn’t his to touch.

Fine.

“I think we should all jump together,” Lesion said.

“Agreed,” Nitro added. “I’m not gonna dive in while all you lilly pads watch to see what happens.

“We all go in together is what you’re saying,” Patches double checked.

“We go to war together,” this came from Spar. “He’s right. This is no different.”

“Maybe worse than war,” Traps muttered.

“Or a million times better?” Sahvrin finally offered, earning her smile which in turn earned his wink that felt like a little peck on her clit.

“Okay,” 8-Bit said, considering. “I’m down with doing things as a Brotherhood but logistically speaking, how the hell would that even work?”

That was indeed the question she’d been thinking about. “I have a suggestion,” Beth said. At meeting silence, she cleared her throat. “What if I put together a list of all the women who would meet the criteria to become a wife of The Twelve, and… you all select from it. Together.”

“Oh, I got an even better one,” Bullets dared, like this was turning into a competition. “How about you put all those names on a numbered list and we set a date to role the fate dice for our pick?”

A handful of them laughed and she mentally marked them as risk takers. The rest sat like they’d been invited to a party of bad omens. God, they were funny.

“I like it,” Hurricane said. “Just plow right through it. Get it done.”

“Get it done?” Bacon wondered. “You act like this is a one-off job.”

“It’s a woman,” Hurricane cried, like they were harmless creatures. “With the right-hand rules being amended,” he gave a shrug. “I’ll do it.”

“8-Bit, I hope you recording this,” Patches said. “Cause I wanna play Hurricane’s lil’ how hard can this be song back to him when shit hits his bedroom fan.”

This got a ruckus of laughs as Beth wondered if they’d reached a consensus on something. “So are we wanting to move this to a vote? The list of eligible swamp maidens and the rolling of the fate dice?”

“Wait, wait,” Traps said. “Before we assign fate to pick our other halves, shouldn’t we at least get a say in the options?”

‘Yeah,” Bacon added. “I like wild pigs and all, but not in my bed.”

Oh the laughter.

“Nothing wrong with a woman having thick drumsticks,” Bacon amended, getting more howling.

“Thick thighs save lives,” Patches muttered.

They were all in stiches now.

When they settled down, Beth cleared her throat.

“But on a serious note,” Sahvrin said, finally getting helpful as he leveled his handsome face on her. “I don’t really want none unless you got buns, hun.”

Or not helpful.

Beth waited through another round of laughs before cutting through the flowing puns. “Okay,” she called. “What if we do auditions and you can all pick the options from that?”

“Auditions?” Bacon wondered, sounding intrigued. “Splain, Miss Belle Eveque.”

“Maybe auditions was the wrong term. More like interviews? A series of questions?”

“What if half of us like her and the other half don’t?” Traps wondered.

“All or none,” Spar put in. “If we all don’t want her, then none of us get her.”

“I like it,” Hurricane said with a slap of his meaty hand on his table.

“Agreed,” Lesion said.

“Agree,” Nitro threw in.

After they all agreed, some with resigned sighs, Beth wrote the verdict. “So we will do interviews. We could put it in the Swamp Bulletins. An invitation for all the eligible swamp maidens to apply to become the wife of one of The Twelve.”

“How romantic.”

She snapped her gaze up at Sahvrin, not missing his amused tone. “Well…if My Eveque has something helpful to offer, I’m all ears.”

“I’m not into fairytales,” Shank said unapologetically. “I like simple and direct.”

“Well, in a marriage, it’s not all about what you like,” Mah-Mah informed. “Them words is quick-divorcin’ words. A woman needs romance like a man needs his blades and bullets.”

“She’s right,” Beth offered, wanting to enforce that. “Consider romance as the emotional food I mentioned earlier.”

Shank wondered, “So I gotta grow a fuckin flower garden for this?” Like he’d hit a hard limit.

“You brought flowers to your grandmother’s funeral,” Mah-Mah snipped. “I damn well think you can bring em’ to your living wife.”

“And there’s more to emotional food than flowers,” Beth reminded. “You can express romance and love with acts and words.”

“Words,” Hurricane grumbled, like he’d never heard of such a concept.

Sahvrin cut in with, “My balls are shriveling from the ninny bullshit I’m hearing. Sounds like we need a list of husband criteria for The Twelve because I damn sure wouldn’t want my sister or daughter getting with the likes of what I’m hearing.”

“We can handle it,” Spar assured. “We’ll create a woe-is-my-balls hotline for any who struggle to make it through the day.”

“So we’re doing pre-arranged marriages,” Patches realized, sounding a little surprised.

“Nothing wrong with pre-arranged marriages,” Nitro said. “They did it for centuries in cultures for a good reason. To keep the lineage strong and pure. I see that necessity with this.”

“Only this is like mail-order brides.” Beth bit her smile at the intrigue and mild disgust in Traps tone.

“Cep local,” Mah-Mah said with a nod, like it was a perk.

Beth was still considering Sahvrin’s romance complaint. What did he want? A Cinderella ball where royal invitations were sent to the eligible women in the swamp? Who came to meet the Twelve Princes who would then….ohhhhh shit. “Considering Eveque’s suggestion for romance,” she began, eyeing Sahvrin. “And in keeping with the pre-arranged marriage concept while also allowing for The Twelve to make a selection of options… what if we do a… Swamp Dance,” she finished, ditching the ball term since they already were familiar with dances. “At one of the Swamp Carnivals.

“Ohhhhhhhh,” Mah-Mah gushed, rising to her feet and clapping while Sahvrin gave an anti-party eye roll. “Like a SwampBall! She’s a genius!”

Beth hurried to build on the idea before it got shot down. “We could send out an invitation to only those women who meet the criteria and those who accept would…oh, what if those who accept do a one-way face interview and the ones you all like, we can sort of…”

“Put a little star next to their name?” Sahvrin suggested.

She eyed him, having a hard time discerning the heat in his gaze. Was he on the verge of laughter or having mental sex with her? “Or something, yes.”

****

“Just got off the phone with one-armed Remy,” Sahvrin said to Lazure, propping his foot on the Black Bastard’s rear bumper. “Told him to arrange the shipment first week of November when the threat of Hurricane season was officially out of the way.”

“Smart. That gives us how long?”

“More than I intended to bargain for. Four weeks.”

“Good damn work. Will give us plenty of time.”

“Also confirmed the Bat-tie. Will take place in the empty field by the bridge off Highway 98, couple miles from that cement company.”

“I know the one. Good open space. No place to hide dirty business.”

“Figured it was far enough from city and swamp. Didn’t want to give him a reason to play dirtier than he already will. We’ll station Hatchmen at every road leading from that field for when they run or attempt to bring heat.”

“I was taking Beaux and your brothers with me to check out the lead at The Locks . See if we could run down some information on her Pah-Pah.”

“Dieu, that would be great if you found anything at all. I’m at the Dry Dock with her now. Wow,” Sahvrin realized. “Seems I might get some alone time with my wife.”

His Pah-Pah busted out laughing. “Welcome to the life of The Eveque, son. Steal every minute you can to be with her. It will be the one theft God will not punish you for.”

****

Revelator was back to celibate. Since they’d left the Bat-tie field, he’d encountered Cherie’s fear and now forbid his eyes to look anywhere on her. Laying himself on her own personal alter to do as she wishes had stirred up some interesting anxiety in her.

Time would help her realize she was safe, but it would also mean some kind of fight for him. His trial lay in that fire burning in his bones for her. He’d have to stand perfectly still in it till she trusted him more. Whatever it took, he’d do.

“So, what’s up with that Maggie girl.” Cherie took the cup of coffee Revelator handed her, surprised with how difficult it was to return to simple celibate habits. He’d mastered the no looking rule and she’d obliterated it, leaving him with barely recognized splinters of self-control.

“You okay?” she asked, her gentle tone stirring that fire.

“A little tired. A lot of seeing does that to me.”

“Oh,” she murmured, curious. “You saw a lot of stuff?”

He slid a hand over his face and nodded while focusing on the dark liquid in his cup. “Always. You can have my bed. I’ll sleep here next to the fire.”

“Of course you will not,” she objected in her dramatic tone with the childlike tinkle.

“I will,” he assured. “Or I’ll sleep in the boat.” He forced himself to glance at her so she didn’t catch on he was avoiding doing exactly that. Her mouth was in an oval and his gaze caught on it for several seconds before he pulled it away.

“I see you’re serious.”

“Very,” he said, bringing the rim of the cup to his lips.

“Well, that fight ended before it even began then, cuz you’re not sleeping in no boat. But you should quit putting yourself last.”

He grinned at the coffee before him, sliding his finger along the edge of the tin cup. “Those who are first will be last, and those who are last will be first.”

“Now, hold on. You kinda just told me you’re putting yourself first by putting yourself last.”

She never failed to make him laugh. “You found me out, Mah Cherie.”

She added another giggle. “But seriously, you need to consider your own needs.”

“I do,” he murmured, his mouth tugging with her concern.

“When’s the last time you did something for yourself?”

“Just today,” he said, licking his lips and moving his gaze to the lazy flames in the fire.

“Well, I was here all day and I can’t think of single thing you did for yourself.”

He made himself look at her, then turned back to the fire when her fear crept in like a dark wall. His seeing had sharpened since the Bat-tie and he wondered if it was because of Maggie. “I brought you here.” He lifted his cup, taking a sip. “That wasn’t just for you.”

Her anxiety thickened and he stood and brought his cup to the sink, putting space between them.

“Think I’ll shower and retire. Do whatever you want, it won’t bother me. I sleep hard.” He’d sleep hard in ways he never had with her around. But sleep wasn’t a time of rest for him, it was a time of spiritual work where he dealt with all the things he saw in the day. Sometimes it was a warzone, other times an exhausting search for understanding. He usually woke more mentally tired. But somewhere between the seconds of spiritual mayhem, God performed a sleep miracle that left him rejuvenated when he woke.

“Well, I’ve been up since that laryngitis rooster split the dawn with his crow, so, I’m down for the count,” Cherie muttered.

Laryngitis rooster. He grinned in wonder, letting himself look at her when she got up and went to her things in the corner.

“You want to shower first?” he asked.

“Just need to wash my face and brush my teeth, then I’m gonna change into something comfortable while you shower. But take your time.”

“I mostly do it to relax.”

“You do you, no need to explain. You wanna shower five times a day, that’s not my business. Glad you can relax.”

Her final words were low and envious. “You have trouble sleeping? I have teas that would help with that. I’ll make some after I shower.”

“I’ll try that because yes, I do have a lot of trouble sleeping.”

“No doubt,” he said, making his way to the closet side of the room.

“No doubt, huh?”

“With all the things going on in your life, I mean.”

“Maybe being out in the middle of nowhere might help that.”

And him doing spiritual warfare with her demons. “Maybe. Or a massage.” His cock jerked at the left field idea that rolled right off his tongue, kicking up a dense wall of her anxiety. “Platonic, obviously. Or not. I mean… not at all. The massage.” Damn, he was tangled up.

“How about I put you first and give you a massage.”

He paused in the middle of retrieving clothes at the unexpected offer. Could he stand that? He remembered he was hers to do whatever she needed. “It’s not necessary, but…I am yours to do what you want.” His cock ached as he shut the drawer, wondering over the reversed dynamic. When he’d offered himself, he’d imagined he’d be the one doing to her, not her to him.

“Wow,” she said, making him stop at the bathroom door.

“What?”

“I’m impressed is all,” she said lightly. “You swallowed that pride like a pro.”

He gave a light chuckle. “I”ve had a lot of practice.”

He entered the bathroom with her giggle tingling in his cock. He stood there with his eyed closed, taking in slow breaths. This shower was going to be anything but relaxing, he realized.

****

Cherie put her hand on her chest the moment the bathroom door shut. Did she just offer to massage him and he accepted? It had been a joke but when he treated it seriously, she didn’t know how to respond. She was for real about him putting everybody first. Had been only a day that she’d known the man and in that time, his interactions with her and others said he was a servant to all. Understandable, given his vocation, but… even men of the cloth or whatever he called it needed some me time. And he didn’t have family, so it was more apparent to her than ever how alone he was. And had been.

But he’d accepted! She was glad but was she able to provide that? Touch him? He’d practically given himself on a silver platter for her to use as she wanted, so offering to do something to him just seemed safe. Likely because she’d expect him to decline. But…he saw this as giving her what she wanted.

Did she want it?

More than anything.

But she’d planned to explore his god-on-a-platter generosity outside the physical aspects. But it was her touching him not him touching her. Why did that feel more dangerous? Probably because of how starved she was for what he offered. But she had to test. At least a little. This could be seen as a test of…his self-control? Yeah. She knew how much he wanted her now and that by itself had her needing a breathing machine.

She realized she wasn’t the only one taking risks. Here he was giving up a lifestyle for her. He’d offered himself up on the chopping block and handed her the knife. Unlike him, she was an expert at considering herself first in risky situations, but she shouldn’t do that with somebody like him.

The idea he might be just as worried as her, served as a huge comfort. She’d put him at ease. She was good at that. Fake it till you make it. Normally she was faking an interest she didn’t have. With him she’d be faking the opposite. And she needed to. To protect both of them from what boiled deep inside her. A life-time of need that could lead to an explosive scene of harlotry that would eternally shame her. She couldn’t rape the man, even if he wanted her to, and she was pretty sure he did.

She walked her shaky legs to the bed and sat, fanning her face and taking in controlled breaths. “Calm your crazy,” she whispered. “Your alligator mouth done got your hummingbird ass in some stuff now.” Her heart pounded erratically at hearing the shower shut off. Here we go. She looked down at herself, wishing she’d not put the pajama shorts on now. What would he be dressed in? How did he normally sleep at night? Would he maintain that routine or change it for her?

Question of the hour now.

The door opened and she made her way over, holding her toiletries and backbone straight. She came to a sudden stop at the island when he exited the steam of the bathroom. At the last second, she lowered her head. “Feel better?” Her heart beat a thousand miles per hour as he passed just on her left. She closed her eyes. That’s how much bravery she managed. Zero.

“Much,” he said as he moved by, bringing a trail of knee weakening scents in his wake.

She hurried into the bathroom and closed the door, wondering why she was rushing through her routine. Nosy? Excited? Eager to…touch him? She swirled her toothbrush around her teeth and spit, then swished water in her mouth and spit that. She got her little compact mirror out and set it on the edge of the sink, washing her face as fast as she could. Holding the mirror up when she was done, she inspected her eyes, making sure it didn’t look like she’d been in a Bat-tie.

God, she was shaking. What was she afraid of? What it would do to her? And him? Would he try something? Would she try something? Would he let her? And if he let her, would he try something back?

She snapped her compact mirror shut then opened it back up, angling it over her pajamas. Not technically pajamas but they were her sleep clothes. The shorts were black cut off jogging pants and she was positive they were cut off way too short. And her top was a cotton black muscle shirt only with spaghetti straps. Should she put her hair up? She quickly tested out several high pony’s then yanked the tie out of her hair and fingered it back down. That was good enough.

She put all her items back in her toiletry bag and zipped it up. She spied a spot on the shelf above the toilet and tucked it there, hoping that was okay.

With no other excuse to keep her, she opened the door, finding him spreading his bed out, dressed in only pants. Dearest precious Jesus, what are you doing to me?

As she approached, she spied something on his back, then he turned before she could make it out.