39 - Bishop
~ 39 ~
BISHOP
There were a lot of things that came with having numbers. For one, strength. Diversity of ability. An expansive reach wasn’t possible without a significant presence, and that presence couldn’t happen until you had the people.
But having numbers came with drawbacks, too.
As a mercenary company, Blight was rapidly learning the dangers of expanding too quickly. Its original members were admittedly solid, but in recent years they’d made poor decisions, and they’d cut too many corners. Right now, as it stood, their new talent pool was woefully thin. Men who would’ve been laughed away when the company was first formed were being welcomed into the fold, and some of them had even risen to positions of power and influence that jeopardized the organization as a whole.
Case in point, Victor Knox’s entire crew.
It shouldn’t have been possible for me to infiltrate their quarter of the mansion as easily as I did. Even with everyone at the docks waiting on Roman’s arrival, there should’ve been some type of security detail stopping me from getting me where I was, and more importantly, preventing me from what I was currently doing.
I planted the detonators haphazardly, in a way that wouldn’t be immediately obvious, but also wouldn’t withstand normal levels of scrutiny. On this end, there were no explosives. If we played our cards right, there wouldn’t need to be. Once Roman Wynter showed up and a discovery was made, all the fireworks would come from within.
The plan was Kayden’s, actually. To his credit it was damn near perfect, if we could pull it off. Finally getting revenge on Blight’s Founding members for what they’d done would be sweet enough. But tearing the organization entirely apart from within? That seemed like a more fitting end to the once-great mercenary company, now rife with corruption and greed and—
“Delaney.”
I froze at the sound of my last name. All the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up.
“Turn around. I know it’s you.”
The voice was nameless, faceless, but somehow familiar. Instinctually I wanted to keep walking, to pretend that none of this was happening. I was just a few steps from the main hallway. Almost home free.
But a sterner voice in the back of my mind warned me that I couldn’t. If someone knew my name it was a problem, and a very serious one at that.
And in a situation like this, serious problems always needed to be taken care of.
I turned slowly, ready for anything. Then I saw the neck tattoo, and my heart sank.
“Morris,” I said reflexively.
The man blinked twice, then took a few quick steps in my direction. Every last fiber of my being wanted to shift immediately into a fighting stance. Despite this, I forced my body to relax.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he demanded.
His gaze was accusatory. Strangely however, he kept his voice low.
“I thought I saw you working in the kitchen last night,” he hissed. “I figured it couldn’t possibly be you, but then—”
“Yeah,” I admitted finally. “It’s me.”
An awkward silence settled over the hallway as we sized each other up. Morris was almost a foot shorter than me, but still in the best shape of his life. He had arms like tree trunks. Legs like tree trunks. His two bushy brows met in the middle, folded over a pair of dark, saddle-brown eyes.
“Again,” he growled angrily, “what the fuck are you doing here?”
To anyone who didn’t know him, you knew right away the man was both powerful and dangerous. And I knew him well.
“I’m here for Roman,” I admitted. “I’m here for Blight.”
Morris’s scowl deepened. Through my peripheral vision, I saw the muscles in his forearms go tight.
“I snuck in here hoping for a job.”
The lie was simple, and slipped easily from my lips. Whether or not it stuck, was still up in the air.
“A job?”
In case it didn’t, I had to be ready to break his neck.
“Do you know how hard it is out there, in the private sector?” I pressed.
He half laughed, half coughed. “For a guy like you? Please.”
“You know me, Morris,” I went on. “Think I could sit still for some cushy security job? Ride a chair as some intel analyst?” I shook my head. “No fucking way. Besides, most private firms are shit.”
Morris looked me over some more. He bit his lip and grunted.
“You always were restless, Delaney,” he spat. “Remember Sulaymaniyah?”
“Think I could ever forget?” I laughed.
“None of us could. You kept us up all night with that bullshit.”
“It saved our asses though,” I pointed out. “That drone strike happened less than an hour later. If we hadn’t gotten thrown out of that hotel…”
“Yeah, well, you still got us run out of town,” Morris lamented. “Slept in the hills for six days. Nothing to eat but dehydrated beef, smeared over stale flatbread.”
“There were rabbits,” I countered.
“Fuck you, Delaney,” Morris spat again. His body language took on a dangerous edge. “Every joint operation involving your squad went to complete shit. Including… well…”
He didn’t have to say it. I didn’t have to remind him, either.
“That whole situation was fucked,” Morris admitted. His expression softened a little, at the recollection. “And for once, it wasn’t your fault.”
“Neither is this,” I shot back. “I snuck in here as a chef, just to get a word with your boss.”
“You can’t cook!” he scoffed.
“Of course not. But I’m good at other things, and you know it.”
Morris looked me over again, this time slightly less skeptically. Maybe I wouldn’t have to break his neck after all.
“A job, eh?”
I shrugged. “Blight’s got the work. I’ve got the skills.”
“You also have beef with Roman. Even worse, he knows it.” He scratched at his tattooed neck and shook his head. “Shit, I can’t believe you got in here using your actual name.”
“Giving my real name was the only way I could be properly vetted,” I pointed out. “But as usual, your men missed the details. They’re too sloppy.”
He looked up again, wanting to argue. We both knew he couldn’t.
“You could use a guy like me,” I finished. “Blight’s been cutting corners and you know it.”
Morris let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m definitely not happy about it,” he snapped. “The way things are, it’s just… well…”
He let the sentence go unfinished, and I didn’t push. I could see the wheels already turning in his head.
“It wasn’t always like this,” he murmured. “You know it wasn’t.”
“Then do something, Morris.”
We’d spent time in the field together, he and I, but it was always tangential. Morris was a mercenary, and I a soldier. For that reason, our relationship had always been strictly business. I knew enough of him to know he was a good warrior, though. And beneath that, a good man.
“Don’t mess with Roman tonight,” he said, jabbing a finger into my chest. “This meeting is too important. When this whole thing is over, we’ll talk again.”
“Alright,” I conceded.
“Maybe… maybe I can put in a word,” he said awkwardly. “But if you think for one minute that means—”
Abruptly he stopped, and his ears perked up. I saw his gaze shift a little, to an invisible point just over my shoulder.
Someone was coming.
This was it: the breaking point. The point at which Morris stepped aside, or I dragged him into an alcove in a rear naked choke.
“Get the hell out of here, fast,” he hissed, jerking his chin in the direction I’d been going. “Before I forget I found you somewhere other than in the kitchen.”