Rebel Obsession (All the King's Men)

by Donya Lynne

  CHAPTER TWO

  Bishop strolled across the darkened den of his Arizona ranch house, his long smoking jacket hugging him like expensive wrapping paper tied with a gold bow at the waist. A plume of smoke blew from his nostrils and swirled around his head as he inspected the cigarette tucked between his index and middle fingers. His other hand was stuffed inside his pocket where his fingers smoothed over his gold, engraved lighter, rotating it slowly.

  When the gold tip of the cigarette touched his lips again, and he inhaled the glorious smoke, all felt right in the world. For that brief moment, he didn’t have a completely inept brother who had fucked things up so badly in Chicago that he had been forced to rethink his entire operation. His other brother still lived, and the only use he had for his pet scorpions was to admire them.

  The Sobranie Black Russian. The most exquisite cigarette ever made. One of life’s simple pleasures. One that took away all the shit for that single, indulgent moment when the smoke filled his lungs.

  He had discovered Sobranies while visiting Russia six years ago, and now had an arrangement with the manufacturer so he could order them directly. The idea of gambling with the online riffraff filled Bishop with disdain. He didn’t trust the filthy, unscrupulous humans to sell the real deal, and he hadn’t the time to hunt down anyone who tried to swindle him.

  And, rest assured, he would hunt down any fucker who dared to interfere with any endeavor he undertook, even one as seemingly insignificant as purchasing his brown cigarettes with the gold, foil-wrapped filter. After all, he wasn’t feared by those who worked for him because of his congenial nature.

  Bishop kissed the tip of the cigarette again, drawing in long and deep to hold the flavor against his tongue and feel the exquisite expansion as his lungs filled with smoke. After a moment’s hesitation, he breathed out the succulent richness and walked toward a line of aquariums along the far wall.

  Time to return to reality and the pile of shit his brother had created.

  Inside each dark, black-lit glass tank, a glowing arthropod skittered almost eagerly toward him as he approached. Scorpion exoskeletons contained a chemical that glowed under black lights, and the effect on those he tortured with his pets was always quite striking.

  Only one thing mattered more to Bishop than his Sobranies: his scorpions.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have sent Deacon to Chicago.” He sighed with irritation, snuffing the glowing end of his cigarette into a crystal ashtray sitting on a round, wooden table.

  A form shifted in a darkened corner of the room as if he had awakened it. Or maybe even scared it. The disgusting human form was cast in shadows, and Bishop squinted in that direction. Contempt oozed from every pore, his brother’s failure a personal affront that Bishop had made him pay for since he’d shown up here two months ago.

  Sucking his teeth, tsk’ing with a shake of his head, he reached into one of the aquariums. A small, black scorpion, which appeared blue under the black lights, flared its pincers, curling its stinger-tipped tail as if preparing to strike.

  “Do you think your brother’s life meant nothing to me? You’re useless. Why do I keep you alive?” He refused to look back at the shifting form in the corner, even when a groan broke from his brother’s throat. Weakling. Deacon wouldn’t have groaned like a sniveling human. Deacon was stronger than that. “I sent him to help you because you asked it of me, and look how you thanked me. You let him die. How are we to correct this travesty, brother?”

  Bishop wiggled his fingers at the scorpion, encouraging the arachnid until it scampered onto his palm so he could lift it out of the aquarium. Slowly rotating his hand as the creature crawled around to the back, he walked to the corner and knelt down, not taking his eyes off the tiny but deadly scorpion.

  “Do you know that in some countries, they use scorpion venom as an anti-inflammatory? In others, they make the venom into wine and drink it as an analgesic.” His voice crooned softly as he admired his poisonous pet.

  His brother disgusted him. It mattered not that he was Bishop’s own blood. Deacon had been the real treasure of the siblings—the one who had held the most promise to oversee Bishop’s growing operation. But now Deacon was gone. Dead at the hands of the vampire enforcers who dwelled in the cesspool known as Chicago. And that left this poor excuse for a dreck, shivering naked in his human form, to be Bishop’s second in command.

  “You will require a new human form, my brother, as the fool vampires believe they killed you when they killed Deacon in your place.”

  “Why?” The broken voice that came back at him sounded weak and shaky.

  His brother was struggling to accept the amount of venom the scorpions had injected into him in the two months since Deacon’s death. But in time he would see how beneficial the venom was from these special, altered scorpions. Altered by Deacon. The scorpions had been Deacon’s idea. Who would develop such pleasant, torturous methods and experiments now? Torturous yet progressive. Methods of strengthening their race while diminishing the strength of the vampires. Oh yes, his sniveling brother would thank him someday for his gift. With time, his body would assimilate the poison, and then he would become stronger and deadlier than he could imagine. Unfortunately, the scorpion venom wouldn’t make him smarter. Oh well, two out of three ain’t bad.

  Bishop lifted the scorpion to his lips and kissed it. “Isn’t it a beautiful creature?” He seemed not to realize his brother had asked him a question.

  “Why do I…n…need…a new…human f…form?” His brother shook so violently, he could hardly speak.

  “Kiss my darling pet, dear brother.” Bishop extended his hand toward the quaking humanoid even as it shuddered and shoved back against the wall. The chain restraining his ankle jangled and slid across the floor, going taut, pulled to its limit.

  Bishop tenderly lowered his hand until the scorpion scurried off and onto his brother’s stomach. The blood-curdling scream that followed the scorpion’s sting was sweet music. Bishop closed his eyes and grinned as if listening to his favorite opera. He stood and swayed, dancing, his head tilted back, his blue lips curling in pleasure as his brother continued to sing for him, the scorpion performing like a maestro, stinging repeatedly, just as it was trained to do.

  Scorpio venom and dreck venom were similar concoctions. And even if they weren’t, a scorpion’s sting couldn’t kill drecks. That whole immortality thing made sure of that. But these were special scorpions, their DNA spliced with that of vampires. Their sting was more painful because their venom was more potent. As a result, a dreck subjected to repeated doses from these creatures developed more potent venom—strong enough to kill even a vampire, according to the experiments Bishop had conducted—and became physically stronger, as well as highly resistant to pain. But the treatment was uncomfortable, even excruciating at times, to the point that some of his subjects died. Still, Bishop enjoyed using it as a torture method for those needing a reminder of who held the power around here.

  The fact that Apostle had survived this long was surprising, and it was the only reason Bishop considered him strong enough to be trained in Deacon’s place. Lesser drecks would have died weeks ago from what Apostle had endured for almost two months.

  Even so, how dare Apostle let Deacon die! He had earned this castigation. Still, it was time to put the past behind them and plan their retribution against those who had taken Bishop’s favorite sibling from him. Deacon’s death was hard to accept, but it was time to move on. There was work to do and vampires to kill, and he needed Apostle for the tasks ahead.

  After enjoying Apostle’s cries of pain a moment longer, Bishop opened his eyes and knelt back down to retrieve his pet and return it to its aquarium with a fond stroke over its curled tail.

  Harsh, ragged breaths burst in a panicked, terrified rhythm from the corner.

  “Why do I require you to take a new human form?” Bishop finally addressed Apostle’s question. “If you are to return to Chicago, you will need a new face, my brother.”


  A tortured groan shuddered from Apostle’s throat. “Not…going…back. No reason…to.”

  Oh, he wasn’t going back, was he? When had this cretin begun thinking he made the decisions around here? This insubordination stopped right now. If Apostle wanted to live, he needed to know who was in charge.

  Bishop snarled and leaped forward, landing in a crouch over his brother’s naked body. His eyes glowed red briefly as he growled, his hair hanging down like long, black fringe. “You will do as I command, Apostle. Or I will put an end to you. Is that understood?”

  Apostle shot back toward the wall, pulling against the short length of chain restricting his movements. His body was covered with swollen, red bumps where the scorpions had stung him.

  Bishop tracked Apostle’s movement, glaring at him through the long hair that hung over his eyes. He snarled again. Apostle’s obstinacy would not be tolerated, and he would learn never to tell Bishop no. If Apostle thought to bring his idea of pithy leadership to Bishop’s dominion, he was delusional.

  Pushing up from the floor, Bishop’s boots struck down with two heavy thumps and planted on either side of Apostle’s torso. He bent forward with a backhand that nearly shot Apostle’s head off his shoulders. “Do you understand me, brother?” His eyes glowed red again, his upper lip curled back. “This is my house. You came to me, remember? What I say goes.” He leered ever closer, practically kneeling over Apostle, who cringed back and tried to look away. “If you don’t like my laws, I’ll throw you back to those jackals in Chicago myself so they can finish what they were too inept to do the first time.”

  Apostle trembled uncontrollably. From fear or the venom? Maybe both. Probably both.

  Bishop stood back up, stepped away from Apostle, and sat down in a nearby chair. He plucked another Sobranie from the case on a small, round, cherry wood table and lit it, inhaling its glorious taste as he glared at Apostle, cowering in the corner. What a pansy. He’d seen jellyfish with more spine.

  “Do we have an understanding then?” He spoke as if there was only one acceptable answer, and he would continue to ask the question until he got the one he wanted.

  It didn’t take long. Apostle nodded shakily, fearfully. “Y…Yes.”

  Finally! Why did Apostle always have to be so argumentative? Couldn’t he be more agreeable? He would have to groom this disagreeable nature out of Apostle. Make it perfectly clear that he expected only compliance.

  Bishop took a victorious, satisfying draw on the cigarette then pulled a key on a round ring from his pocket and tossed it so that it landed on the floor and slid toward Apostle.

  “Good. Now release yourself and get cleaned up.” Bishop rose dismissively, slipping the cigarette between his lips.

  A plume of grey smoke followed him and dispersed into the air as he left the room.

  He didn’t want to be near his disgusting brother for one more second.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Io sat in the passenger seat of the Suburban next to Severin, and wasn’t that about as comfortable as being rubbed with barbed wire? Sev had effectively stolen Io’s best friend, Arion, away from him when the two ended up coming out about their homosexuality on St. Patrick’s Day, which was also when Io learned they had mated each other.

  Io still hadn’t wrapped his mind around how his best friend could have turned out gay after all the chicks they had bagged together, but there was no mistake. Ari and Sev were mated to one another, and the bond that connected them was one of the strongest Io had ever seen between mates.

  Just the thought of what the pair had spent the past two weeks doing to each other through their calling phases was enough to make Io squeamish. He just couldn’t picture Ari fucking a guy, for Christ’s sake, and if he tried to, his stomach lurched. To say Io was homophobic was an understatement. But now he was all confused, because he had never imagined his closest compadre would turn out to be batting for the other team.

  Sev turned down the heat in the cab and pulled into a parking garage where drecks liked to deal cobalt.

  “How you feeling, man?” Io quickly dashed an awkward glance toward Sev before looking away uncomfortably. He knew that Sev knew how he felt about gays. Or at least how he used to feel about them. Now Io wasn’t sure how he felt.

  “Good.” Sev inclined his head warily, almost as if he suspected his question had come with ulterior motives.

  “Your chest okay?” Io fiddled with the zipper on his military cargo pants.

  Sev’s chest had been blown open by that assassin, Gina or whatever her name was, the night Ari and Sev had come out. Sev had been lucky to survive, flatlining once during surgery before pulling through.

  “Yeah, it’s fine.” Sev threw Io an inquisitive look.

  Io bobbed his head in acknowledgment. “Good. Good. Glad to hear it.” He averted his gaze and looked out the window, feeling like ants were crawling up and down the back of his neck. Being around Sev was fucking awkward.

  “I’m glad you’re glad.” Sev spoke in a measured cadence, as if he sensed the tension in the cab of the Suburban and was beginning to get pissed off about it, or maybe he was just irritated.

  They circled up to the top level of the parking garage.

  Io cleared his throat. “So, uh…how’s Ari?”

  Despite his purveying homophobia, he missed his best friend. As in, really missed him. A lot. Like he didn’t know what to do with himself anymore, because he missed him that much. Io and Ari had been inseparable forever. Io’s gaze drifted to his right arm, which was covered with an impressive tattoo sleeve under the jacket he was wearing. Ari had gone with him that day and had tattooed his left arm. The two had been closer than brothers then. And now Ari was…gay?

  Sev shot him a quick glance then turned his gaze back to the road. “Maybe you should ask him yourself, Io.” Sev’s tone wasn’t angry or judgmental, but he did sound suspicious about why Io was asking about Ari. But then, mated males were pretty protective of their mates, and Io hadn’t exactly given Sev—or Ari, for that matter—any reason to think he wasn’t a threat. On the contrary. After bashing homosexuals for the better part of his adult life, Sev and Ari had reason to be wary of him.

  Io shook his head. “No. Um, no way. He’s got to be pissed at me.” It was a cop-out. Ari being pissed off to the point that he wouldn’t even speak to him was about as likely as Kim Kardashian’s ass deflating.

  “Actually, no. I think he’d like hearing from you.” Sev kept his eyes forward, his hands square at ten and two on the wheel. “I mean, he hasn’t got the warm and fuzzies going on for you right now, but I wouldn’t say he’s pissed. Hurt maybe, but not pissed.”

  Io got the impression Sev was just as uncomfortable with this convo as he was. Io fumbled with his gun, releasing the clip to check the bullets then slapping it back in place. Twice.

  The two rode back down to street level. Patrol was damn slow tonight. Too slow. It made Io fidgety, because all this inactivity made the polka-dotted elephant in the Suburban that much more apparent. At least if they came across a dreck skirmish or maybe a cobalt deal, he could push that damn pachyderm into the back of his mind for a while as he dealt with business.

  Not that Io normally patrolled. He was more of the team’s intel guy. Io was a hacker more than a patrol grunt, but he could multitask and do both, and now with Arion gone, it left a hole in the team that needed filling.

  When had Io gone this long without seeing Ari? Had it really been since before they had even met over a hundred years ago, because from day one, the two had been like Siamese twins, pretty much doing everything together.

  “I don’t know what to say to him anyway,” Io blurted.

  “Huh?” Sev glanced over, frowning. “Oh, you mean Ari.”

  “Yeah. I don’t know what to say to him.” He was repeating himself like Rain Man. I don’t know what to say, don’t know what say to him. Yeah.

  “Well, Io, it’s not rocket science,” Sev said. “What did you guys talk about before?”<
br />
  Good question. What hadn’t they talked about? But that had been when Arion was heterosexual, or rather, when Io hadn’t known Ari was gay. Shit! They had fucked women together, for Christ’s sake. It made Io mad that Ari had gone along with him and fucked females sometimes three at a time, but the whole time, Ari had been gay. So, a lot of their conversations had been centered on females, and now Io didn’t know how to deal with that. He didn’t understand.

  “He’s gay, Sev.”

  Sev shot the Suburban to the shoulder of the road, slammed the brakes, threw it into park, and spun in the driver’s seat to look at Io. “Excuse me?”

  “No offense.” Io held up his hands. “I’m just saying—”

  “You’re a dick.”

  Io ricocheted backward, body bristling. What the fuck? “That was uncalled for.”

  “Fuck you. Your idiotic attitude is uncalled for, too, but I don’t see that stopping you.”

  “Just wait a second—”

  Sev threw his hand up, stopping him. “No. You wait a second. You’re saying now that you know Ari’s gay, you don’t know how to talk to him. Just because he’s gay? Seriously?”

  Io was starting to see Sev’s point. “Um…yeah. I guess so.” He didn’t even sound convincing to himself.

  “You really are a bonehead.”

  Io frowned. “Fine. Okay? Just…” He huffed and looked away. If only he had kept his big mouth shut. Sev was on a roll.

  “You’re such a typical homophobe.” Sev chuffed. “Ari hasn’t changed, Io. He’s still Ari. He’s still your best friend. And he misses you like crazy, asshole. He misses you every day. So, what is it you’re really fucked in the head over? Huh? Are you worried his disease will rub off on you? Are you worried he’ll talk about how much he loves me? Are you worried he’ll disclose what goes on in our bedroom? Is that it?”

  Io squirmed and pushed away. This conversation had taken a turn for the worse. Couldn’t Sev just drop it?

  Oh, no. Not Sev. He forged onward like a bull in the streets of Pamplona. “Does it make you uncomfortable to think of your friend making love to another man? Fucking a dude? How about the thought of my dick in his mouth, or his in mine?” Sev’s voice took on a dramatic tone, as if he was mocking someone. Hmm, wonder who? “Oh yeah, Io, Ari and I have tasted every inch of each other.” Sev pushed toward him, barreling down like a steamroller on steroids. “His ass is so fine. Damn. I’ve never seen a finer cut of meat on a guy.” Obviously, Sev was making a point.