Swamp Kings 2 (Bayou Bishops #20)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Mabel hurried to the entrance and the flap flew open, something hard slamming into her nose and knocking her on her arse.

“Fuck,” Gideon swore, as she grabbed her nose. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she assured, so happy he was there as warm blood leaked onto her mouth. She leaned her head back and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to slow the flow as a match scratched and light gradually filled the little room.

“Jesus,” he muttered, his hand cradling the back of her head briefly. “Hold on,” he said, yanking on something near her as material ripped. Did he just cut her dress? His hand cradled her head again and he placed the wad of whatever he’d ripped under her nose. “I’ll owe you a dress,” he muttered, confirming. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” she said, trembling, blinking the tears from her eyes till his fierce face came into focus above hers.

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because I got hit in the nose. The eyes water,” she added, when his doubtful gaze locked on hers. “I hope it’s not a problem that I don’t cry over a busted nose,” she warned, watching him as he wiped her mouth, realizing he was twice as handsome when angry.

He removed his coat and tossed it in the corner, grabbing a container of something and setting it down. “One more piece,” he said, ripping more of the dress and placing the wad over the top of the container and tilting it.

“Whiskey?” she half joked, her pulse out of control with his naked, cut, tanned torso filling up the entire, shaking room.

“It’s water,” he said, his tone as soft as his fingers now holding her lower jaw as he gently cleaned her face. The storm felt like a secondary threat next to him towering over her half naked. Having to touch him for any reason, even medical at this point, would require another bloody miracle and quick. There were two storms raging, one outside and one in her body! She’d taken a vow too when she came to America to fulfill her dream of nursing full time, fully prepared to give all for the purpose, nothing would stand in her way. But damn her biology! Her chemicals were throwing a bloody tantrum, dormant whore-pores sucking in everything in that room. The sight of him, the feel of his very large, strong fingers. Dear God, his smell. She closed her eyes as the raw masculinity saturated her tastebuds while being forced to breathe through her mouth.

“There,” he murmured, his rough fingers gliding off her face and producing a full body shiver. His touch then moved gently along the bridge of her nose, his tenderness reaching her pathetic soul.

“Lay down,” he ordered. “I’ll warm you.”

Oh dear God! “I’m not cold,” she gasped, fluttering her eyes open.

“You’re shivering,” he said, his tone edgy.

“I’m… the storm is...” Her eyes bounced around th e tent like a crazy ball till she had to clench them shut just to keep them off him. She lay down right where she was, turning on her side and covering her ears from the screaming wind.

Do it. Cover me with your body. I’m a nurse. Trained for difficult situations. Nudity is nothing, it’s bloody medical!

Nobody’s nude!

Her body disagreed one thousand percent. Even if she had five layers of clothes, getting those massive hot muscles pressed into her? She’d feel it clear to her bones, and worse places.

She had never wanted another human being like this, to this burning, desperate degree. Ever. She was literally craving him. Why? What was happening? Was she drugged? She felt drunk. Drunk on a lust she’d never experienced, never dreamed she could or would. In a blizzard!

****

Gideon braced for the war ahead. The storm was nothing compared to the fire burning his blood. Keeping his side of the deal would have been possible until he glimpsed her hunger, her craving for his touch. It had pulled a secret cord in him and unraveled him completely.

He covered her with furs as his own need raged. Hungers directly hinged to hers, demanding he obliterate them. He’d told her he was a virgin. It wasn’t a lie or entirely true—The Shunned bore no scars, no past, no marks of who they’d once been. Abstinence had come easily to him. Lust never held him. But this wasn’t lust, it was her. He’d been prepared to fight a legion of demons to keep her warm all night without laying a hand on her. Until he saw her need.

He lay beside her finally, torn apart. If he touched her the way she wanted him to, he’d become her husband. But would she become his wife? What if she only needed or wanted that one touch? Could he survive living the rest of his days with only a single memory?

It wasn’t a metaphor. She was a comet streaking across his life, calling him to reach out and feel, to taste, to be consumed. Then possibly dropped from a million miles high and shattered into nothing. And even then, he would remain hers. All the remaining days of his life would be hers.

He forced himself to consider the other choice—forbidding himself from touching her. Ten hellish seconds of that brought a fierce rebellion, warning his soul of a place in hell should he dare defy touching every inch of her inside and out.

Christ almighty.

He closed his eyes, caught between hope and hopelessness.

His eyes slowly opened. Hope.

He sat up, steadying his breaths before moving his gaze to her. She was hope. And if he gave himself, he’d always carry a part of her. Even if he never had her again, he’d own that one, divine spark of her.

A third possibility came. So evil, so crushing and vile that it demanded two feet of distance between them. He lay down with his back to her as number three brought its numbing blow. It said all of it was in his head. Her needs, his needs, all spawned from his very own desperate imagination.

Fuck .

He had no choice but to wait for her to show him. He needed more than a burning hunch before he threw himself into the flame.

****

Beth jerked awake to panic, scanning her surroundings. Still in the private room of the rig. She scooted to the end of the bed, her mind groggy as she tried to recall things. They’d reached the halfway point. Bishop spent all of thirty minutes with her that felt like five. And those were filled mostly with him interrogating her about her symptoms. There was no getting out of telling him. She knew he needed the truth and gave every drop of it. He didn’t like it as expected. He had a lot more to worry about now. Seer convinced her that truth prevails. If this was prevailing, she didn’t like it one bit. Prevailing how? Causing her husband to be more fearful for her life than he already was?

She sat at the end of the bed, the panicked feeling that woke her suddenly intensifying. She stood, opening the door and Maggie looked up from the couch at the end of the cabin.

“Hey,” she called softly, hurrying to her. “You were able to rest?” Maggie’s gaze narrowed. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“I don’t know,” Beth whispered, moving to the window and peering behind the shade. “Somethings… off.”

“Off? How?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her breaths picking up as the panic went on growing. She scanned the countryside. Whatever it was came from outside. “Where are we?”

“Last I heard we have only a hundred miles to go.”

“A hundred,” she whispered. “I slept that long?”

“You must’ve needed it.”

The baby kicked several times, and she lowered her hand, rubbing the spot. She’d been oddly compelled to reassure him of her wellbeing lately. It’s okay sweetheart . Mommy’s okay . It felt like he was becoming a mini-Bishop, always worrying about her.

She moved to the opposite side of the cabin, opening the shade there, seeing the sun still above the horizon. Two hours of daylight, maybe.

Maggie knelt next to her, rubbing her back and petting her head. “You want to talk about it?”

Beth glanced at her and lowered to the couch. She really did, but... “I would, I just... don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Maybe a bad dream?”

No. Not a dream. “Whatever is wrong, woke me up.” Bishop.

Beth shot off the couch and hurried to the front, yanking open the door of the small cabin. Every head turned as her gaze landed on Bishop, napping where he sat, head against the wall. She passed over the inquisitive gazes of the triplets then the dark shades covering Zodak’s eyes.

“You okay, ange?” Seer inquired in the large mirror above the driver’s seat.

“No,” she murmured, looking at Bishop right as he snapped awake as if something shook him. He immediately stood at seeing her.

“What’s wrong?” he hurried, worry and fatigue in his dark gaze.

“I don’t know, something woke me up. Something’s wrong.” She looked out the window and spotted some kind of facility out in a field. She moved around him and hurried closer, the panic pounding in her chest as she stared. “It’s there,” she whispered.

“What is?” he asked, looking now.

“Something’s wrong there.”

“Wrong how, baby?” he asked carefully as the panic turned into dreadful knowing, the closer they got.

“We have to stop,” she whispered. She jerked her gaze to Seer. “We have to stop, we’re supposed to stop.”

“Bishop?” Seer asked.

“We have to stop,” she said to Bishop, feeling the threat more now. “People need help,” she gushed, realizing.

Seer let off the gas as Bishop looked torn.

“Say the word, brother,” Seer urged.

“Fuck,” he muttered, looking around then back at the facility now on their immediate right.

“We need to stop,” she pled, breathless .

“We’ll get the woman and stop on the way back,” he assured, taking soft hold of her arms.

They passed it and the desperate feeling drove into her spine and head then womb, bringing her hands to it when the baby gave a violent kick.

“WE HAVE TO STOP!”

Seer hit the brake so hard, she went flying into Bishop who was caught by Zodak.

“Holy shit,” Seer gushed as Bishop turned to him, pissed. “That wasn’t me, brother,” he swore, winded.

“What do you mean it wasn’t you,” Bishop demanded as Beth hurried to the window, looking back at the place.

“She said those words, my brain engaged my foot,” she heard Seer whisper as horrific dread pressed from all around.

“We need to go there, we have to go there,” she whispered, looking back at Bishop and Seer. “I don’t know why, I’m just telling you what I feel!” she swore, hurrying to him now.

Zodak got closer to the window, lifting his dark shades and staring for many seconds while Beth held her breath. He lowered the eye gates again and looked over his shoulder. “The air above the facility is dense. The very atoms are charged with malevolent intent.”

Relief escaped Beth at the confirmation as the triplets moved to the window now.

“Confirmed,” Fetch, Fathom and Fin said in symbiotic unison. “The malevolence is being cultivated. And weaponized.”

“Against what?” Seer wondered darkly.

Beth closed her eyes, feeling like the answer to that was so close. She went back to the glass and peered out at the buildings, searching, seeking. She closed her eyes, and her mind flashed with an image that stole her breath. “Children!” she whispered, turning to them. “T-they have women and children, they’re… they’re doing something with them, I-I-I can’t see, we have to help them!”

“Fuck,” Bishop grit, shaking his head, his gaze moving all around. “Go back. Get us as close as you can while keeping a distance. We’ll scout first, see what we can see.” He pulled his phone out. “I’ll let Spook know in case shit fucking goes south.” He turned to Beth with the phone at his ear. “You’ll not be leaving this vehicle,” he ordered, getting her immediate nods. “You or Maggie. Understand?”

“Yes, yes,” she assured as Seer moved the rig slowly in reverse.

Bishop lowered the phone. “Go,” he ordered, sending her hurrying for the door as he put the phone back to his ear.

****

“We need to touch the building,” the triplets said from the canopy of trees only ten yards away now, their synced voices implying they were locked in to one another’s powers.

Bishop’s heart hammered as he eyed the building then gripped Fetch’s shoulder.

His blue eyes met his and he opened for him, allowing him to see what they saw. Along the building, numbers, frequencies, and density equations flickered on and over the structure. This was purely AI technology built into their eyes, he realized. It was picking up the composition of darkness within the walls, but it wasn’t just malevolence. There was a series of charges set in meticulous patterns, organized like circuitry, ready to be detonated. His gaze moved to the heat signatures inside moving about, and Fathom suddenly marked the differences in the those of the women and children.

Just as Beth had said.

Fin outlined the malevolence in the other shapes, volatile clusters rigged with triggers. Human bombs?

“They use their malevolence as weapons of control,” the triplets said. “Terror, pain, and the fear of both.”

“So, standard, wicked protocol,” Bishop muttered, his own gifts engaged now, defining structural data on a creative level. He studied the information, seeing how to change shit into anything he might want. Fucking useless while having nothing to do that with.

“The hostages are human shields,” Zodak muttered as he performed his own scans without his ocular gates. “Guards over small groups scattered everywhere. ”

“Fucking great,” Bishop said.

Seer shook his head, eyeing him. “The moment they’re aware they’re being taken out, those hostages become leverage.”

“It’ll have to be a single attack,” Fathom said. “From a central location.”

Bishop looked at him. “Tell me.”

“Zodak can perform a large-scale syphon by using me as an energy source.”

“What about the bombs in the wall?” Bishop remembered.

“And the risk of him absorbing that much malevolence,” Seer added.

“Fin and I can restrain him for a safe discharge.”

“And if it’s not enough?” Seer wondered.

“Then you will do what you are here to do, brother,” Zodak said.

“And I could easily dismantle the bombs, if I had ten of me,” Bishop said, uselessly.

Fathom said, “I’ll dismantle the bombs first. Fry the circuitry and freeze the triggers. One burst.” His icy blue eyes flickered with a bright flash, like he was giving Bishop a preview.

“So, Syphon syphons all this bullshit in one go, and then what?” Bishop asked.

All eyes were on the triplets and Fetch shrugged. “Guess we’ll let them decide when we get to it.”

“Them who?” Seer whispered.

“The victims.”

Bishop glanced at Seer, finding the same fuck yeah agreement on his face. He checked on the rig, wondering where Spook was. They needed to move before they were detected. “Let’s do it. Where’s that central location you mentioned?”

Fathom got old school and lowered to the ground, drawing a perimeter with his finger. “We’ve got seven buildings,” he said, pointing each one out. “These here have cells, each guarded by at least one foul soul-sack. These here must be their human crypts for sleeping.” He moved his finger to the right. “Here would be a good spot. We come around this side, take out any threats.” He looked up at Zodak. “How long will this take you?”

“With enough power, a single blast will stun as it sets syphoning anchors in their minds. Once the anchors are set, a steady power supply will do enough of the job in the first ten seconds. Some will require more time than others.”

“Ten seconds,” Fathom murmured, rising.

“Can you sustain that?” Bishop wondered, hearing a tone.

“I can but will likely require recharging after.”

“I’ll carry you to safety, sweetheart,” Fetch said.

“It’s okay, I’ll crawl.”

Bishop looked at Fin, the finisher of their sentences, finding only a grin.

“Any last words, thoughts or comments?” Bishop asked, looking around.

“Just a prayer,” Seer muttered, placing his hand in the middle of their circle.

Bishop put his on Seers and Zodak covered Bishops. He regarded the triplets, nodding at Fetch.

The triplets exchanged glances then Fetch placed his hand on the top, followed by Fathom’s then Fin’s.

Seer bowed his head and boldly prayed a concise warrior’s prayer of ass kicking and protection.

Game fucking on.