Pawns In The Bishop's Game

by Emilia Finn

  “You’d stay on the right side of the law for me. You promised a lifetime of loyalty. You can’t protect me if you’re in prison. Choices, Kane. It’s all about choices. You can choose to go back to Infernos, or you could choose me. You can’t have both.”

  “No.” He strokes my hip and sighs. “I don’t have a choice on this one. Not yet.”

  “I’ll follow you back into the fire,” I whisper. “Every time you go back, I’ll follow.”

  “You’re gonna get me killed.” He presses a rough kiss to my brow. “That pisses me the fuck off. Why are you actively trying to get me killed?”

  “No. Abel will get you killed. I’m trying to save you.”

  He lets out something between a sigh and a groan, reaches out, and flips off the lamp beside his bed. “Go to sleep. Dream of me. Instead of files under your pillow, you get me. See if that helps you figure me out.”

  “I’ve already figured you out,” I reply with a soft yawn. “I know enough.”

  “You know nothing, Jon Snow. But one day you might.”

  12

  Jess

  Time To Join A Convent

  More rested than I expected I would be after last night’s adventures, sleeping on Kane’s chest allowed me a kind of peace I didn’t have the night Lance hurt me.

  I dreamed of him. Of Kane.

  I dreamed good dreams that included a million days of togetherness. A rainbow of experiences. Sex. Danger. Kissing. The stars. Lots of guns. Scary guns in his hands. The safety of a gun on his hip.

  A barrage of memories we’ve yet to live.

  Road trips. The ocean. Swimming under a waterfall. Sleeping under the stars.

  But beneath it all, every imagined memory ended with his strong hands on my body. With slow and gentle strokes as we made love. With the large, gruff man I was once scared of, dropping to his knees and pleading for me.

  Kane Bishop won’t go to his knees for anyone.

  He’s too powerful. Formidable.

  He’s just too big.

  But in my dreams, he went to his knees in worship a million times.

  I woke to just a tiny bit of leg humping. My face flamed red, his eyes danced at my expense, but with a kiss to my brow, he let me escape to the bathroom to pull myself together.

  For a man who so often mentioned his dick when we first met, since my second run in in an alleyway, he’s been utterly respectful.

  Like I’m breakable.

  “Hey…” Frowning at my white old-lady-bra – because of its plainness – in the bathroom mirror, I pull a pair of Kane’s boxer briefs up my legs to replace the underwear that were stolen from me. “Kane?”

  Popping his head into the bathroom in an instant, he flashes a filthy grin and leers at my exposed legs. “Yes, Blondie?” Okay. So not completely respectful. “Did you change your mind about the butt plug thing? Because I’ve never fucked anyone who wore my underwear before, but I’m up for trying new things.”

  “No!” I pick up an empty toilet paper roll, cock my arm back, and fling it at his head. He doesn’t move a single muscle. Doesn’t dodge my missile. Nor does he blink.

  And yet, the cardboard falls listlessly to the floor.

  I can skate.

  I can’t throw.

  “Pig. That butt plug better be in the trash. It’s not mine!”

  He leans against the doorjamb in nothing but sweatpants, and folds thick arms across the hundreds of tattoos that take up almost all of his skin. He watches me with a playful grin. “I don’t remember where I put it. Maybe the trash. Definitely not the bedside drawer just in case you changed your mind.”

  Good lord, he didn’t throw it away.

  “What do you want, Blondie? Or were you asking me in here to check out your granny bra?”

  “No.” Pouting, I fold my arms across my chest and inadvertently push my breasts up. “I was going to ask what you’re doing today.”

  “Today?” He drags his bottom lip between his teeth. “I dunno. I have to check in with the boss in a bit. But I don’t have to be anywhere until tonight.”

  His boss. His stupid criminal fucking boss. “You should stop going there, Kane. Let me save you this time.”

  “Nah.” Bouncing off the doorjamb, he lifts his chin. “What are you doing today?”

  “It’s Saturday, so no work… officially. If I was home alone, I’d be staring at your files.”

  “But…?”

  “Do you wanna get breakfast?” I could stare at him, instead. “We could go for a drive. Grab something to eat.” I could remove you from the life you know, and maybe show you normalcy. “I haven’t eaten a proper meal all week.”

  “I can tell.” He lifts a brow. “Do your ribs always stick out like that, or are you going for a Paris Fashion Show look?”

  I roll my eyes and lean over the sink to work my hair into a bun. “Shut up about my body. My ribs always do this, and you promised you wouldn’t look, anyway.”

  “I promised yesterday,” he answers easily. “That was in the past. Now it’s the weekend and you’re wearing my underwear. New day. New rules.”

  Instead of answering his man logic, I narrow my eyes and work the hair tie from my wrist.

  “Ya know, if you ate a donut a day, your ribs probably wouldn’t poke out like that.”

  “Really? Well, if you ate a shoe once a day, you wouldn’t say stupid shit and annoy me.”

  Chuckling, he steps into the small bathroom behind me and takes up the last of the already minimal space. His body heat reaches me long before his hands. He takes my hips in his palms with a kind of intimacy I didn’t realize we shared – minus the whole sleeping in the same bed thing. With a pleasure filled rumble, he slides his calloused hands along my hips and up to my ribs, careful to move around the stitches beneath the bandage. “If you ate more, maybe the next guy with a knife won’t be able to hurt you so easily. You make me worry, and I won’t always be around to do your dirty business.”

  “Come to breakfast.” Dropping my hands away from my hair, I step back and rest against his chest. We’re practically strangers, on opposing teams as far as the law goes, but he’s saved my life twice this week, he held me while I cried; he’s been nothing but kind – even when he’s being a jerk – and his broad chest is just so comfortable.

  A week ago, I was skating along a six month dry spell – my vagina was growing mold and cobwebs – and I definitely had no man chest to lean against. But if he insists on holding me up, if he continues to hold my hips and pull me back, then who am I to fight it?

  Scary ink, scary job, scary man; none of it matters, because inside, he’s actually kind of a pussycat with poor decision-making skills. “Let’s eat. I’m starving. And I literally don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat.”

  “Maybe I eat with my mouth open?” Pulling me closer until his dick presses against my ass, he purposely juts his pelvis forward until my eyes drop closed. “Maybe I chew weird. Then you’ll realize you hate me.”

  “Maybe I already hate you.” Forcing my eyes open, I squeeze a ball of toothpaste onto my finger and slide it along my teeth. I don’t have a toothbrush and I might be in the thick of a mid-life crisis, but I can’t bear to have furry teeth.

  Watching me in the mirror, he slides his large hands over my skin like a blind man trying to see. His eyes drop as he studies my belly. My hip bone. My ribs. And the tiny tattoo I had drawn on with my sister years ago.

  Bringing his right hand up to my shoulder, he strokes the tiny silvered mark on my neck. “I’m sorry you got hurt again, Jess.” He studies my neck with a frown. “It really bothers me that you got hurt on my watch.”

  “You were kinda unconscious…”

  “I think we have proof now, your life and mine don’t cross over safely. It’s too dangerous.” His left hand squeezes my shoulder as though to keep me in place. “You need to go back to your side of town. You need to forget you ever met me.”

  “Can’t forget.” I lean forward and spit toothpaste int
o the sink. “Trying to have you incarcerated. No time to forget.”

  Chuckling, he slides his hand over the top of my chest until goosebumps race all the way to my toes. It’s like a hug. Almost a real hug from the giant bear who absolutely doesn’t seem like a hugger. “This is a fun cat and mouse game, Blondie, I’ll give you that. And if I must be locked up, I’ll go away with a smile if it was you who turned the key. I’m a sucker for a pretty girl.”

  “I still know people, Kane. Mechanics. Cops. A bar that needs tending. You name it, I could help you make it happen.”

  “Let’s start with breakfast, then we’ll go from there.”

  I turn, and since he refuses to step back, we end up chest to chest, so I smile and patronizingly tap his nose. “Suits me. Pass me my dress, will you? I’m ready to go as soon as I pull my shoes on.”

  He releases my hips and steps out of the bathroom for half a beat, only to return and toss the baby pink material at my face.

  I have to pull the fabric the right way out, since he undressed me like a parent undresses their toddler, and bringing it over my head, I’m careful not to mess my messy bun.

  “How much did you pay for these?” I glance over to find Kane standing at the door with my strappy wedges hanging from his fingers.

  I shrug. “Dunno. I don’t remember.”

  “You little liar!” He moves into the bathroom and pulls me against his chest until the breath explodes from my lungs. “You just lied to me, Blondie. I know when you’re lying.”

  I shoot my chin up in defiance. He’s not wrong. But I’m a proud woman. “How do you know?”

  “Because you’re shitty at it. And your nostrils twitch.”

  “They do not!” I snap my hand up to cover my nose. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know people, Blondie, and I know liars. I know how to figure out who’s lying to me, since it’s kinda important in my work. So, I know you’re a shitty liar, and I know you’re lying about your shoes. You know how much you paid for them. And since you don’t want to tell me, that means you paid too damn much.”

  “They were on sale!”

  He brings a hand up to cup my cheek and sighs. “I’m disappointed in you. ‘They were on sale’ is the same verbiage every woman that’s ever been victimized by their credit card and a shoe store has said. I figured you’d be more original. You’re almost a lawyer. You need to work on your bullshit before you become an unemployed lawyer.”

  “Shut the hell up.” I shove him back and snatch my shoes away with a huff of indignation. The spoiled princess act isn’t really me, but it’s fun to play with him, and in my family, we so rarely get the chance to be a princess.

  I move into the bedroom and sit on the end of his bed. Pulling on my shoes and flashing the world my new underwear, I shrug and work the buckles. It’s virtually impossible to do shoes up without opening your legs.

  Doing what he does best, Kane stands against the wall and watches everything I do with a filthy grin. “It seriously confuses me to be turned on by my own underwear.”

  “You’re a freak.”

  “Nah. I’m a healthy, red-blooded man edging toward thirty. That’s the prime of my life, Blondie. The peak. The highest testosterone point of my existence.”

  “You’re a sexual deviant who constantly talks about his dick.” I switch feet and pretend I’m not blushing. “I swear, in the time I’ve known you, you’ve talked about your dick so many times that–” He steps forward to argue, but I push on. “Or touched yourself so many times, you make me want to join a nunnery.”

  “A nunnery.” He shoots his head back and gives himself a double chin of disgust. “Why the hell would you do that?”

  “I don’t know!” I stand and jab a finger toward him. “You’re always talking about sex, and suddenly, I feel like an intruder. You love yourself so much, I feel like a third wheel on your personal time.”

  Laughing, he hooks me around the waist and drags me forward until I slam against his chest. My eyes drop closed as soon as his teeth come to my earlobe, and goosebumps race along my skin when his hand slides along my hip and slowly drags the floaty material of my dress up. “I don’t want alone time, Jess. All of my sexually devious thoughts include you.” My dress tickles my sensitive flesh as it moves up my thigh. “Every single thought I’ve had about my cock this week has involved you being wrapped around it. Your pussy.” He drags my dress all the way up to my granny bra. “Your mouth.” With an arm around my torso, he holds my dress up and uses his other hand to slide along my ribs. “And don’t even get me started on your ass.” He pulls my ear between his lips, turning me into a panting mess. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve met in my life, and trust me, I meet beautiful women. But your eyes…” He slides his lips down to my throat. To my silvered scar. “Your eyes make me feel like I’m swimming in the ocean. Your eyes relax the fuck outta me.” Grabbing the loose corner of my bandage, he smacks a kiss to my neck, then shoves me away until the bandage tears away from my skin.

  I catch myself against the opposite wall and turn back with feral rage radiating through my ‘relaxing eyes’.

  He rolls the bandage up and tosses it into the trash, and with an arrogant wink, he steps forward and crowds me against the wall. “Time to take that off. Your stitches need air, too.”

  “You’re an asshole with a flair for the dramatic.”

  “Nah. I just wanted to talk about my dick some more. And your bandage needed to come off. I was saving time.”

  “You were signing the contract that gets me into the nunnery.”

  “No.” Laughing, moaning, mock crying, he presses a silly kiss to my neck. “Don’t join a convent. That would break my damned heart. Come on.” Patting my dress down, he taps my thigh. “Let’s go eat. When we get back, we’ll do the antibiotic cream. I wanna rub my cream into your skin, Blondie.”

  “You’re a damn pig.”

  Turning me toward the front door, he slaps my ass and sends me skipping forward. “Move it. You’re the one bitching about food. Now you’d rather stay here and talk about my dick. Make up your mind.”

  I stomp forward and dramatically kick the pots away from the door, but his laughter only echoes behind, following as I step into the hall.

  13

  Kane

  Sister-Wives

  “Where to, Blondie?” I push my keys into the ignition and grin at the beautiful girl with rosy red cheeks and angry eyes. She’s too fucking pure for me. Too expensive. Too valuable. But I don’t have to be at work for twelve whole hours, and she has nowhere else to be. I’m gonna enjoy the hell out of tormenting her and turning her ocean eyes to lava every few minutes. “Franky’s?”

  “No. We can’t go to Franky’s. I know people who work there.”

  I frown and reflexively push my foot down onto the brake. “So?”

  Lifting her brow, she looks me up and down. “What do you mean so? You’re a criminal. I should be walking you to the police station, not to breakfast. I saw a crime last night, but instead of doing my civic duty, instead of reporting it, I asked you out to breakfast. The least I can do is not wave that in front of my friends’ faces.”

  “You’re ashamed to be seen with me?” That hurts more than I expected it would. What she’s saying makes sense, and yet, ouch.

  “Ashamed? No. Putting my job at risk? Yup. Putting my freedom at risk? Yup. Putting your life at risk if my brother sees me with a guy? Yup, yup, yup. When he asks ‘does that boy have a job?’ am I allowed to answer that you’re a criminal, or should I let you take the lead on that chat?”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re being dumb.”

  “No, I’m not, unless you wanna work at the diner, in which case, I could make it happen. I can argue until I’m blue in the face, Kane. My brother’s turn to marshmallows when I work the right angle. You could watch me work my magic. I’ll talk them around.”

  I bet she could. “I’m not working at the diner, Blondie. That’s a hard l
imit for me.”

  Sighing, she shakes her head and picks at the hem of her dress. “I want you to live a long, happy life, Kane. A life of freedom. You can’t do that and be in bed with Abel.”

  “I just wanna be in bed with you. Why won’t you let me fuck you already?”

  Swinging her arm out with lightning fast reflexes, she slams her fist into my stomach until I choke on the pain. My ribs might be a little bit fractured from my fight last night. “Ouch!”

  “Don’t be a pig! I swear, you’re in a relationship with your dick.”

  I massage my aching side. “I whacked off the other night while you were asleep in my bed.”

  She scrunches her nose and clutches to her metaphorical pearls all over again. “You did not. Shut the hell up.”

  “I actually did. Stroked my cock thinking about you. You were only ten feet away, in my bed, with those cheeky panties and enough ass poking out for me to bite.”

  Her cheeks flame, but she refuses to let go of her indignation. “You’re trying to embarrass me.”

  “No. I’m trying to get you to climb into my lap.” I tap my thigh. “Come on over, beautiful. My legs are broad, and I have enough room for all of you.” I look down at my crotch. At my perpetually hard dick. “Slot A. Tab B. We’re all set up over here. Scoot on over and let me feel you.”

  “No.” With pursed lips, she squirms in her seat and strangles the fabric at the hem of her dress.

  Women don’t present as obviously as me; they don’t have a literal appendage poking out of their shorts to announce their willingness. But the way her thighs move together, the way she squirms, the way her nipples press against her baby pink dress…

  She makes my mouth water.

  She was hurt last night.

  She was violated. I won’t actually take her today, or possibly ever, but making her squirm for me is totally fair play.