“Who was he?” Kit asked when Bishop returned to unlock his handcuffs.
Bishop pocketed the cuffs and key, and turned Kit’s wrists over in his callused hands. His thumbs brushed the pink marks circling Kit’s wrists like bracelets. Not as raw as the first night. “You’re learning not to struggle as much.”
Kit’s skin tingled under Bishop’s touch. “Seems pretty pointless, yeah.”
“That was nobody you need to worry about,” Bishop finally answered. “He seems nice, but don’t let that fool you. He’s dangerous.”
“Look who’s talking,” Kit muttered.
Bishop hauled Kit up to his feet, releasing his grip as soon as Kit was steady. He seemed to have an uncanny sense of Kit’s physical abilities. “Come on, pizza’s in the kitchen.”
Kit was on his third slice of barbecue chicken pizza when Bishop’s phone buzzed. Bishop looked down at the screen, then up at Kit for just a moment before he typed his reply. Then he continued eating his own pepperoni-tainted pizza.
After they finished eating. Bishop took Kit’s plate and said, “You can leave in the morning.”
Kit froze.
Bishop moved to the sink and started rinsing the plates.How fucking responsible, Kit thought inanely. Bishop was the best housekeeper Kit had lived with since Dad.
“It’s only been four days,” Kit said. “What changed?”
Bishop loaded the plates into the dishwasher. “James works fast. Why, did you want to stay?”
“Fuck off,” Kit snapped. There was a jagged truth to Bishop’s casual quip.
Not that Kit wanted to stay. He didn’t want to be held captive by a psycho pepperoni-eating murderer. But Kit had told the truth when he first met Bishop, surrounded by rivers of blood and mountains of bodies.
Kit didn’t want anything.
And he had no idea where to go from here.
He wasn’t going to turn Bishop in. That probably made Kit a horrible person, but Uncle Ed and his gang had been horrible people too. Kit couldn’t muster the courage to report their executions. To serve as a witness. To be involved.
To be known. To be found.
Being lost was so much easier.
Bishop loaded the dishwasher with soap and closed it. Pressed a few buttons, and it rumbled to life. Kit watched, dazed, as Bishop opened the fridge and pulled out a can of beer for himself.
“Let me know if you want a ride anywhere in the morning.” Bishop popped open the can, completely calm, as if he wasn’t telling Kit to destroy him. “The station, the bus stop, wherever.”
Kit swung his feet to the ground.
The first place he met Bishop was a kitchen. That time, Kit stood frozen, the taste of blood filling his lungs as Bishop walked towards him. This time, Kit walked towards Bishop, his bare feet too quiet against the tile. Like he wasn’t really there.
Stopping close enough to touch Bishop, he looked up into those piercing blue eyes. Kit found what he was looking for: the moment Bishop’s gaze dropped to his lips. His throat.
“I want a beer,” Kit said, taking Bishop’s can. Their fingers didn’t touch.
Bishop let him have it. Opened a new can for himself.
Stupid thoughts and stupider plans swirled as Kit took the beer out into the living room. The cold liquid shocked him awake.
Forget wanting things. Right now, he needed to survive. He needed to be practical.
He needed a place to stay.
Kit didn’t know anyone else in town, and assuming he got his wallet back from Bishop, it would be nearly empty. He could steal from Bishop. Hell, Bishop was weird enough, he would probably give Kit cash if he asked. Kit could take a bus to another friend of a friend, find somewhere to land for a night or three.
