“And that’s Mia holding Ryan—Cash and Nic’s.” Lexi turned to them. “You bachelors overwhelmed and confused yet?”
“No comment.” Wanting to belong to a team who was family in more than one way confused him.
“Not a bad answer,” Lexi said.
Locke just laughed, and Lexi peeled away as Mia slid from her husband’s arm and made a beeline for them, pushing her free hand out. “I’m glad you’re here.”
They all shook.
“Now let’s never do that again.” Mia made a face at their handshakes. “Get a beer. Eat some food. Get to know everyone.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Locke said.
She bounced the baby. “And never call me ma’am.”
“All right, then.” Bishop gave Locke a look, and they bumbled toward the beer outside on the back deck, each grabbing a bottle and twisting the top.
“Hey, man.” Locke nodded to the group as they milled, going in and out, from the kitchen to the deck.
“What’s up?” Bishop asked.
“Doing okay?”
“This shit is insane. Not what I thought a Titan barbecue was all about.” Funny, though, the comradery was something he’d been craving since he’d been without a home base.
“Not what I’m talking about.” Locke took a long pull from his beer bottle. “About Ella.”
Hell. Bishop waited to answer until he had downed that first swallow of suds. “Ella.”
His buddy lifted his chin, reiterating the conversation topic with a silent go on.
Well, shit. It meant something if Locke had honed in on Ella as a topic. Gossip and bullshit didn’t seem like Locke’s cup of tea, so if he felt that Bishop needed checking on, then he needed to get his ass in check.
“Yeah, man, I’m doing good. She’s in a safe spot.”
Locke nodded. Bishop nodded. Good, that was the extent of their conversation. Bishop rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck.
Locke followed up. “Yeah?”
Maybe the conversation wasn’t done. “I’ve never worked a TV star’s detail before. Wild, right?”
Locke lifted his bottle and took another pull. “Hmm.”
Bishop joined him in hiding behind the beer and avoiding the discussion. What was it about some things that pulled at the strings in his chest and made him want to hide? And how damn pussy was that? Enough to get the attention of his Titan employment, that was for sure.
The group, from the babies to the boss man, made their way outside. Thankful for the distraction, Bishop watched the team that he would one day blend effortlessly in with. Amazing how loud they all were, how interspersed the ladies were with the men. Some he knew were spies, while others were artillery experts. Some were ready for battle, while others looked a few notches underdressed for a cookout. The whole thing worked, and damn, he liked that he was with Titan.
Mia shouted to Cash to run back inside and get more napkins. Caterina tore chunks of food onto a plate—a lot of food—and handed it to Rocco, who whistled for his kid. That sent Winters’s dogs running and set everyone howling.
Bishop moved into the mix of things as he grabbed a plate and worked his way down the long buffet. The food smelled killer, and he grabbed a seat on a bench next to Roman.
Across from them, Bishop realized that Beth was nursing a baby, something he had never in his life been around. But no one seemed to notice, and that made sense. Guess that kid had to eat too.
He dug into the chili, and—damn. “This is great.”
“Right,” Roman said with a mouthful. “Never miss a Mia Winters event.”
“So noted.”
The two oldest kids burst back onto the deck. The older one led the charge, with the younger one still hanging on her back, and walked up to him. “Hi.”
“Hey,” Bishop said, swallowing. “Thanks for letting us in.”
“I’m Clara,” the blonde piped up. “This is Asal. We’re the welcoming company.”
“Committee.” Asal rolled her eyes in a goofy kid way.
“Committee. That’s what I said.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes—”
“Thanks, welcoming committee.”
Just as fast as they had arrived, they took off, grabbed plates, and cleared what they needed for food. Roman pointed his fork at them. “Two peas in a pod, despite the age difference, and literally always attached at the hip.”
“Future Cash and Roman,” Beth volunteered. “Though I don’t know which one is the spotter and which one will be the sniper.”
“Cute.” Everything here meshed. Once these people had joined Titan, their lives had interwoven to the point that their kids’ lives were interlocked.
Had he thought about kids before? No. But if he were to have any, he would want them running around in a world as tight-knit and loyal as Titan.
Bishop searched the deck, the grass, and back inside the house, looking for… what? It wasn’t that something was missing. It wasn’t that he’d only been on the team for less than a couple weeks and hadn’t become this close. That would come; he could tell.
It was that someone was missing. He missed Ella. Simple.
Locke joined them, pulling a chair next to him. “Unknown, coming in slow and steady, nine o’clock,” he said quietly.
Over Beth’s shoulder, Jax made his way over, small-talking through the group. While Bishop and Locke had started on together, this guy was likely their third. Conversationally, he’d been lumped together as part of the new recruit trifecta.
Jax stopped short, doing a double-take as Beth pulled the baby from her boob. Bishop stood, stuck his hand out, and introduced himself, followed by Locke.
With a quick hello, Beth put the baby against her shoulder. “I’m Beth.”
“You know me,” Roman said.
Jax joked about something and dropped to the bench on the other side of Roman—and that baby let out a belch with reverberations as Beth patted its back. Bishop, Locke, and Jax froze, and he couldn’t speak for the other two, but he was floored. There were grown-ass men who couldn’t pull that off after shot-gunning a six-pack.
“Go eat, Beth.” Roman grabbed the little monster.
“Nice meeting you, Jax.” She tossed Roman a cloth. “Here.”
Roman walked off, kind of bouncing as he went, with his kid in one hand and a beer in the other.
“Well, fuck me,” Jax breathed out. “Wasn’t sure what to expect. This wasn’t it.”
Locke took a swig of beer.
“No kidding,” Bishop agreed. There they sat, the three new recruits, surrounded by people who had been together for years, maybe decades.
Jax twisted the cap off his beer and flicked it at Bishop. “I heard that your job is keeping eyes on a hottie. Nice.”
He shoveled a spoonful of chili into his mouth, wanting to answer “she’s pretty smart too,” but opting to stay as silent as Locke.
“I’d stay with that gig as long as possible, brother.” Jax tipped back his beer. “Not that it wouldn’t be fun to head out and blow some shit up, but paid to sit back and hang with some bangin’ chick?” He whistled. “Yeah, I’d do it.”
Bishop cracked his neck, catching Locke’s glare. They were all the new guys, but this was their new guy, and his first impressions were crashing, kamikaze-style. “So you have any assignments?”
“Nothing that has me trailing a set of tits and an ass like whoa.”
His fists curled. Jesus Christ, Bishop wanted to lay into him. Too overprotective? Yeah. Maybe. His collar felt as though it were strangling him, and he shifted, needing to get the hell out of this conversation before Jax said too much. Bishop couldn’t stand much of the bro’d out bullshit.
“Man, have a little respect,” Locke snapped.
Jax’s beer froze midway to his mouth.
Bishop should’ve said that before Locke had, but he was glad it’d been done. Paranoia that he was too close to Ella had caused him to stay quiet. So, fuck, now he was
second-guessing and not reacting the way he should, not wanting to speak up when he normally would. Damn it.
This was why he shouldn’t screw the job. But really, it was why he shouldn’t have kissed her when there was no chance of taking her to bed. That was a game-changer.
Bishop gave Locke an almost-imperceptible chin lift—a thanks for having his back when he couldn’t figure out how much was too much.
Nicola walked over. “Your next assignment, should you choose to take it…”
Thank God for Nic’s unknowing break in tension.
“You’re in charge of Titan orientation?” Jax asked.
“Brother.” Nicola pivoted, glaring. “For all you should care about, I’m in charge of your world.”
Mental fist bump to Nicola. There was a definite hierarchy that Bishop needed to figure out. If Rocco was second-in-command and Parker handled operational logistics, it seemed that Nicola told them where to be when it came to team-building.
“Report to GUNS tomorrow.” She turned, looking over her shoulder. “It’s like Candyland for operatives and agents but better.”
Just like the world knew of Titan, GUNS was world-renowned. Nicola, in his mind, might have been in charge of team-building, but she had just elevated herself to being in charge of fun.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
GUNS. The mecca. The holy grail. The end-all and be-all of gunsmithing. Bishop’s skin tingled with each boot fall in the parking lot. The wrought-iron gate swung heavy when the impenetrable door clicked open. Security cameras followed every movement as he and Locke stepped inside a place that Bishop had seen in magazine spreads and read folklore about for years.
No one was in the entryway to meet them, though someone had to have seen them coming. “Eyes in the sky maybe?”
“There were enough cameras to have known we were out a mile away.” Locke’s footsteps followed on the polished wood boards behind him. Locke sounded as in awe as Bishop felt. “This place…”
“Right?” They were both field grunts by blood, Special Forces by design. What stood behind these walls was the stuff that starred in their wet dreams.
Bishop ran his hand over the glass cabinets that housed beautiful handcrafted weapons. State of the art. Historic. Everything in between. Hot damn, he could get a hard-on over firepower.
Footsteps pricked his ears, and a lady who looked slightly out of place, with freckles and wearing a non-Sugar-like outfit, appeared. “I’ve been waiting for you three—two?”
“Jax will be here…” Bishop had no idea where that guy was. “Soon, and hell, we’ve been waiting too.” Bishop extended his hand. “Bishop O’Kane.”
“Sarah Gamble.”
“Locke Oliver.”
Sarah swooped her hand out. “Pretty, huh?”
“Gorgeous,” he agreed.
“Want to see the real beauties?” she asked.
“Hell yeah,” Locke said.
Apparently, Locke wasn’t silent when it came to weaponry, just as when it came to defending what was right. He was moving farther and farther into Bishop’s good-guy column.
“Move boots, boys.” Sarah turned, hustling down the hall. There was something inherently badass about a Titan chick. It didn’t seem to matter if she could field strip an AK or breach an insurgent weapons hold, or if she had a baby stuck to her boob at a barbecue or simply showed them down the hall at GUNS. Titan women had a strength about them that was Titan strong.
“Welcome to the workshop.” Sarah stepped aside, and his pulse jumped.
Locke didn’t wait for an invitation. Bishop trailed him, gulping in the sight. The ceiling had to be eighteen feet high. Straight ahead, the GUNS logo greeted everyone who came into the room. A large hammered metal display of dueling pistols was transposed over the letters G-U-N-S. Working around that were rows of automatic rifles, stacked with variations, carbines to the left, handguns to the right. The spread rippled in size, shape, and brand along the length in a stunning view of armaments.
“I’ve died…” Everywhere he looked, something unbelievable caught his eye.
Workshop tables took up the floor space, and opposite walls held shelving. Parts containers seemed expertly organized, and they were standing in a gun connoisseur’s dream come true.
“As you probably know, this is Sugar’s place.” Sarah walked around a table, rubbing a non-existent speck of nothingness away. “It had a few versions of its usefulness over the years, but it’s always been the best of the best and always has been GUNS.”
He and Locke nodded like little puppies hoping to be released to the great outdoors. Any second, camo-covered elves would appear as if this was Santa’s gun-making workshop. The place was simply more than he could comprehend, and Bishop had had high hopes.
“GUNS being Sugar’s, and Titan being Jared’s, means you two, or three when Jax finally arrives, can basically write your shopping list. On the table, the catalog is filled with possible customizations, etcetera. Just let me know everything you want. From what you’d like stocked for your everyday carry, to what you consider necessities, what’s on your dream list…” Sarah paused and let that sink in. “And what you think might be impossible.”
“Impossible?” Locke asked.
“The woman loves a challenge. Tell Sugar something doesn’t exist, and you might just get it.”
Bishop could attest to her loving a challenge, and damn, making his dream list? While on the payroll at his dream job, standing in his dream store? Solid. And he’d been working with his own dream girl—well, whoa. That was a bit much. He shook his head. That barbecue had thrown him off course.
Bishop recalibrated and focused on the workshop as Sarah tossed pens and a set of keys onto the table. “Enjoy.”
“We’ll do that.” Locke scooped up the key ring and went to the secure shelves, while Bishop paged through the catalog and listing options, eyeing customizations.
Locke dropped a box of rifle grips on the table, then more carefully, laid out scopes. “So.”
“So.” Bishop pushed the catalog aside and stepped to Locke. Talk about tactical optics for the win. This would make any buildout badass. “What are you looking for?”
“How’s your girl’s trip?” Locke asked instead of gun talk.
“Our girl?” Bishop countered. They were both working Ella’s protective detail.
“Not what I meant.” Locke let his response hang. “The few times that I’ve worked with her, seen you two together…” He shrugged. “I don’t miss much.”
“Didn’t think you did,” Bishop mumbled.
“You heard from her?”
“Not much. Other than a check-in that she landed safely. Maybe a couple other times. I don’t know.” But he did know. Texting Ella, using the job as an excuse—that had happened more than it should.
“That’s all we’re going to say on her?” Locke raised his brows but slowly let them drop as he pulled out a container.
Bishop ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth. “We used to know each other. Years ago.”
Locke hmmed.
“Dated in high school and college.”
No response from Locke again, but he stepped to the table, crossed his arms, and waited.
Bishop reached back for the catalog and aimlessly flipped a few pages. Locke didn’t budge. That was a good, and momentarily bad, thing about the guy; when Locke gave his attention, it was one hundred percent.
Bishop had to do the same. “We went different ways. Too young to know what to do with…” Love and devastation. Tragedy. “She wasn’t the same crazy person riling up fellow lunatics.”
Locke rubbed his chin. “She’s passionate. Love or hate what she says.”
“I don’t hate what she says.”
Locke nodded.
Bishop rubbed his sternum. “And hell, she was never that reserved to begin with.”
“I like her,” Locke said. “She keeps things interesting.”
“No kidding,” Bishop grumbled. “Hel
l.” He could use a beer for this conversation—or any conversation having to do with Ella and Brie. “Do you have a woman?”
“Not anymore.”
“Right…” The way Locke said that made Bishop hope he could trust him with more than the surface-level BS answers he’d given for years. “We made it complicated by doing nothing at all… Shit. I don’t know. History blows, man.”
Locke’s forehead creased. “You’ll have to believe me when I say that I get it.”
No one got what they’d been through. Then again, he’d never given anyone a chance to prove him wrong. Maybe that was a pussy belief, but it was his. Even to this day, he could still hear the tires screech. He could never forget the crunch of glass and the dull thud Brie had made at that first impact. She couldn’t even scream after it had happened. Still alive and unable to shout how they were losing her.
“Ella and I were in an accident with my sister.” A grenade-size lump lodged in his throat. He’d said the word out loud. Accident. Admitting it was like pulling the pin, and now that it had been said out loud, the knot threatened to detonate years of unvoiced issues.
“They can be brutal.”
“My sister was also Ella’s best friend,” he said quietly, admitting that just as she had when she’d sobbed into his shirt days ago. Why had he needed to explain that? It wasn’t part of the damn story.
Locke waited him out, and Bishop drew in a painful breath.
“It was a blur. Ella and I’d had drinks. Ya know, but we were being responsible. We thought. Because Brie hadn’t, and she was behind the wheel.” They had tried to be good kids. They had taken turns suffering through nights as designated drivers. That was the rule, right? What would have kept them safe? “Brie and Ella were texting about me. I egged them on. We were just having fun. So stupid. Thought we were so funny and invincible.”
“One of those recipes for disaster, huh?”
“Back then, no one ever thought not to do that. It was all ‘don’t drink and drive. Don’t get stoned and get behind the wheel.’” Bishop shrugged, though he was anything but indifferent. “The text never made it out. The car flipped. She died.”
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