Bishop made a gurgling sound and one of his hands twitched. It wouldn’t have been a concern even if the man could move properly, which he could not, so Lance paid it no attention.
Lance grabbed a fistful of Bishop’s shirt collar and hauled Gavin Bishop up for one final face-to-face. “It wouldn’t have been enough to lock you behind bars and hope you stayed there for the next thirty years. It wouldn’t even have been enough to cut off your shrimp-dick and shove it down your miserable throat. I’ve met some truly nasty, fucked up people, Gav. Guys who were born crooked down in their souls. And I ain’t sayingyou top the list, but you’re definitely gonna share space with ‘em down in Hell.”
He stood, lifted Bishop completely off the ground, and turned to where Jon waited. It was a surreal sight, seeing a partially visible dome of rainwater curved around the large hole the men had dug. The dirt beneath was dry—also a bit mind-breaking, considering that the rain had intensified while they worked—and, as always, Jon merely stood there. Looking like he wasn’t even doing shit.
Lance had always thought his own gift was badass. But meeting Jon, and standing beside Jon when his friend learned and expanded on all the things he could do with his own ability, had humbled Lance a little. Electricity was a flashy, dangerous, and impressive thing. It’d given him a handful of convenient sub-abilities, made him faster both physically and mentally, and enhanced his body’s natural healing and immune responses. He could read heat signatures, read heartbeats, and generated a higher-than-average body temperature that kept him warm when most were not. But Jon could flick a finger and rip a man apart at the atomic level and it was fucking unfair.
On the other hand, they made a damn good team.
Lance trudged forward, stepping one moment in mud deep enough to slosh over the top of his boots and the next moment onto dried dirt. Rain pelted his backside, but no longer his face. It would never not be weird. He shrugged it off, held the broken and bleeding lump of male he’d thoroughly pummeled earlier over the hole, and said, “If I see you when I get to the other side, I’ll kill you again. ‘Til then.”
Bishop’s mostly open eye managed to widen, dilating enough to indicate some level of awareness, and he made a groaning sound like a protest right as Lance let go. The man plummeted like a sandbag to the ground, cracking something Lance had failed to break when he landed some twelve or thirteen feet later.Lance was pretty sure he saw a bit of red trickle away from the body.
“Time to wrap this shit up and call it a night,” Jon said. He tossed Lance one of the shovels he’d brought, and the two got to work tossing the dirt back into the hole. The dirt Jon so kindly dried as it fell, of course. They wanted to make sure the body had been sufficiently buriedbeforethe rainstorm that turned everything into mud. Mud made things sloppy.
Lance wasn’t sure if Bishop died when he hit the ground or not, but he was sure as shit dead by the time they patted the dirt down to level. He was sweating despite the rain and his leg, which was a good eighty percent healed, had started to ache from the exertion.
When they finished repacking the hole, Lance stepped back, took the second shovel from Jon, and watched his buddy hold out one hand. Like something out of a fantasy film, the water that had remained held apart collapsed inward, immediately soaking the ground. The resulting splash carried over into the nearby trails of mud and obscured any tracks they might have made.
“That ought to do it,” Jon said.
Lance grinned at him. “I owe you one.”
“Nah. Fucker deserved it.” Jon took his shovel and they trailed the tools behind them on their way back to the truck, before tossing them into the bed. Jon jogged around to the driver’s side as Lance paused and faced the secluded but semi-exposed area they’d chosen for Bishop’s grave. There were a couple of trees, and still several yards before the mountain dropped off into a ravine.
Lance smirked, glanced up at the dark clouds that continued to pelt the earth, and extended his arm. Energy sparked in his chest, but instead of shooting from his palm, he pulled it downfrom above. Because who the fuck ever questioned a lightning strike?
He split the oldest tree in two, both halves swaying and crashing to the ground. And with the impact, any remaining evidence of their presence would be lost.
Jon shook his head as Lance climbed into the passenger seat. “Seems like overkill.”
Lance flashed him a grin. “You think?” He waited until the scene was behind them, and Jon had switched his lights on, before asking, “Any thoughts on what to do with the bastard’s car?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jon replied. “Dumbass parked at the Inn and hoofed it down to Lynnette’s house, right?”
Lance nodded, remembering that part of the explanation they’d gotten out of him. Bishop had thought it was clever.
“Car’s probably already gone,” Jon continued. “That place is the one neighborhood in this town that can’t get its act together. By Monday it’ll either be some shmuck’s new ride or torn apart for whatever someone thought they could sell the parts for.”
Lance whistled. “Ouch. Remind me not to stay there.”
“Speaking of,” Jon said, “where’m I dropping you?”
Lance made no effort to stop the grin. He knew it was late, though it’d been a minute since he’d checked a clock, but that didn’t change his answer. “Lynn’s.”
It was dark when Lynnette blinked her eyes open, and her tired mind took a moment to reboot. Hadn’t she left a hall light on? She frowned. She’d tried to stay up, to wait for Lance to come back, but it had inevitably grown late. She wasn’t sure what tomake of that. Had something gone wrong? Had he just changed his mind? Had he pushed his leg too far and collapsed? She remembered worrying about all those things, and a few more, and the fog of sleep finally fled.
Something tightened around her middle and warm air, like exhaled breath, tickled the side of her neck beneath her ear. “It’s just me, Lynn. Sorry to wake you.”
Her heartrate spiked, but she didn’t have to question that voice or what it did to her. “Lance,” she breathed. She felt the warmth of another form settle in at her back, cocooning her, as his thick arm pulled her flush to his chest. The pillow under her head moved and his other hand curled into view, fingers hooking over the arm she’d had raised when she’d laid down. She was completely engulfed by him. It ought to have startled her, overwhelmed her, or at least agitated her that he’d taken the liberty of climbing into her bed and beneath her comforter without her vocalized permission.
But he wasn’t actually touching her anywhere indecent. He wasn’t grinding the semi-hard erection she could feel behind her up against her ass. He wasn’t, really, being inappropriate.
He’d come back. As she’d asked.
Lance pressed a warm kiss to the skin beneath her ear even as some strange, horrifying emotion burned behind her eyes. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I promise I’ll behave.”
Lynnette swallowed down the emotional surge and asked, “Are you all right? What time is it?”
