Chapter 41
overdue surrender
Kit drifted awake, his head floating but his body weighted down.
A duvet tangled around his legs. His cheek pressed against a muscular thigh, and blunt fingers toyed with his hair.
Everything felt so familiar, except the duvet had a slightly different texture.
The man Kit cuddled up to had a different scent than the men Kit usually woke up next to.
Bishop. Kit slept with Bishop last night.
Because Dad broke out of prison.
“You’re all right,” Bishop murmured, as the reminder speared Kit awake.
No more drifting. Kit dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’m never all right.”
The complaint was a sign of security. Stupid Bishop making him comfortable. Kit shouldn’t forgive him for that. He struggled free of the duvet enough to sit up.
Bishop set his laptop aside—the bastard was fully dressed and doing things already—immersing himself in the world Kit would prefer to forget—
Strong fingers tightened in Kit’s hair. A slow kiss seared away all Kit’s complaints. For a heartbeat, Kit forgot his worries.
They were back the next moment. But that brief reprieve tingled like a miracle. Breathless, Kit faced the full force of Bishop’s attention.
“Thank you,” Bishop said, a small smile tugging his lips.
“For what?” Kit asked greedily.
“Everything.” Bishop’s grip loosened on Kit’s hair, but his eyes still held Kit captive. “If you decide you’re tired of my bullshit, I’ll respect that. For my part, I’d like to keep doing this.”
Need flushed hot across Kit’s chest. He still wore James’s much-abused shirt, but he felt fully naked. Typical Bishop, offering reassurance before Kit asked.
Teasing retorts danced behind Kit’s lips. Sincerity won out. “I want you, until you’re tired of my bullshit, too.”
“No chance of that,” Bishop said. “Now, you probably still want to spiral about everything, but we should get breakfast first.”
“Smart man,” Kit agreed, wriggling out of bed. “I need coffee.”
“You need food,” Bishop corrected sternly.
Kit stuck out his tongue. Now, where were his… right, he didn’t keep any clothes in this room. He’d have to change that going forward, unless Bishop picked another room. Assuming Bishop wanted to stay. Kit shouldn’t make assumptions…
Right. Save the spiraling for after coffee. Or food or whatever.
“Don’t put shoes on,” Kit ordered, because walking out in his rumpled boxers and borrowed shirt was fine. As long as Bishop wasn’t fully dressed either.
Bishop laughed and left his jacket behind, too. He held the door open for Kit. “Lots of morning people in this house.”
“Jesus Christ,” Kit muttered, and braved the living room—where everyone else waited expectantly.
Darius stood up from an armchair and headed for the kitchen. Holden appeared from seemingly nowhere to drape himself possessively around Kit’s shoulders. “Morning, darling,” Holden said cheerfully, as if nobody else was in the room.
James lounged on the couch, surrounded by a laptop, two tablets, and three phones. Dressed in rumpled pajama pants and wielding his World’s Best Cock coffee mug like a shield, he was nevertheless awake enough to scrutinize Kit and Bishop.
“So, Bishop, when are you moving in?” James asked with a smirk.
“Shut up,” Kit groaned, burying his face in Holden’s chest. He and Bishop hadn’t had that conversation yet. Bishop wasn’t insanely impulsive like Kit, James, and Holden. He probably needed time to think about—
“As soon as I find a realtor who isn’t stalking us,” Bishop said, shockingly calm. “I’ll still need a separate space for meeting clients, but I can find an office closer to here.”
Kit resurfaced to stare.
Bishop didn’t laugh. He was obviously close, though. “You told me not to kiss you unless I meant it.”
Absurd. Typical. Bishop took forever to reach decisions, weighing his options and assessing the risks. But once he decided, he acted instantly.
Kit liked being worth the risk.
Darius returned from the kitchen and pressed a mug of coffee into his hands. “Breakfast’s on the table.”
“Sit down and eat, babe,” James said. “We can add Bishop to the fuck chart later.”
Bishop froze. “There’s a fuck chart?”
“No,” Darius refuted immediately.
“I still think it’s a good idea,” Holden said. He released Kit from his grasp, but instead of accepting his freedom, Kit grabbed Holden’s arm.
“I hate all of you,” Kit declared, and dragged Holden to an empty armchair. Food could wait until after he finished his coffee and cuddled with Holden.
As chill as Holden tried to be, adding Bishop to the household was a huge change. Holden needed reassurance.
Focusing on other people’s emotional needs was easier than Kit’s own.
But Kit couldn’t avoid reality for long. While he dawdled over coffee and breakfast, drifting back and forth from the dining room to Holden’s lap, the others became absorbed in reports. Messages. Searches.
Frustration.
“My team checked in. Nothing on our camera network,” James said, his earlier teasing sharpened away. “We lost the prison contract ages ago, because I refused to give a discount to cops—that’s on me, sorry. But I have enough cameras in the surrounding area. They should show up somewhere.”
“Nothing at Apricot Station?” Bishop asked. “What criteria are you using?”
James rubbed his eyes. “Wide net from the time of their escape. Approximate height and build, no assumptions about hair or clothing. I think Apricot Station’s a bad lead. Toss-up on malice or stupidity.”
“Probably both, knowing SCPD,” Darius added.
James pointed at Bishop. “If you can get anything else from them, that would still help. I need something to narrow down the search.”
“I’ll try Paula again.” Bishop grimaced. “Might need to meet her in person.”
Holden shifted his arm around Kit. Long fingers slipped under the baggy shirt, tracing possessive patterns over Kit’s hip.
Kit didn’t like any of this. But it was strangely reassuring that the others weren’t being too careful with him. They weren’t walking on eggshells or lowering their voices.
Somehow, this morning felt like a step towards being okay.
Bishop stopped before exiting the car. “Did James give you any secret instructions I should know about?”
Carla flipped down the mirror to inspect her lip gloss. “If anything dangerous happens, leave your worthless ass first, warn you second.” Satisfied, she flipped the mirror back up. “Don’t worry. My standard for ‘dangerous’ is higher than yours.”
Grinning, Bishop slid from the car. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll try not to take too long.”
“Take all day,” Carla said, reclining her seat. “This is my day off—the overtime is delicious.”
Closing the car door, Bishop took a deep breath. A sense of strangeness followed him up the well-swept steps to Paula’s house.
Bishop wasn’t used to nervousness. He shouldn’t be nervous talking to sources or unraveling deadly conspiracies.
But Archie was back. So was the Viper.
Bishop needed to deal with that, because of and despite the fact that he slept with Kit last night. All he wanted to do was tie the boy down. Wrench more sweet, secret sounds from those perfect lips. Revel in the overdue surrender.
Instead, Bishop left Kit with the others, in the house he’d impulsively agreed to move into. If impulse meant a thought he hadn’t dared to mull over, ever since James bought the place.
Bishop had expected to feel more regret leaving this afternoon. Maybe some jealousy, because understanding the arrangement was different from living it. Bishop had his reservations about Holden, but he didn’t blame the psycho for his jealousy.
He just didn’t share it. All Bishop felt was relief. He trusted the others to keep Kit safe. Kit trusted him too, apparently. There was a moment at the front door when Bishop thought Kit would ask him to stay. If Kit had, Bishop would have.
Kit had just jumped up on his tiptoes to kiss Bishop goodbye and said sternly, “Be back before curfew, young man.”
Bishop had chuckled. “I should swat you for that.”
“You should,” Kit said, green eyes brightening.
Okay. Bishop had some regrets leaving the house. But this investigation was essential. Once it was settled, he’d have time to spank Kit until he cried.
Bishop stepped onto a porch dotted with beautifully maintained flowerpots. A sunflower design surrounded the doorbell, which Bishop pressed.
He’d considered sneaking into Paula’s house to take her by surprise. Darius had pointed out that Paula would probably just shoot him in that situation. Sneaking in was something James would think of. Bishop needed to control his nerves.
When she opened the door, Paula looked ready to shoot anyway. “What the heck are you doing here?”
“Always a pleasure,” Bishop replied. “Should we chat inside, or out where everyone can see us?”
Paula glanced past his shoulder. “There’s coffee on—want a cup?”
“No thanks,” Bishop said out of self-preservation. Paula always made coffee strong as tar.
She was a plump, diminutive redhead, and she never wore makeup. Bishop only knew the latter fact because she mentioned it so often at work.
As neat as her front yard was, her kitchen was a mess. Paula snagged her chipped coffee mug and leaned next to the dish-filled sink. “Where have you been? The guys didn’t see you last night.”
“I must have just missed them,” Bishop lied. He hadn’t gone home at all. “What did they want?”
Paula’s lips pursed. Bishop waited, quiet, giving her space to sort through the conflicting loyalties.
That was the shit Bishop didn’t miss.
“The chief wants you distracted,” Paula said finally. “He wants to hire you for an unrelated case.”
“Did he think that would work?” Bishop asked.
“It’s a missing kid or something. Real sympathetic.” Paula sipped her coffee. The scent was strong enough that Bishop could practically taste it, but her expression remained melancholy. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
Now they were getting somewhere. There were times to wait, and times to prod. Paula was an easier interviewee than Kit. “Why are you?”