by Sam Crescent
She forced the flashing neon words in her mind away, the ones saying, You’re a fool if you think you can snare him for good. She went to check on the casserole, lifting the lid. The scents were amazing. Some of the smaller potatoes had disintegrated to thicken the intense tomato sauce while some larger ones had kept their shape. As she tasted the warm liquid, she closed her eyes. She could really cook. Would that be a plus for her?
The way to a man’s heart…
Fallan began to serve the meal on two plates, making sure Bishop got a good amount of chicken. The sound of the lift door opening then closing made her turn to look. Bishop walked to the kitchen area, his complexion pale. She knew he’d killed someone again, but instead of questioning him on his business, she smiled and held a plate towards him.
“Just in time for dinner,” she said.
He relaxed a little and took the plate from her. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
On her venture around the basement earlier she’d located a bottle of white wine and now brought it with her to the table. Glasses were on the counter, and, as Bishop tucked into his meal, she poured some wine and sat opposite him.
“What have you done this evening?” he asked.
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what exactly he’d done but she held it in. Being insensitive would get her nowhere. He hadn’t wanted to kill.
“Don’t laugh, but I cleaned up the mess in the bedroom and made dinner. Read a very strange and bizarre story about a woman who falls for the guy who forced himself on her. Then I served dinner and you came home. That’s it, the sum of my evening.”
Bishop laughed. “I know the book you mean.”
They ate in silence, but not an uncomfortable one. Fallan could easily get used to this. Him going to ‘work’ and coming home. Them acting like a couple.
Am I crazy wanting him even though I know he’s now a killer?
She might be, but it didn’t seem to matter. Once they were done eating, she cleared away the dishes and spent time washing them, the sides and the cooker. Only when everything was completed did she go into the sitting room area. Bishop came out of the office and sat in the chair, an alcoholic drink in hand.
“Cameras are off,” he said. “I thought that might be a good idea seeing as you’re naked. Relax.”
She watched him sip his drink for a moment, wondering whether she ought to strike up a conversation or let him lead.
“You know,” he said, solving the problem for her, “when I went to work for the government, I thought I’d be on protective detail or something like that. I’m one hell of a bodyguard and would give my life to save someone of importance.”
Fallan sat in one corner of the sofa and waited for him to continue. Her speaking might break the spell he appeared to be in. He stared at the floor, seeing things she couldn’t—images in his head that had no business being there, possibly of the men he’d killed. How did that affect a person? How did not having any choice make him feel? She longed to ask but didn’t dare. He might clam up and refuse to speak about it again. She needed to know more about him, for them to grow closer. Now that the dangerous men had been removed from the equation, it stood to reason she’d be taken home, never to see him again. She didn’t want that to happen—wanted to share some feelings with him before then so she made some kind of impact other than being a woman he’d fucked for fun.
He sighed. “It wasn’t long until Huntington pulled me away from the mundane jobs. Everything was going fine before that. Small details like escorting someone to a special hideout, to locating missing evidence, shit like that. I didn’t sign up for this. I signed up to take the bullet, not shoot one in someone’s head.”
“Is that what you did today?” she asked quietly.
He chuckled. “While you were making a delicious meal fit for any king, I was busy putting a bullet through a bad guy’s skull. Why? Huntington’s way of teaching me a lesson, I think. I swear to you I never wanted to kill anyone, and knowing I have makes me feel like the worst scum in the world.”
Fallan thought through what he’d said. She should be terrified, but seeing the look of shock and fear in his face she knew he was horrified by what he’d done.
“At least you killed bad guys,” she said, trying to soothe the hurt.
She suspected he’d push her away if she went to embrace him. Bishop needed to get this off his chest, not worry about some woman pawing at him.
“I know, but how do I know that underneath they weren’t just like me? Men who got where they were out of necessity rather than choosing? How do I know anything anymore?” He got up and went to stare at a large canvas of Brooklyn Bridge on the wall opposite his chair.
She went over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “When my mother died I didn’t know what I was going to do. I was suddenly alone in the world with no hope, you know? You might think I’m greedy for wanting to take that money and that I’m a whore for negotiating the money for our time together, but it isn’t like that. As people we get desperate. When a way out presents itself, sometimes we have to take it no matter how bad it is. I mean, look at me as an example. I have to have that ten grand to pay off debts. If fucking you helped me get it, then I knew that’s what I’d have to do, but now? It’s…different.”
“What do you mean?” He continued to stare ahead.
“It doesn’t matter. You don’t need to hear the shit going on in my head.”
“Maybe I want to.”
“And maybe you’re just saying that so you don’t have to focus on the shit in yours.”
“Indulge me.”
She took a deep breath. He meant something to her, and if she had to make a fool of herself to let him know, face rejection, then at least she’d tried. “It’s different because… Fuck, all right, I’ll be blunt, seeing as that’s how I’ve been with you from the start. I like you, okay? At first it was just a fuck, but something happened, something clicked, and now I want to see more of you—outside of this weird-arse situation. I might be mad for that, but I don’t care.”
“I see.” He blinked several times.
“Listen,” she said, “you’re good at what you do and I know deep down you understand this person you killed had to go.” She turned him to face her and cupped his cheek. “Please, don’t let this turn you into something you’re not.”
“How can you be so sure I’m not the bad guy?”
He stared into her eyes and for a second laid everything bare. She saw his pain, his dilemma, the way his mind was working to justify what he’d done. The way he’d failed to come up with an adequate answer that would remove the guilt.
“You could’ve killed me but you didn’t.” Fallan stopped herself from saying anything more. She wanted to tell him she loved him, but how could she, after only spending hours with him? What the fuck had happened here? She knew with all of her heart and soul she loved this strange and unusual man, time issue be damned.
Fallan couldn’t break their gaze. Bishop leant down and kissed her. Emotions instant and hot, she melted against him.
The world and her life didn’t matter when she was in his arms.
He pulled back from her lips. “I want you,” he whispered. “God fucking help me, and I don’t understand it, but this isn’t just a fuck for me, either. It’s… Christ, it’s like you said. Different.”
“Then have me.” She stroked the hair at the back of his neck and laid little kisses along his cheek and neck.
“My job isn’t one I can get out of now—probably couldn’t before today, either. You’d have to keep secrets, keep our real life hidden from everyone you know. If we got together…” He shook his head. “It isn’t possible. It isn’t fair to you.”
“I don’t care.” Fallan didn’t want to analyse his comments. It wasn’t for her to judge. What he did just didn’t seem to matter, and maybe one day she’d look back and see all this crazy for what it was, but at the moment… N
o, she’d go with her gut. She wanted this. Him.
Bishop wrapped his arms more tightly around her and slowly walked her back through the basement until she landed sitting on the bed. She watched him strip and reveal the expanse of wonderful male flesh. His body was gorgeous. She wanted to lick every inch of him. Naked, he grasped her hand and pulled her to stand, then kissed her while hugging her bare flesh to him. In no time they were doing nothing but making love with their lips, his cock digging into her stomach. She reached down to hold the hard, thick length of him. His essence leaked out of the tip and she used it as an aid to masturbate him. Bishop groaned and slowly pushed her until she lay back on the sheets.
Fallan opened her legs and smiled.
“I shouldn’t do this,” he muttered, hovering over her and grazing her lips with his.
“Why? I’m a willing woman and I want to be here. I want to be with you.”
He shook his head. “One last time. I can enjoy you one last time.”
He kissed her long and deep, as though conveying how much he cared for her, but she shoved that thought away. She’d fallen for him, not the other way around, and thinking he gave a shit was dangerous. She wanted to stop the kiss and ask ‘What do you mean, one last time?’ She didn’t want this to end, for this to be it. She wanted to be with him for the rest of her life.
Bishop circled her breasts, pulling one nipple to attention. She moaned as he kissed her and loved each of her mounds in turn, devoting extra attention to each the longer he caressed. She couldn’t bear it. The attention and the way he was behaving… She knew this was their last time together, knew she should enjoy it so she’d know she’d given him the best fuck he’d ever had, but emotions were getting in the way. Insistent questions ricocheted through her mind.
How can I let this be the last time? How will anyone match up to him? Why has he affected me like this when no one else ever has? What is it about him that has me willing to give up everything?
How can I let him walk away when he takes me back home, knowing I’ll never see him again?
Whomever he’d killed today had been the person who’d posed a threat to her. He’d done his job, she’d get paid, life would return to the boring normality it had been before she’d found herself at a hotel then been swept away by this man who suckled her nipples and sent her libido soaring.
Their situation was unfair. They hadn’t had enough time.
She loved Bishop, or was seriously on the way to it, and love was supposed to conquer all, not leave a horrible void in one’s chest.
She blanked out every thought and horrid feeling—she didn’t want to spend her last time hating him for leaving her. Instead, she opened her heart and loved him with all the passion and desire she could. No matter what happened next, she’d always have her memories of him. They would have to do.
She stroked his back as he moved down her body, kissing her stomach then down to her pussy. She’d always be ready to take him. Cream wet her slit. She allowed the sensation of him licking her cunt to override everything else. She gasped and arched up to meet every lick and thrust of his tongue. Reaching up to the headboard, she held on as an orgasm washed over her, causing her to scream out in absolute blinding pleasure.
Not done with her, he climbed up and kissed her, plunging his tongue inside her mouth. Her taste exploded on her tongue and she moaned. So erotic and naughty, but with Bishop she wanted more. Always more.
He placed one hand between them and grasped his cock, aligning his tip with her entrance. He glided into her soaked folds tantalisingly slowly.
“I want to last,” he moaned as he slid all the way inside her to the hilt. “But I don’t think I can. Fuck, you do something to me, woman.”
Full to the brim, Fallan wrapped her arms around his neck and he began a rhythm that would take her to the stars. He pulled her legs high on his waist and fucked her, never breaking contact with her lips. They kissed throughout. The man in her arms wasn’t a killer but a man desperate for love. Bishop would have her love for the rest of his life whether she was in it or not. Anything and everything he wanted she’d give, if only he’d let her.
He climaxed, crying her name, and another, soft-yet-sweet orgasm took hold of her. She shuddered with him, shifting one hand to the back of his head so she could kiss him deeper. He slowed to a stop and broke his mouth from hers, and they lay in each other’s arms. They didn’t have to speak—she was just content they were together.
Throughout the night he made love to her repeatedly, his thrusts slow, and drew out every last ounce of pleasure she had left. Fallan stayed in his arms, never wanting to let go.
She knew come morning it would all end, the wonderful future she’d envisaged nothing but a pipe dream.
And Bishop would become nothing more than a memory.
Chapter Thirteen
Once again, Bishop woke to the sound of the telephone rudely intruding on his time with Fallan. She stirred but didn’t wake. More reluctant than ever to leave their warm nest in bed, he got out with the urge to rail against the world and everyone in it. Life had suddenly got very unfair. Quickly going to the office and closing the door, he picked up the receiver.
“What,” he said, irritated that Huntington wanted him so early in the goddamn morning.
“Good morning, Bishop. A little testy today?”
“What do you want?”
“It’s time to ship her home.”
“What, now?” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s only six, for fuck’s sake.”
“Best time to do it. Hardly anyone about when you drop her off. Less chance of you being seen.”
“Can’t it wait until tonight? Usually after a job I have downtime. This is it.”
“But you can’t have downtime when the job isn’t complete. To complete it you need to take Miss Jones home.”
Fuck. “I need time to prepare her. Need to let her know she has to keep her mouth shut. Make her understand.”
“I rather think she understands already, Bishop, don’t you?”
Bishop sighed. Of course she did. Him killing had seen to that. “I want to wait until tonight. I don’t ask for much, never go against your wishes, but I will now. I’d prefer to do so with your consent, though. A few more hours, that’s all I want.”
“My, my, the little woman really has affected you, hasn’t she?”
“If you say so. I’m more concerned that she returns to her life with her mental health intact. She’s been through a lot. We can’t just dump her after what’s happened and expect her to carry on as normal. She isn’t like the other women on this scam. They weren’t aware of things Fallan now knows. They have no idea about the government involvement. At present, I’d say Fallan poses a risk.”
“In what way?”
“She’s vulnerable. What if she needs someone to talk to?”
“Like the other women?”
“What do you mean?”
“They returned home last night to find their money in their homes—courtesy of us, of course—then went on to telephone, despite Frankie Lash’s warnings not to, every friend they have with news of their windfall and how they got it.”
“Shit.”
“Indeed.”
“What’s the next step regarding them?”
“The next step has already been taken by the agent you saw outside Lash’s flat. While you slept, he was rather busy.”
Bishop’s stomach rolled. “What have you done?”
“They’re all dead, Bishop.”
“What?” His head lightened and his knees buckled. Bile surged into his throat, and he swallowed, wincing at the burn. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“When am I ever not? They were a threat. They knew the information in those bags was important enough that they had to remain silent, yet they chose not to heed Lash’s warning. Excitement at receiving the money had obviously addled their minds.”
Bishop latched on to that. “All the more reason for me to make sure F
a—Miss Jones doesn’t fall into the same trap. I don’t want her killed, Huntington.”
“I’m sure you don’t. But your dick is currently doing the talking here, Bishop. Do not lose sight of the job and what you’re employed to do.”
“So I get to keep her until tonight?”
“Yes, but that’s it. Tell her the score—make sure she understands fully. Tell her about the other women if you have to, but she needs to be returned home before someone misses her.”
“As opposed to someone missing her after you’ve had her killed? What’s the fucking difference?”
Huntington sighed. “The difference is quite simple. Her not being at home or work when she should be, and no one knowing where she is, brings the police into the equation—questions will need to be answered, trails followed… You get the idea. Worried people tend to call the police when someone doesn’t show up for an extended period. Her being at home, dead, found by someone who called on her to see why she wasn’t at work, or called the police after her phone went unanswered, solves any problems. She’s in sight, albeit murdered—or maybe we’ll make it look like a suicide, who knows?—and it’s the better option. Questions answered, T’s crossed, I’s dotted.”
“Christ, you’re so…so fucking blasé about this shit.”
“I have to be. It’s my job. Just like it should be yours. You should never have got involved with her.”
I know, but I couldn’t fucking help myself…
“Tonight, Bishop. After eleven p.m. No later, understand?”
“Yes.”
“And make sure she’s aware of the consequences. No soft-soaping. If you care for her as much as I suspect, you’ll need to be cruel to be kind. Scare her and scare her well.”
“I will.”
“Right, well, make sure you do, otherwise, if she calls someone and explains what she’s been doing, her blood is on your hands.”
Bishop slammed the phone into the cradle. It was just like Huntington to shift the damn blame. Maybe that was how the man coped with what he had to do, but Bishop wanted none of this bollocks anymore. If he had the balls he’d leave, take all his fake passports and disappear, but what was the point? The government had issued those passports, would be looking for him within a second of him not reporting in when he should. Would even be watching him as he prepared to scarper. He was stuck. A rock and a fucking hard place had never been so true.