Salvation

by Stephanie Tyler

  Something—someone—big was coming down the pipe. And he was in the middle of the storm—with Luna. Without Mathias.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The next day, it was business as usual, although they were told to remain indoors until late afternoon. Luna had been reluctant to go outside once they’d been given the go-ahead, but Bishop assured her things would seem normal. She’d been better once he’d gotten her into the shop.

  She worked until close to midnight—he collected her and brought her back into his place.

  “You’ve wanted to tell me something since this morning,” she said once he locked the door behind him.

  That was the truth. When the guards had come this morning, they’d pulled him into the hall to talk to him about his orders. Bishop confirmed things with Declan while Luna had been working at the shop.

  “We’re going on a job tonight—me and Declan,” he said.

  “Do you have to?”

  “They won’t do another drill tonight. But I wanted you down here and safe. The guards know that. So do Keller and Kammy, okay?”

  She was more concerned about him than herself, though. “How bad is it going to be for you?”

  “I’ll be fine. Especially knowing you’re safe.”

  It had been tough lying to her, but hell, the truth would’ve been worse. And so he kissed her and made her lock the door behind him, and he went to meet Declan.

  Tonight, it was only the two of them, on a mission that the rest of Keller’s guards would never be privy to. Keller had been charged by the military with taking out a compound of skinheads in the area. And Keller said he wanted his best men on it.

  Bishop knew that this was part of the extermination thing that Jessa talked about the president ordering. Defiance was supposed to be off the list, especially since Jessa threatened to go public with it. But really, they’d never promised to stop doing the exterminations—and the threat of internment camps—they just promised they wouldn’t do it to Defiance. Caspar didn’t trust that at all, but for years, he’d been planning a brand new, secret Defiance compound where they’d relocate both the MC and their families and the tubing business.

  It was the first extermination Bishop had been a part of—and he knew this meant he was being pulled more deeply into Keller’s confidence.

  He waited by the Humvee, until Declan came inside. He looked like hell—tense and angry and yeah, this wasn’t the best way to start this. But hell, Bishop needed to know what the fuck he was getting himself into. “I packed enough equipment to take down a small army. Do I need it all?”

  Declan’s expression darkened a little. “We’ve been charged by the military to take out a group of white supremacists.”

  Bishop blew out a breath. “What did this group do?”

  “They’re Keller clients. Good ones. Always pay,” Declan admitted. “But between all the members, they’re responsible for seventeen murders, twenty rapes and various other crimes. And that’s just over the past six months.”

  Bishop tried to think about what Defiance would do if faced with a group like that. If they bothered Defiance members, or the town, Defiance would have to take care of them. But that seemed like an entirely different proposition than a government-ordered execution.

  Or was it? Hell, Bishop had killed men for less.

  When he didn’t say anything, Declan added, “The world’s different, Bishop. I’m not apologizing for what I do. But I’m not killing nuns and orphans.”

  Bishop glanced at him. “Which one of us are you trying to convince?”

  “Ah, fuck you.”

  Bishop tapped the wheel. “You up for this?”

  Declan gave him a sideways glance. “The military gives orders and we take them.”

  “That’s why I left the motherfucking military.”

  “No one ever leaves anything behind these days, Bishop,” Declan said. “Let’s roll.”

  Bishop didn’t say another word, instead drove off Keller’s compound, put the music on and for the majority of the ride there was silence.

  The house the skinheads populated was half an hour from Keller’s. They were an insular group, sticking to themselves and paying Keller in a timely fashion for food and gas. This particular group felt like the Chaos was a racial cleansing warning, which made no fucking sense, but hating someone for the color of their skin never made sense to Bishop either.

  “We’ve got to get them all—can’t give them a chance to retaliate,” Declan emphasized.

  “Dude, you think I don’t know that?” Bishop asked, craning his neck to look at the house. There were candles lit inside, illuminating some of the windows. You couldn’t judge how many people were inside based on the number of cars parked around anymore, because these days, groups of forty to fifty would sometimes only have two cars between them. Gas was expensive and no one was joyriding anymore. “What about a sister group?”

  “The closest one is four hours away.”

  “And?”

  Declan shook his head. “We haven’t been asked to take care of them. If we are, we’ll do it.”

  “Are there kids inside?”

  “I don’t know,” Declan said. “Would it matter? What the fuck would we do with them?”

  “Give them to people who want kids?” Bishop asked.

  “Bishop, come the fuck on—what do you want to do? Walk up there, ask for the kids and then kill the rest?”

  Bishop considered it, actually. Then again, most of these people were too selfish to have kids at this stage, knowing that another mouth to feed wasn’t the best way to survive.

  Finally, Declan sighed, said, “Give me a minute.”

  Bishop got out of the car, clicked the door quietly and stood in the middle of the woods, trying to get rid of the hinky feeling all together, or at least figure out where the fuck it was coming from.

  He’d learned how to quiet his mind from Mathias’s dad, and now he tried to channel all his energy, nervous and otherwise. For several long minutes, it was just him and his breathing and then, it was like he meditated off the planet or something. He always felt like he’d been on some kind of drug trip after them, although he never touched the stuff. It was flashes of psychedelic colors and splotches of black and white—he saw a little green in there—camouflage—and he wondered if that meant the military was around.

  After several minutes, he opened his eyes to the darkness again. When Declan approached, Bishop signed, military? out of habit.

  “The military isn’t coming anywhere near this one.” Declan’s voice barely registered. “By the way, there’s a fifteen-year-old boy in the house, accused of raping several women in the area. That’s the youngest one. He’s already fully indoctrinated.”

  Declan had the means to get this kind of information. Hell, Bishop guessed he should be grateful that the government was tracking this kind of thing so thoroughly.

  He went to the back of the car—he’d already made sure the light wouldn’t come on when he opened the back. In the dark, he felt for the supplies he needed.

  With some oil and a rag in a glass bottle, Bishop could create a lantern that burned for hours and, if thrown, became a force of raging destruction. That kind of shit had always fascinated him.

  The plan was to bomb the shit out of the place and shoot anyone able to run out. But Bishop needed to be in place and ready to snipe.

  Which is why Declan would be the firestarter on this one. He had a bottle in each hand, a couple under his arms. “I’ll do the bottom first to trap them, then the top.”

  “Good. Then stay the fuck out of my way until it’s all clear.”

  He helped Declan carry more bottles than should be necessary, but he believed on planning for the worst and hoping that shit turned out fucking fun.

  Killing kill
ers wasn’t something that should put a black spot on your soul anyway.

  Now, he climbed on the roof of the Humvee. Covered by darkness and his camouflage netting that was more security blanket than necessary, he locked and loaded on the front door and gave the signal, a small flash of light in Dec’s direction.

  As if perfectly choreographed, the bottles flew through the air, exploding through the windows. The flames shot up immediately, thanks to the accelerant inside the bottles. Which made it extra risky for Declan. But he got off six in record time, and now, Bishop just needed to wait.

  The first guy who came out of the house was on fire. Bishop took him out even though burning was probably good for the bastard. The second was a woman who came out hitting her own arms to stop the flames. She went down too. More humanely than most would’ve done.

  Three more guys attempted to come out—one threw himself out the second story window and hit the ground hard. Bishop left him for the moment and concentrated on the guy running up the hill toward him. His scope showed a younger face—the fifteen-year-old. Guy wasn’t on fire at all.

  Bishop waited, taking out another guy at far range.

  When the fifteen-year-old approached him and pulled out a hand gun, Bishop pulled out his own and shot the kid in the face and then the chest in rapid succession. “Motherfucker,” he whispered. “Go to fucking hell where you belong.”

  It was all quiet after that. No police were going to give a shit that skinheads got murdered. Their neighbors would party come morning.

  As Bishop watched, Declan carefully dragged the bodies closer to the flames so they’d be incinerated. Bishop lit a fire of his own right on the hill and burned the kid where he lay. Wasn’t touching that evil motherfucker’s body, dead or alive.

  * * *

  On the drive home, the hinky feeling was there again. After the LoV were forced off the compound, Bishop figured that’s what he’d been worried about. But obviously not, since the feeling was stronger than ever. He couldn’t shrug it off this time, and so he slowed down and looked for other signs.

  “Bishop, we took down the bad guys tonight—can you take a second to be happy about that?” Declan asked him.

  Now, Bishop rolled down the window and sniffed the air. “Rain’s coming.”

  “Rain, or storm?”

  “Isn’t it all the same these days?” Bishop asked.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Half an hour after Bishop left, there was a knock on the door. Luna assumed it was the guards, was surprised to look through the peephole and see Keller himself standing there.

  She reluctantly opened the door and realized he was standing next to a cart with dinner plates.

  “You worked late. I figured you didn’t take time to eat,” he said, and she moved aside to let him pass, fighting the urge to ask for Rocio. Keller had a motive for coming here tonight, and she’d prove to Bishop she could play it cool and deal with it.

  “Thanks. It smells great,” she said.

  “The car’s coming along nicely.” He sat down at the table. “Please, sit and eat. I’ve already had supper, but I’d like to keep you company.”

  She nodded and did as he requested. After a few minutes, she was unable to hold it in, asked, point-blank, “What does Bishop really do for you?”

  “Haven’t you asked him?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he won’t tell you.”

  “Right,” she lied. Because she wanted to hear Keller talk about it, explain it.

  “Maybe there’s a reason he won’t tell you.”

  “Then you should.”

  He pressed his lips together for a second, and then he said, “He fights.”

  “I know that.”

  “What do you think he does?”

  “I think he kills.”

  “Do you think he’d do that if he didn’t work for me?”

  The answer was probably. But that wasn’t the point. If he wasn’t here, he’d be with Mathias, his other half, and she told him so, adding, “He misses Mathias.”

  “But he’s got you. And Mathias has his woman. So you need to be the one Bishop leans on.”

  She digested that for a few moments. When she didn’t say anything, Keller added, “I don’t give people what they can’t handle.”

  “You’re different here.”

  He raised a brow. “You seem surprised.”

  “I almost like you.”

  He snorted. “Almost?”

  “I guess I can see why you are the way you are when you’re in the outside world.” She ran a hand over her braid, which was over her shoulder. “But if you’re saying this is really who you are, why would you do this to Bishop?”

  “Because it’s what he needs.”

  “He needs to kill?”

  “He needs to do something important. His job? It’s important,” Keller told her. “Kammy wasn’t lying when she said that you and Bishop would do really well here. I don’t see any reason the two of you need to leave here. Any reason you should.”

  “You want us cut off from Defiance.”

  “On the contrary. I want you to think of yourselves as ambassadors.”

  “I want you to leave Bishop out of your jobs.”

  He eyed her. “I’m sorry, was that a direct order?”

  “Can it be?”

  He crossed his arms and stared at her. “I really think you could be my daughter.”

  “Unless you slept with a Defiance woman...” She noticed his brows raise, his lips clamp down to hold back a smile. She held up a hand. “You know what? I don’t even want to know. Not at all.”

  She could actually see it too. Declan and Bishop would be a formidable pair. And the fact that she was even thinking this, after everything she knew about Keller and his military and government ties...

  Yes, she and Bishop needed to get the hell back to Defiance, and fast. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

  “Because you’re smart, Luna. You and Bishop, Declan—you’re the future. I owe it to my father, and my grandfather, to continue my legacy.”

  “We’re not like you,” she told him, and although she didn’t really know Declan, how could Rebel be in love with someone like Keller? There was no way.

  “In some ways, you all are,” he said, not offended by her words. “The sooner you accept that, the better off you’ll be.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Hours after Keller left, there was another knock at the door. It was one of the guards and she was afraid to open it, not wanting to hear bad news.

  But right behind the guard was Declan. He simply motioned for her to follow and she did, up the ladder and out of the tube. He pointed to where Bishop sat, next to an old tree stump.

  “Get him downstairs as soon as you can,” Declan told her.

  “What did you do to him?” she demanded.

  “Nothing I haven’t done to myself,” was all he said before disappearing down the ladder and into the tube.

  She focused her energy on Bishop, who was just sitting there, in the dark, his elbows on his knees, his head hanging down. He was unmoving. Silent. Barely breathing. She was scared to approach him but she did. Knelt in front of him on the cold ground and put her hands on his forearms.

  He didn’t move, not right away. She kept her eyes trained on him and finally, after what seemed like forever, he raised his head to stare at her. She moved her palms over his forearms. He was cold—so cold, and she went to grip his hands and warm them. When it wasn’t enough, she moved in closer, put her arms around him, although he remained frozen.

  She kissed the top of his head. His neck. She wanted to thaw him. She was determined to do so.

  “Bishop, please...let me help you.” She heard him sigh. “We’
ll go inside. Get warm. Come on.”

  Tentatively, she pulled back and he nodded. He didn’t need her help to rise, but she helped him anyway, held tight to his arm and then his hand, and together they walked toward the entrance to his place.

  She led him down, waited while he closed and locked the hatch above them, locking them away from the world. Locking all the bad things out.

  She didn’t hesitate, led him over to the shower and stripped him down. First, she bent and loosened his boots, lace by lace before easing one of them off. He stopped her before she could touch the other, reached inside and slid a knife out and placed it on the sink and then she took it off, lined them up and put them to the side. She ran a hand up his leg, because she’d seen a flash of something around his ankle. Another knife, which he bent down and carefully unstrapped.

  From his other ankle, he took a gun out of the holster and placed it on the sink as well. She stood and began to unbutton and unzip his cargos. He reached into the pockets and emptied more weapons—she didn’t even look, because it didn’t matter. When he was done, he nodded.

  She pulled his shirt off first. He had a knife strapped to his biceps. He went to remove it but she stopped him, unhooked this last one for him and placed it by the others. She reached in and turned the water on. It would stay hot for only ten minutes or so, then go warm, but it would be enough.

  She pushed his pants down and then urged him under the spray. He surprised her by pulling her in with him, although he didn’t try to strip her down. Instead, he was content to hold her close to him as the hot water soothed them both. His muscled loosened gradually. She licked the side of his neck, tasting his skin and the water and then she sucked hard and heard him groan. He hardened against her belly and she flushed with triumph. His arm wound around her back, holding her close without making her panic, because that could be enough to make her run.