12
they usually didn’t cuddle with hostages in the room
“Flip the lights,” Bishop said, settling into his professional focus. Melissa’s eyelids twitched. Across the room, James flipped a switch. A click darkened the other half of the room, leaving James and Kit in shadows.
Part of Bishop begged to see them more clearly. He needed to make sure James wasn’t about to snap. He needed to watch Kit, so he didn’t miss a single hint of his beautiful psyche.
This was probably better. Bishop had to trust James and Kit to take care of themselves, while he concentrated on Melissa Vespers.
Bishop and the hostage remained starkly illuminated. Whatever happened here, Bishop couldn’t hide from it. He watched each twitch and gasp carefully, in case of any negative reactions. This woman’s life was in his hands.
She should be grateful it was Bishop’s hands, not James’s.
But there was no gratitude when Melissa shuddered awake. Her panicked gaze sliced across the barren basement. Stopped like a blade against Bishop’s masked face. Her eyes rounded, and her voice thinned with terror.
“Who are you? Where is this?” Melissa jerked against the binds, unable to move the chair. “What are you doing?”
Bishop leaned against the solid table, six feet away. There was a gun on the table, and a knife. More supplies in the duffel bag. He didn’t grab them, just clocked Melissa cataloguing every item.
Melissa’s head bowed. She sniffled on a sob, and when she looked up again, her eyes were red. Desperate. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to know who you are. Please, just let me go, and I won’t tell anyone. I swear.”
Bishop remained quiet. There should be something inherently uncomfortable about the situation. What did Kit think of him right now? Bishop had a woman tied to the chair, and Kit had wanted to see her face. For the same reason that Bishop noticed all these details now.
Melissa was around the same age as Bishop’s older cousin, and they wore their hair similarly. She didn’t have shoes on, and her socks were mismatched. One plain white, one pink with blue polka dots.
Archie used to do this. Holding women captive. But this was different.
“Do you need money?” Melissa tried a watery smile. “Are you in trouble? I can help you.”
“Are you done?” Bishop asked calmly. He knew in his bones, this was different.
And he didn’t feel uncomfortable at all.
“I promise not to tell anyone. Just let me go,” Melissa begged.
Bishop tapped the smooth, matte plastic over his cheek. “Do you know what this mask means?”
Melissa fell still, her eyes still round and red.
She was good at this.
“You haven’t seen me. If you cut the bullshit, you might survive,” Bishop said. Still calm, still clear. “If you waste my time, you won’t.”
Melissa stared, chest heaving, gaze darting everywhere. She was smart. The act was worth a try, but she had to know there was no fooling anyone.
Nobody in this basement believed this was a random abduction.
With a final deep breath, Melissa lifted her head. All traces of sniffling panic were gone. “Who do you work for?”
Now they were really talking. Bishop needed all his concentration now, because this was the part he could fuck up.
“Either you already know, or you don’t need to know,” Bishop said. Which was a cocky asshole way to avoid the question—but that fit the character.
Melissa lifted her chin, matching his energy. “You can cut the bullshit, too.”
Pretty good bravado, given her situation. Silence had worked earlier, so Bishop fell back on his impassive mask. He waited. Melissa wanted to talk. Bishop just needed the right lever to pull.
A powerful, secretive criminal organization’s usual enemies were other powerful, secretive criminal organizations. Melissa must have theories about who Bishop was. Who he worked for. Which gang was she thinking of right now? Which cartel or family?
Bishop waited, silent, aware of James and Kit watching even though he couldn’t take his eyes off his hostage.
Finally, the silence weighed too heavily. Melissa wilted. “Is he really back?”
Bishop’s intuition seized on the question.
Someone who left. Someone who was never found. The ragged, gaping absence in San Corvo’s underworld.
A text from James buzzed in, echoing what Bishop already knew.
James: viper
Bishop hadn’t heard anything about the Viper being back. He filed that away as a bad rumor to investigate later. He had more immediate matters to focus on.
“If you don’t see the body,” Bishop said casually, “the snake isn’t dead.”
Melissa shuddered. Which meant Bishop and James had guessed correctly. But Bishop couldn’t let her dwell too long on that, because he didn’t work for the Viper. He didn’t have an organization at his back. Just a few friends who liked getting their hands dirty.
“Enough about my boss,” Bishop said. “Let me hear about yours.”
“I want to help,” Melissa said, with a pained grin. “I just don’t know much.”
Bishop braced his hands on the table behind him. His left rested next to the gun. His right rested next to the knife. Time to really cut the bullshit. “I want a name, Melissa. Who is the Rat King?”
In the shadows, James shifted his weight. He still held Kit in front of him, and Bishop was really fucking glad Kit was down here. Otherwise, he’d be tempted to tie James to a chair too.
Melissa took a deep breath, straightening as much as she could in her bindings. “Can you get me out of the country after?”
That was promising. “Why should I?”
“I’ll talk,” Melissa said, nearly as calm as Bishop. “I have the name you want, and I’ll talk if you help me. I want out. I’m fucking sick of this. You can’t retire, you know?” Her grin wasn’t happy. “You do too much shit, you learn too much, and you can’t retire.”
This would rely on James’s and Darius’s resources more than Bishop’s. “That could be possible. I want you to tell me something else first. Something small. Something I can verify.”
Melissa nodded sharply. “Let me think.”
As she racked her brain, Bishop’s phone buzzed.
James: ask why she thinks the viper’s back.
Resting his chin on Kit’s shoulder, James shamelessly read the message Kit had sent on his phone.
Smart fucking kid. If they were working for the Viper like Bishop was pretending, their captive would think they could verify the information.
While actually it would give Bishop something new to investigate.
James hugged Kit closer, tracing possessive shapes into the tension of Kit’s waist. Verbal praise would have to wait until the interrogation was over.
Kit was light in his arms. Not melting back like usual. That was fair. They usually didn’t cuddle with hostages in the room.
As the silence stretched, Melissa shifted in her seat. All James could see was her brown hair, tangled from the hood. James inhaled, trying to use Kit’s scent to focus. His thoughts were too scattered.
He didn’t want to kill Melissa. Sure, Bishop didn’t trust him with the interrogation.
But James was fixated, not out of control.
Melissa Vespers was involved far more deeply in the Rat King’s operation than James’s previous victim had known.
She organized weapons transportation, with a side of getting the wrong people across the wrong borders.
She could get James closer to his family’s killers.
“What tipped you off to the Viper’s return?” Bishop finally asked. Damn, he was good at that casual voice. Creepy as fuck with that gray mask.
James would have to ask where Bishop got it. Creepy as fuck could be useful.
“There’s been activity at one of his old warehouses,” Melissa said, her voice steadier now. “17th and Heron.”
Meeting Bishop’s eyes across the half-lit room, James slumped. So did Kit, twisting around in James’s arms with a perfect are-you-fucking-kidding-me glare.
That warehouse wasn’t the Viper anymore. That was James. He’d bought it from a shell company’s shell company, and that was where they’d trapped the man who wanted pictures of Kit’s dead body.
Disappointing not to have something new. But it was for the best that the Viper vanished and stayed vanished.
“You have good eyes,” Bishop said without missing a beat. His thumb tapped at his phone screen.
“Who else is here?” Melissa asked, without turning her head.
James admired Bishop’s infuriating silence as his phone screen lit up. Kit tried to hand it over, but James liked the sight of his phone massive in Kit’s pretty little hands.
So, James kissed the top of Kit’s head as he grasped the phone. Not taking it away—both his hands curved around Kit’s, palm to knuckles. Kit’s hands were small enough that James could easily reply around him.
Bishop: thoughts?
James: Play along
Melissa was more than a pawn, and she might lead them to the king. James was willing to make a deal, but he wasn’t an idiot. He reserved the right to renege on any bargain if Melissa traded with false goods.
Bishop set his phone aside. “South America or Europe?”
Melissa’s shoulders softened. “Portugal’s nice this time of year.”
“Give me the name—the correct name—and you’ll reach Portugal alive, unharmed, and undetected,” Bishop said. “We’ll leave you alone, but your safety afterwards will be your responsibility.”
“That sounds very reasonable,” Melissa said, close to Bishop’s casual tone. “How can I trust you after I give you the name?”
Silence fell again. James occupied it by toying with Kit’s hands. Interlacing their fingers. Counting the sharp knuckles. Kit’s every breath hooked into James’s own lungs, untangling the tension between his ribs.
James was fine. Really.
Because Kit was here.
Melissa broke the silence to answer her own question. “The Rat King is two people. Used to be three, but they ate one of their own, and there’s two left.” Her voice strengthened. “I’ll give you one name now, and the second when I’m safe in Portugal.”
Two people. That was new.
Bishop reached for his phone, but James replied before Bishop could finish the question.
James: Works for me
“One name now, one name in Portugal,” Bishop said out loud, setting his phone decisively aside. “We have a deal.”
Melissa exhaled. “Nazario Bradach is the businessman. He runs the manufacturing and trafficking. All the profit operations.”
Bishop nodded, impassive behind his mask. “Spelling on the last name?”
But James already knew.
The Bradachs owned a local office supply company. Not too big, but hardly too small. James had sat at Nazario’s table at a fucking chamber of commerce dinner once.
Nazario didn’t attend the Zhou family funeral. But he’d sent a card.
Kit looked up, concern furrowing his face through the shadows. James couldn’t accept that comfort right now. Not with this furious joy igniting his every nerve. James had a name. A face. A target.
He had to confirm. Of course. He couldn’t be hasty. But the information made sense. The name Nazario Bradach settled into James’s questions, and it sounded like an answer.
Buzzing under his own skin, James extricated himself from around Kit. He returned his phone to his pocket. Concern followed him through Kit’s bright eyes—but they had to be quiet. James leaned against the wall, dragging his attention back to the interrogation in progress.
“One more thing, before I start arranging flights.” Bishop tapped at his phone, like he was barely paying attention. The screen lit his mask up eerily. “What do you know about the Evelyn Zhou incident?”
James tensed. He’d discussed this with Bishop in advance, but the question still jolted.
“Why does the Viper care about that?” Melissa asked.
Bishop set his phone aside. “It happened in his territory.”
Which may or may not be true. James didn’t give a fuck, because Melissa laughed. Quick, soft, but the sound echoed.
“Nothing your boss needs to worry about,” Melissa said casually. “That was an internal affair. Evelyn Zhou was the third Rat King.”