Bishop: Dead Legion MC #1

by Krane, Kasey

  “But after this article is done, I’m done. I’m quitting Blush.”

  “WHAT?!” he roared back to life. “You can’t quit!! I gave you your start in journalism. I took a chance on you when you were fresh out of college and no one else was hiring.”

  “And you paid me shit because you knew I had to accept it,” I said calmly. “I’m done working for peanuts.”

  Click.

  My phone began to ring again. I turned it off. He could enjoy my voicemail message. Again.

  I walked back into the hotel room and saw Bishop had sat up, the sheet falling to his waist, revealing his gorgeous chest. I got sidetracked for a moment, staring at it. Goddamn, he was sexy.

  “What’s going on, darlin’?” he asked sleepily. He scooted over in bed and patted a spot next to him. I slid into bed and curled up, placing my head on his lap. Suddenly, my confidence that I should stay here with Bishop seemed…arrogant. Bishop had never even hinted at anything more than sex and fun between us. I couldn’t assume he wanted me to stay here.

  “Just talking to Evan. He read the Deming News this morning online because he was worried when I didn’t call him back last night, and he saw that Ghost had been…was dead. That really didn’t help out with the freak-out factor, so I had to call him back and assure him I was still in the land of the living.”

  Not brave enough to ask about what was really on my mind, I asked, “So, what’s going to happen with the Sangre? You guys were supposed to deliver those guns last night at midnight. I can verify that you were most definitely not delivering guns to a scary motorcycle gang at midnight last night—” I felt his chuckle rumble through his chest — “so what’s going to happen? They don’t seem like the kind to forgive and forget.”

  “I probably have a bounty out on my head,” Bishop agreed drily. “I’m going to meet with the rest of the crew and decide how to handle this. It may…get dicey.”

  I nodded, rubbing my head against his rock-hard abs with every nod. I was so tempted to turn my head and nibble my way up his stomach and suck on his nipples and…

  But no! My plane flight left tomorrow, back to New York. It was do-or-die time. Taking a deep breath, I sat up and looked him in the eye.

  “Bishop, where is this,” I gestured between the two of us, “going?” I bit my lip with worry. I was taking a huge leap of faith here, and asking him to jump off with me.

  What if he didn’t want to take the chance? What if this was nothing more than a fuckfest?

  What if I had to go back to New York and pretend none of this ever happened?

  42

  Bishop

  I looked at Jules, her tousled red hair sticking out in every direction, biting her lip, wrinkled clothes from sitting in a heap all night…

  I realized that I’d never seen a more beautiful woman in my life. More than beautiful on the outside - although I could really stand to have her dye her hair back to blonde - she was gorgeous on the inside. Funny and so goddamned smart and thoughtful and sexy as fuck and she loved to ride which was some sort of miracle in itself and didn’t seem to be prone to carrying small dogs around in her purse, although her purse was so large, she could probably hide a Chihuahua in there without anyone noticing.

  I shook my head, angry with myself. I had to focus. Those gorgeous green eyes were trained on me, taking in my every movement. I couldn’t fuck this up.

  I couldn’t let Jules go. But, was I ready to ask her to stay here? To give up her career in New York? I couldn’t move there, especially not right now, not after last night. I couldn’t leave the Dead Legion right after splitting the club in two and killing its president.

  Was she willing to stay in New Mexico? For me? A guy who rode bikes and managed semi-truck routes? She was way above my pay grade. What would happen when she figured that out? And the heat. She fucking hated the heat. Would she want this humble life that I could offer her?

  I was taking too long to answer. Her eyes had drifted closed, and she was turning away from me. She was moving away—

  My hand shot out and grabbed her arm. “I—I’m sorry, Jules,” I whispered. She shook her head, her face turned away, her shoulders stiff. She started to move off the bed.

  “Stop, please,” I said softly, holding tightly onto her arm. “I…just needed a minute to think. But not…not for…not why you think I needed to think.”

  Goddamn motherfucking son-of-a-bitch. What did you just tell yourself about not fucking this up??

  I took a deep breath and started again.

  “Jules Parker, I love you.” She froze completely, faced away from me, and I couldn’t tell if she was getting ready to slap me or hug me. “I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. Since I picked you up in that goddamn airport and drove you here, I’ve been obsessed with you. What made you happy? What did you want? How could I make you smile?” Her shoulders began to shake under my hand and I belatedly loosened my grip and began running my fingers up and down her arm.

  Goddamn motherfucking son-of-a-bitch, this was not going well. I wasn’t exactly the King of Emotion, but even I knew that crying wasn’t a good sign.

  “I—I—Jules, please, turn and look at me. I don’t know what you’re thinking and I’m afraid I’m completely fucking this up and I need to know—”

  She turned and launched herself at me, covering my face with kisses, the tears streaking down her face, unabated.

  “I love you too, Bishop,” she choked out.

  Oh thank God.

  I pulled her tight against my chest and let her cry. All of the fear, the anger, the worry, of the last week drained out of her in buckets.

  “Shhh…shhhh…” I said, running my hands over her head. “It’s gonna be fine,” I whispered.

  Finally, her tears subsided and she pulled away, looking down, embarrassed. I stroked her cheek. “Well, you’re the first woman I’ve said those words to, darlin’, and I have to admit, I always thought it’d go a little differently. Those chick flicks usually ended with smiling and kisses.”

  She choked out a laugh and I grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and handed it over. And then another. A couple more, and finally the job seemed accomplished.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, finally looking me in the eye. “I guess all of it—” she waved her used tissues in the air, a few flying loose from her grasp, “—just finally hit me. Thank you for holding me. And, uhhh,” she looked at the wad in her hand, “supplying me with tissues.”

  She climbed off the bed, found the trashcan in the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and came back to bed, settling down cross-legged in front of me.

  “Jules,” I said, before she could say anything, “I know this is a lot to ask…but I don’t want you to leave. I know you have a career in journalism back in New York and I don’t even know how I can dare to ask you to give that up, but,” I reached out and grabbed her hands and brought them up to my lips, “I can’t bear to lose you. There are newspapers and magazines here in New Mexico - maybe—”

  “Oh!” Jules broke in. “I didn’t tell you - I quit my job at Blush this morning. That’s what my phone call to Evan was all about. Other than to listen to him yell me, of course.

  “I had time to sit and think this morning. Bishop, I make a shit-tastic investigative journalist. Because that was my whole plan, as you so easily figured out. I was going to write a piece for Blush, and I still will, but my main focus was a tell-all story for a place like Huffington Post or Washington Post. But I’d barely ask two questions before you’d show up and I was back to square one. Not to mention, I really don’t enjoy it. I spent my entire life thinking that this is what I was destined to do, and my first chance at a real story, I fuck the hell out of it.

  “Which is why,” she said with excitement in her voice, “I think I’m going to work as a freelance journalist,” she said. “I will still be able to write and do what I love, but find something that I am truly passionate about writing.” She grinned at me and I couldn’t help but grin
back.

  “Now that’s a fuck-awesome idea!” I said, and grabbed her and pulled her forward onto my chest. She sighed happily and leaned against me. “Does this mean,” I continued cautiously, “that you’re willing to consider moving to New Mexico?”

  “The way I see it is, I only need an internet connection and a laptop. I’m pretty sure that even in a place like Deming, New Mexico, they have discovered the internet.”

  “Yeah, probably,” I laughed. I put my finger under her chin and lifted it up to meet my gaze. “God, I love you, Jules. I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving just how much.”

  “And I’m going to spend the rest of my life letting you,” she teased.

  And she kissed me. And I proved, for the first of countless times, just how big my love was.

  THE END

  Turn the page for a sneak peak at the next book Judge!

  Sneak Peak at Judge

  Prologue

  The bus bumped and swayed over the potholes and around the corners, almost lulling Maggie to sleep. It seemed like they'd been on the bus for forever.

  Why does church camp have to be so far away from school? I thought crossly. I don’t want to be on the bus anymore! But, I guess it’s okay. At least I don’t have to stay behind like the babies do. Only grown-up 10-year-old girls get to go to church camp.

  With a yawn I blinked sleepily, fighting back the urge to nap, and snuggled further into Ms. Williams’s side. I felt so tired. I sighed happily as Ms. Williams began stroking my arm in a slow, comforting rhythm. There was no better teacher in the world than Ms. Williams. Sure, Mrs. Martinez was fine too, but not like Ms. Williams. Mrs. Martinez hit them too much with the ruler. Ms. Williams never hit them or swore at them. She was the best teacher.

  Ms. Williams began to hum a tune low and sweetly in my ear, the rhythm matching her strokes on my arm. I let myself be lulled, relaxing even further into Ms. Williams’s side. Everyone knew that there were angels in heaven, sure, but I knew there were angels on earth, too. Ms. Williams was the teacher who loved me more than anyone else ever had. Especially since I was trapped at a foster home with caregivers that clearly only had a foster kid to collect on the government’s paychecks.

  I knew I was lucky to have been given a scholarship to Santa Maria’s, an all-girls Catholic school - I had been told that often enough. “A orphan like you is usually left on the streets,” my foster parents told me repeatedly. “You’re a lucky girl.”

  But luckier than a place at Santa Maria’s was getting Ms. Williams as my teacher.

  Happily falling asleep I the heard motors rumbling and the cheers of my classmates. My eyes popped open and I pulled away from Ms. Williamss side, sleepiness gone, peering out the window to see big men on big, and shiny bikes pulling up alongside our bus. My friends had begun waving furiously, enjoying the change in scenery. Here, finally, was something to do to relieve the boredom! The girls chattered excitedly, discussing which bike was bigger. Which biker was uglier.

  I noticed that Ms. Williams didn’t join in on the fun, though. She wasn’t waving at the men through the bus windows. In fact, I could feel Ms. Williams begin to tense and sit straight up as the bus slowed down.

  The chrome-covered bikes were on both sides of the bus, and then, as the bus slowed down, in front of the bus too.

  “Ms. Williams, what’s wrong?” I whispered as Ms. Williams’s hand began to tighten around my upper arm. The bus was almost stopped now, and our two teachers, across the aisle from each other, began to whisper furiously. I strained to hear what they were saying but then they grew completely silent as the bus driver stopped the bus and cut the engines. The cheering had stopped. Everyone held their breath, the excited energy gone, replaced with confusion and fear. Wondering…

  The bus door busted open beneath the butt of the gun, the glass shattering into pieces, the frame of the doorway bent. In spite of mysel, I began to whimper.

  “Shhhhh…it’s going to be okay,” Ms. Williams whispered to me, pushing me down, down to the floor. Why would I want to go onto the floor? I didn’t want to be on the floor, I wanted to be next to my teacher, where I felt safe. I tried instead to wedge myself into my teacher’s side when the men came bounding up the stairs, into the bus. I wanted to hide, hide where Ms. Williams could protect her.

  When the first man began waving his rifle around in the air, shouting in an ugly voice, the girls erupted into terrified screams. But I couldn’t scream. The noise was caught in my throat, threatening to overwhelm me, to choke me.

  Then, Ms. Williams and Mrs. Martinez stood up. Why were they standing up? I clung to her teacher’s hand, hiding behind the seat in front of us as the man with the rifle shouted threats. I tugged at Ms. Williams’s hand. “Please,” I begged softly, “please, Ms. Williams, please sit down!”

  And then I was coming back down and for just a moment, I thought that my teacher had heard my pleas but she kept falling and the sound of a gunshot finally registered in my mind and the blood spread out around Ms. Williams’s head and finally, the sob that had threatened to choke me came spilling out.

  I crumpled to her knees on the floor beside Ms. Williams, my hands frantically patting her head, trying to push the blood back in. “No, God, please, don’t take her, not Ms. Williams,” I sobbed. I barely noticed when the huge, rough hands landed on my shoulders, the pain of my grief cascading over me, washing me into a world of death and pain beyond anything I ever knew existed.

  Want more? You can pre-order Judge here!

  About Kasey Krane

  Kasey Krane is a tattoo artist living in the beautiful (and hot) state of Texas. She enjoys drawing but writing has recently become a new passion for her. Especially when it's too damn hot to do anything outside. Whiskey neat is her drink of choice and she's never met a truck she doesn't like. Enjoy her bad boys, she sure does.

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