Bishop curled his lips into a sneer.
Lance buried his free fist into Bishop’s abdomen, up under Bishop’s ribcage. The man’s spine hunched, but because ofLance’s grip on his throat, he was unable to cough up the bile that had just been forced up. Bishop began to choke and cough, spluttering.
Lynnette’s eyes widened.Shit.
Lance dropped the surgeon to the porch, drew a leg back, and kicked him hard in the groin.
Bishop rolled off the barely raised porch and into the mud that predominantly made up Lynnette’s yard. Normally it was dirt with patches of wild grass and the occasional wildflower, but on rainy days, it was mud. On rainy days, she was extremely grateful for the concrete walkway that led to her porch. That was not the portion Bishop rolled off of.
Lance took a step to follow after him and pursue the beating.
Lynnette surged forward, catching him by the arm in an attempt to hold him back. “You could kill him.”
Lance raised a brow. “That’s the point.”
She stared back at him, processing his words and his clear awareness of his actions, and waited for her moral compass to demand intervention. Bishop was a terrible man, but it was equally wrong to make the choice to end a life. She worked in a field of healing, of saving lives. On principle alone she ought to oppose. Yet that drive never rose. She was aware of all the logical arguments, all the intellectual reasons, but none of them resonated.
Bishopwasscum. Without knowing the details of whatever Lance had found, she believed what Lance had said and that Bishop had done far worse than merely what he’d done to her. And he’d already gotten away with it, for all intents and purposes. Who knew how many had suffered. Who knew how many more would continue to if her attempt at punishing him the moral, legal way failed. Or simply didn’t last the rest of his natural life.
Which, she realized in the next moment, it surely wouldn’t. She wasn’t sure it would even cause him jail time.
Bishop groaned from the ground and a faint sloshing sound indicated he was moving. He was cowardly enough; he’d surely flee at the first presumed opportunity. Then more would suffer.
He’s abused patients. He abused his own daughter.
Lynnette looked into Lance’s eyes. “Can you get away with it?”
The smile he offered her should have terrified her, but she had an altogether different reaction instead. One she had to fight very hard to contain. “Yeah, sweetheart. Don’t worry about a thing.”
She tugged him to her and pressed a hard, brief kiss to his lips. “Come back when you’re done,” she whispered. “I’ll be waiting.”
Chapter sixteen
Terms of Embrace
“This seems as gooda time as any to let you know,” Jon said as they watched Bishop’s broken form groan in front of them, “we’re heading out by nine tomorrow. Foxe is itching to get home to his family, and Herb only took so much time off work, so we have to get moving.”
Lance nodded his understanding. He was well aware his pals would already be in the thick of their planned cartel hunt if it hadn’t been for the stunt Deputy Parker had pulled. They’d been delayed a handful of days, and it looked like that was working in his favor, because it’d been grating on him to think he couldn’t be out there with them. “Departure point?”
Jon turned his head enough to arch a brow. “You thinking you’ll be up for it?”
Lance smirked. “Should be right as rain by morning, at the rate my power’s been restoring.”
“That’s good to hear.”
Bishop twitched, his head lolling to one side, as if he were attempting to roll over. Seemed he was still at least semi-conscious. Lance was almost impressed.
“I’ll text you for coffee in the morning,” Jon said. “Maybe you can let Jen borrow your new car?”
Lance played with the thought for half a second before returning. “How about Lynn and I come over, Lynn returns Jenna’s SUV, andLynnborrows my new car while I’m away?” It made much more sense to him that his girl was the one behind the wheel of his car, rather than their women playing car-swap unnecessarily.
Jon chuckled. “That also works. Still nine.”
Lance stepped forward, rolling his shoulders for the last round. “I think we can manage nine. You ready?”
Jon moved behind him and the faintest pressure in the air—a sense Lance had learned powerless humans did not have—assured him Jon had gotten to work on the final stage. “All set,” Jon said.
Lance dropped into a crouch over Bishop’s bruised, bleeding, and muddied form. He tapped the side of the bastard’s split, purple, and swollen cheek, prompting the man to pry open his eyes. As much as he was capable, at least. It was enough. “You understand why this is happening, don’t you, Gav?”
