“So, if this had been a regular fight night, what happens after the fights?”
“Parties,” Zara told her. “There’s a lot of bars that open up. There’s space set up outside as well.”
The music had already started—Luna heard the change in the atmosphere even from back here. “I guess I have a lot to catch up on.”
“Take your time. No reason to rush fun. There’s not much else to do,” Zara murmured, and Luna couldn’t refute that.
“Bishop said you’re a doctor.”
“Bishop’s right. Do you need me to set up an exam?”
“I think I’m okay now.”
“Well, don’t hesitate. I take this shit seriously. Especially if you’re sick. That shit’ll spread like the plague if it’s not cut off at the pass.”
Luna had heard Defiance’s doctors give the same lectures.
“Here’s your man,” Zara said as Bishop came out from behind the curtain. “As always, Doc Morrison will come by later to your tube to check on Bishop in a few hours—standard procedure. Take care. I’ll see you around the compound.”
Zara gave her shoulder a squeeze, her demeanor more friendly than it had been originally, before she walked away and out of the room.
* * *
After the doctor finished the exam, Bishop came out from behind the curtained partition and headed toward the showers, wasn’t surprised to find Keller there, waiting for him.
He fought the urge to throw the man through the tiled walls, demanding instead, “What the fuck was that?”
“A fight that won me a lot of money,” Keller told him, but his expression was tight.
“You’re kidding me, right? You’re going to let the LoV ride roughshod all over this place, great. You’re going to have me kill them or be killed? You’re putting a bounty on my goddamned head, and that wasn’t part of this motherfucking deal.”
Keller sighed. “No, it wasn’t.”
“I’m not a fucking puppy. Not jumping through your hoops. So maybe you should rethink your shit with the LoV.”
“And what? Take up with Defiance?”
“Maybe if you made the deal fairer,” Bishop told him.
“Like Defiance wouldn’t try to kill me?”
“Depends on what you did. And we’d give you fair warning. We’re not fucking stupid. The LoVs survived for this long because they’re ruthless—that only goes so far. Which is why they’re flailing now.”
Judging by the look on Keller’s face, he agreed.
* * *
Luna had watched Bishop walk toward the showers several minutes earlier. She heard raised voices—Bishop’s being one of them. Before she could walk over to make sure things were okay, she saw Keller leaving the shower area.
Seconds later, steam puffed out from behind the curtains.
A short while later, Bishop emerged, drying himself as he came back. He dressed, watching her the entire time.
At some point, one of the bodyguards slipped him an envelope that looked like it had to be full of cash. Since Bishop was winning money for Keller, she guessed he must be placing side bets for extra cash. Or maybe Keller was paying him a salary.
“Want to take a look around?” he asked. “It’s a party night out there.”
She did. Now that the fight was over, she was a bit lighter, if not tired. With her hand firmly in his, they walked out into the controlled melee.
Keller had heat lamps set up everywhere, which warded off a lot of the incessant chill, and the proximity of the crowds did the rest, although she still wore a sweatshirt. The crowds were the same as they’d been, except people were milling around instead of heading toward the warehouse. There were colored lights strung up everywhere—and working—which in and of itself was different. It looked like a giant carnival and she was like a kid in a candy store. Post-Chaos in Defiance, she’d never really wanted for anything, but for the first time she realized that the world was still out there and functioning. It was easy to see in the imported clothing, the new cars, the variety of foods. There was a good part of the world that was still up and functioning and her eyes were wide again.
“Does everyone else realize what all this means?”
He urged her to lower her voice. “No, and you don’t either.”
So she wasn’t wrong. “Do they not care?”
“I think they don’t know what to do with it,” he told her. “Great, there are parts of the world that might be functioning the way ours did at one point. How do you know it’s true? And if it is, how would you get there? How do you make money once you’re there? Most people want the easy way out. Most of them always have.”
She nodded, took everything in. The lights. The carousel. People roaming around with their kids. Like kids. She ate cotton candy and watched fireworks. “Is it like this every night?”
“Pretty much nonstop.”
All the money that went into this. Then again, it was Keller’s money, so what should he be spending it on? World peace? Even Defiance wasn’t that big of a do-gooder.
Suddenly, mercifully, the music switched to a slower tune...and the opening bars of Axl’s whine came though the speakers.
She glanced up at him in surprise as the familiar song brought goose bumps to her arms. “Did you plan that?”
“I might have some pull.”
“I bet you do,” she murmured, let him tug her into his arms. He wrapped them around her waist, splayed a large hand on her lower back.
In turn her arms went around his neck. He was so tall, she had to tilt her head up to see him, and she was nearly up on tiptoes. And they were back and it was somehow just the two of them, dancing to “Patience” (ironic that the title of the song was something Bishop had a lot of experience with, at least in dealing with her) and that same feeling when she’d first seen Bishop was here.
Pressed to him, it didn’t matter where they were or for how long. She knew they’d be okay. And so they swayed to the music and she was back to looking at his tattoo and watching the wings beat, and this time she was stone cold sober. Her fingers traced the ink and she heard him humming along to the music.
When the song ended, it was immediately replaced by the fast, charging beat again, and it was completely jarring. She buried her face against his chest as he murmured, “Where do you want to go now?”
After spending the day underground, she’d been eager to be outside. Now, she felt more overwhelmed than anything. Her brain was on overload. She looked up at him and managed, “I want to get out of here.”
He didn’t argue, simply allowed her to stay partially snuggled into him as the moved away from the worst of the carnival atmosphere. Once she could actually hear herself think, she told him, “The first night you came...I’d been planning on leaving.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said casually.
She stopped, pulled away from him. “What do you mean you knew?”
“You had a bag in your car. A go-bag,” he explained.
“You went through my things?”
“You kissed me,” he countered. “I didn’t even know your name.”
“So you figured going through my underwear would help you get to know me better?”
He shrugged and smiled. “Couldn’t hurt.”
“God.” She put her hands over her face, her cheeks heating at the memory. “I would’ve slept with you if you’d tried.”
“I know.”
She threw her hands in the air. “Stop saying that.”
“You want me to lie?”
“I don’t know what I want,” she admitted, and his eyes were bright as he watched her. “You were my sign. But you were supposed to be my sign to leave.”
“I thought that was Tru.”
“She was. But then you marched in and took over.
”
Bishop snorted. “I did no such thing.”
But he and Mathias had breathed new life into Defiance. Along with Tru, they’d helped Caspar rise to power and overall, make Defiance a much better place to live. Along the way, however, things got much worse before they’d improved, and that’s when Aimee had paid the price. She’d been raped and beaten by the old president and his son, left for dead.
She’d recovered. In return, Luna’s memories of her own abuse weighed her down even more.
“I didn’t tell anyone about that night with you,” he told her now.
“Not even Mathias?”
“Nope. I’m sure he knew something was up. I don’t often come home smelling like perfume and covered in grease and oil. But it was a hell of a combination.”
So yes, he’d been with her on his first night in Defiance and his second and third too. After that, he’d continued in that vein, and if he couldn’t be with her for whatever reason, he’d check in. At first, Rebel questioned her about it, and she’d blown it off with a shrug and a “I have no idea why he’s always watching me.” Rebel probably hadn’t believed her, but she didn’t care. It was probably the only secret she’d ever kept from him and she’d figured she was entitled to it.
She started walking and he fell into step with her, his long legs eating up the distance quickly, no matter how slow he tried to take it. Finally, she stopped and so did he, and she blurted out, “I fell in love with you that first night, Bishop. I know I did. I just had to wait for everything to catch up to that knowledge.” God, could she explain it any more clumsily? But he nodded, because he understood.
She’d fallen in love, but somehow, during these dark times, that wasn’t always enough.
Chapter Seven
Bishop had known. And because he was honest with himself, he knew he’d fallen for her that night too, a strangely mystical, beautiful woman who kept telling him that his phoenix tattoo was flying.
She’d definitely been flying, but so had he. It was because of that night that he’d gone to the garage the night he’d left for Keller’s—the same way he’d done countless nights before that—and he’d stayed there quietly, watching her work, all the while knowing his bags were packed.
Finally, he’d put on “Patience” and he’d moved toward her. They hadn’t danced since that first night, like she was too scared to get close to him again. She’d held up her wrench, like she might hit him with it if he got too close...and then she’d dropped her hand to her side. He’d pulled her close, buried his nose in her hair...swayed with her to the song in that old garage as the hum of bikes invaded the background.
None of that had mattered. He’d held that memory to him like a lifeline, through his first days and nights here. Kept that shirt she’d worn, because it smelled like her. Put it to his nose after he’d fought to cleanse the blood and death. To remind him that there was innocence out there.
And then she’d brought it right to his door.
“Come on. Curfew time,” he said as the bells rang overhead, but she didn’t move.
“The night you left...with the dance, you were saying goodbye, the only way you knew how.”
“I don’t like goodbyes. And it wasn’t,” he pointed out.
“No, it wasn’t.” She pushed her hair from her face. “We’re going to get through this, you know.”
He wanted to tell her there wasn’t any choice, that he wasn’t giving her any choice, but instead, he took her hand and led her through the flickering lights that warned them to clear out. When they got to the entrance to his tube, he noted there were several women lingering. He shook his head and they took note of Luna and him holding her hand, and they left quickly.
Luna gave him a sidelong glance but didn’t say anything. At least not yet.
He unlocked the trap door and shone his flashlight down first before letting her go down the small ladder. He followed, locked up behind them and in a few minutes, they were inside his tube away from home.
He let her inside. By doing so, everything would change, but then again, everything had, from the second he’d met her, the second she’d attempted to drive herself through Keller’s gates.
Most nights here, he’d walk through the fucking madness until the adrenaline bled from his body and he felt as if he could sleep. Once the curfew alarms rang, he’d come back here, where he knew there’d be women waiting for him, because there always were. And he’d get a blow job, maybe sex if that wasn’t enough, but then they’d leave.
He never let them past the front hall. Not that where he stayed was giant but the bedroom setup made it look like he was some kind of porn star. There was an ornate comforter, oversized bed. Mirrors literally on the ceiling, so yes, welcome to Hotel California.
“You can check out anytime you’d like, Keller?” he’d asked when he’d first been shown the place.
“I was always a big Eagles fan. I like their symbolism,” Keller had agreed.
“Do all the rooms look like this?” she asked him now, unable to keep from staring between the ceiling and the bed.
“Keller’s does,” he offered.
“Do I even want to know how you know that?”
He couldn’t stop staring at her. “I can’t fucking believe you’re here.”
She did turn to look at him then, but shyly. He didn’t know if it was the fight, the compound, the room, but there was a quiet freak-out happening inside of her.
With two long strides, he closed the distance between them. “Luna, it’s me. Still me. You’re safe. Safe with me.” She nodded, grabbed his forearm like that would ground her. “Come sit. Rest. You’ve had a long day.”
She slid into his arms and he was grateful she’d finally let some of those walls down, and let him inside.
* * *
Luna made the first move, wrapping around him, kissing him, unable to stop thinking about the women waiting outside the tube for him...and the mirror on the ceiling.
The women had been pretty. Willing. And they’d had no problem looking Bishop up and down, intimately. She couldn’t fool herself that nothing had happened between them and him for the months he’d been here. He’d had no reason to be faithful to her at all. None. And yet she was pissed at the thought of them actually being in bed with Bishop.
She wanted to erase all memories of any other woman in his life. Any and all.
One of his tattoos bore a woman’s name. She’d caught a few glances at it, when he’d been bare chested, fixing his van. Now, she ran her hand along his side and traced it, wondered if it was his mom’s name, even a sister...
But in her heart, she knew it wasn’t. Someone loved and lost, and that was very hard to be competition to. He didn’t flinch or pull away from her touch at all.
Did he know how hesitant she was? How scared? Before this, her only real experience had been with Rebel. He’d made it good for her, although she equated good with safe. He’d taken away her worry, but with Bishop, it would be so much more of everything.
And she wanted to tell him that, but instead she glanced up at the mirror overhead. “I can’t believe you’ve been sleeping in here.”
He looked up too and they watched each other in the mirror. “Most nights, I jacked off thinking about you. Watching myself calling out your name.”
“Bishop,” she breathed, saw her cheeks flush as she felt the heat slide over them. The flush continued to heat her entire body as Bishop pushed his hand inside his sweats. He’d been hard, she’d seen that happen when he’d mentioned masturbating while thinking about her, and now, seeing his hand move over himself, all while still hidden...she hadn’t known that could be as arousing as it was.
But it was everything. He didn’t take his eyes off her as he stroked himself. He wasn’t touching her, but they were connected by a gaze, in this provocative r
oom of sin.
She stared at the way his hand moved under the fabric of his pants, mesmerized. This was probably the most innocent act that had gone on here.
His eyes were on the mirror, watching her watch him. She wanted to see more of him, wanted more of him in general. She realized that it probably hadn’t been the pot she’d smoked that first night they were together that created the magic—it was simply Bishop, or maybe the combination of her and Bishop together that made her feel turned on. Floaty.
He moved his sweats down—he wore nothing underneath and he was as big as he’d always felt against her. He smiled, groaned as he tugged himself, and she wanted him naked and spread for her. Under her command. And as commanding as he was, he appeared more than willing to accommodate her, even be submissive for her.
She rubbed a hand over his chest. He growled approvingly when she tugged on his nipple, and yes, she’d give him more.
A tight groan escaped his lips when she shifted and covered his nipple with her mouth, sucked his nipple hard.
“Luna, Christ,” he ground out. But she didn’t hear the word stop, because that was a word she respected. His face flushed—it spread to his chest as his hand moved faster.
She looked up at him as she flicked the hard nub with her tongue. Her other hand played with the other nipple and he clenched his teeth and hissed through them.
His free hand was thrown over his head, seemingly casually, but his hand was fisted. “Not going to last, Luna.”
“Try,” she told him with a smile, licked his nipple and then bit it lightly. Then a little harder.
“Fuck.”
She put her hand over his. He slowed down the pace of his strokes and she brought her mouth to his, kissed him, her tongue dancing with his.
“Move your hand,” she told him. He did. She palmed his erection. It was hot and smooth against her fingers and she slid it back and forth, the same rhythm he’d been using.
She bent her head to his nipple again. Sucking and stroking, she took him, wrung him out, slowed him down.
Salvation Page 5
