Damned: Seven Tribesmen MC (12 page)

CHAPTER TWEENTY ONE

Flipping through a book, Bishop idled away his time. Dinner had come and gone. With it, a few Seven Tribesmen had visited and disappeared into the night. The noise in the hallway died down as the night shift nurses swept in. The electronic garble from radios and television sets died away as sleep crept across the patients or – more often than not – visiting loved ones.

There Bishop sat, his gaze traversing the same page he'd gone over for the last half hour. Exhaustion nipped at the back of his eyes, but sleep eluded him. His mind continuously tripped back to Stella. How was she? Was she safe? A knot in his gut soured his thoughts as he wondered if she had fallen into Stan's arms for protection. Sighing, Bishop put down his book and pinched at the bridge of his nose. Suspicions whirled around Stella's male counterpart and, eventually, traipsed to the White Knights.

Very little had been revealed about the White Knights and their interest in Stella. Coyote had further interrogated the thugs as they woke up from their unconsciousness. The injured enemies claimed they were merely hired and not initiates or members of the White Knights. The rival gang had hired them to kidnap Stella under the premise of using her life against the Seven Tribesmen. The men had different stories – from holding her for ransom to pinning her disappearance on the 7T – but all theories made Bishop's stomach clench with disgust.

Under his request, Qwerty had gone home and begun to cyber sleuth. He was supposed to review the surveillance from the Rusty Bear – whether through hacking into the Grand River Police Department's system or requesting the recordings from the owners of the bar – and report in the morning. There was also an extensive background search still being compiled against Agent Jackson. Stella Holmes's check came back squeaky clean. Not even a speeding ticket.

Bishop snorted, unable to help the grin that curled at his lips. Deep down, beneath the thorns and self-taught defensiveness, Stella possessed the soul of a “good girl.” He stopped that thought short, his lips twitching into a frown. People had more facets than good or bad; he knew that much. As much as Bishop fantasized, lumping Stella with any label, enjoyable or otherwise, would simply make things worse.

The sudden opening of his door roused him from his thoughts. His grey eyes flicked to the entryway and his heart sputtered. Standing in the doorway, with wide eyes and a somewhat lost expression, was Stella. She stepped into his room, her duffel bag bouncing off her hip. Stella closed the privacy curtains to the room, before turning to Bishop.

She felt a sudden heat rake over her cheeks. Her inner turmoil didn't find any reprieve under Bishop's grey gaze. In fact, his gaze made her heart shudder and her body simmer intensely. Her gaze fell to her feet as the words croaked from her throat, “I overheard Stan talking to Delilah.”

Bishop's curiosity pinged off the radar. He attempted to stifle his interest as he shifted in his bed. “What about?”

“Delilah overdosed you, and Stan was a part of it.” The words rushed out of Stella in one breath. Her heart twisted, waiting for the inevitable blow back from Bishop.

The man blinked, the information taking a second to register. When the words made sense in his head, his brain flared with fury. His fists clenched on the bed sheet. For those few microseconds, intense hatred infused every thought. Firecrotch was probably the reason two of his men were in lock-up, too.

Before he could respond, Stella pushed further. In one breath, she gasped, “Delilah also said something about him and his White Knight boys.”

That information added barb to his already furious thoughts. Through the fog of rage, though, his gaze swung to Stella. His eyes widened, just slightly, as he grunted, “Stan is part of the White Knights?”

Stella shook her head, lips wrenched into a frown, “He explicitly stated he's an affiliate. That's it.”

“Still...” Bishop growled, his gaze flickering away from Stella. He couldn't bear to watch her expression once she found out. Just eavesdropping on Delilah and Stan had sent her running. For some reason, that meant toward him. He couldn't complain, but he didn't want to shatter the remainder of Stella's strength. Instead, he toed at the dark tide, “Your abductors claimed to be hired by the White Knights.”

“I...I didn't know,” Stella breathed. Anxiety propelling her feet, she paced along the foot of Bishop's bed. She ran a hand through her hair, her mind wildly trying to straighten the knot in her thoughts. Stan had pointedly kept her out of questioning. He said he was worried her conflict of interest would create issues, but what if he just didn't want her nosing around and finding out the truth? “Stan said he couldn't question them, because most of them were unconscious or demanding lawyers.”

“Yeah, well, he lied.”

“I'm beginning to get the picture.” Stella shook her head and paced back along the room. As she advanced on his bed, she paused and laid her hands on the foot board. Her warm, brown gaze ticked up to his face, her brow creased with concern. “I'm sorry, Bishop.”

“It's fine,” he sighed, masking his immense relief with nonchalance. A part of the man understood her distrust in his claims. “What reason did you have to believe me?”

“You haven't attacked me, lied to me, or tried to get me abducted.” Under Stella's hands, the plastic board creaked. Her lips twisted into a dark scowl. She averted her gaze, glaring off into a midpoint in the distance. Something huge was missing from her understanding. “I just don't understand why. Why would Stan get the White Knights involved with me?”

“He's enamored with you, Stella.” Bishop watched the woman as she returned to pacing, concern nipping at his heart. She reminded him of a caged and wounded tiger, ready to lash out at the first enemy he saw. As much as Bishop wanted to redirect her focus, Stella needed to meet an important fact. “If he knew about the rivalry between the 7T and the White Knights, both of them had something to gain by kidnapping you.”

“What do you mean?” She stopped again, pinning Bishop with her stormy, dark gaze.

“Either Stan would play hero, and the 7T would take the fall.” Bishop locked his gaze with hers. The need for this to be known, for his suspicions to be met with agreement by her, ate at his mind. “Or they would have used you as bait to get to me.”

“They wouldn't know if that'd work, though,” Stella huffed, shaking her head.

“Considering what happened, I'd say they were right on the money.”

Stella fell silent, and her feet paused. She turned to Bishop, her heart shivering under his gaze. As soon as she turned to him, Bishop tore his gaze away. His eyes focused on his hands in his lap, where he bunched up the blanket tightly between his digits. A slight pink tinge licked over his cheeks. Her head suddenly throbbed as it trailed over Thomas's insinuations. Her chest and synapses ached under the breakneck speed of revelations.

Without looking at Stella, Bishop murmured, “You should sit. I have something else to mention.”

Stella didn't argue. She rounded Bishop's bed, running on auto-pilot. Her mind drowned in numbness, but her heart felt hot and electrified. Somewhere in the mess of chaos that was her thought, some guilty light had begun to shine. As she settled down beside the man, Stella waited for him to talk.

“The man who attacked you, the one who knocked you out with chloroform.” Bishop hesitated to look at her. The ache to reach out, to touch her, to press his fingertips against her, grew too strong. He turned his grey gaze to her, his hand landing heavily on her shoulder. “I believe that was your partner.”

Stella's eyes widened, a cold jolt shooting down her spine. “Why?”

“A tattoo on his shin.” Bishop squeezed her shoulder and rubbed his thumb into her. “A white knight chess piece.”

Stella shook her head, eyebrows furrowing in befuddlement. “How do you know he has one of those?”

“He wore those khaki shorts on your date to show off his gams.” Bishop smiled, jokingly. He listed his head to the side, his eyebrows shooting up in mock surprise. “Jesus, woman, didn't you notice?”

Stella's eyebrows furrowed, before a smile split over her lips. An almost-delirious giggle pealed from her lips. The sound was like music to Bishop's ears. For the moment, at least, Stella wasn't hurt and broken beyond revival. The woman leaned toward him, pressing her forehead into his shoulder. A wave of purpose melted over him. She needed support, another form of strength.

Bishop took a deep breath, and his arms instantly wrapped around her body. The shake of giggles soon morphed into trembling cries. Her hands found their way to his chest, careful not to make his injury worse. Tears streaked down her cheeks, dampening Bishop's hospital gown. When was the last time she cried in someone's arms? The last time she let herself take solace, take strength, from someone else?

Of all the people who made her feel safest, it had to be Arthur Bishop the outlaw biker. She couldn't even trust her partner.

The irony sunk into her like a razor sharp edge.

Bishop's arms tightened around her. He wanted to ease her worries. He didn't want her in such a tearful heap in his arms, as much as he enjoyed her body pressed against his. Softly, he muttered, “Don't you have a superior you could report this to?”

“The outlaw is telling me to report.” The woman chuckled sarcastically. She shifted and gently pulled away from Bishop's arms. Her palm grazed against her cheeks, wiping away her tears. For the moment, the intensity had subsided. “My superior is hundreds of miles away, and I have no hard proof that he did this to me. All I have is hearsay and the testimony of an outlaw biker.”

Bishop fell silent. Evidence, hm? Perhaps Qwerty would dig something up that would be of use to Ms. Holmes as well. The longer his thoughts drifted over that night, the more his muscles twitched with rage. All traces of exhaustion had dissipated in favor of anger. He almost wanted to climb out of bed and hunt Stan Jackson down himself.

Stella's soft palm on his neck instantly drew him from murderous thoughts. His gaze focused on her face, the breath suddenly locking in his lungs. Her feather light touch taunted his skin and shot electric pleasure across the expanse of his body. Bishop swallowed heavily as Stella's head cocked to the side. “Can I stay here for the night?”

“I don't know about that,” Bishop sighed and leaned back. A teasing grin curled at his lips. “The nurses are hardasses.”

She snorted, not buying his excuse. “As if they'd tell
you
no visitors.”

“Well, I do need my rest to heal.” Bishop grinned as Stella rolled her eyes. Something enjoyable prickled between the two of them, their skin itched with delight. Or so Bishop thought.

“Arthur, I'm serious.” Stella locked their gazes together, her fingers tightening on the collar of the hospital gown. She swallowed as pleasant heat and chilly fear battled inside of her. The confusion only drew her closer to Bishop, leaning into his comforting heat. Stella pressed her forehead to his shoulder again and muttered, “Stan knows where I stay.”

“I didn't think of that.” Bishop's grin fell, his hands ghosting up her arms. Goosebumps prickled along her skin, her flesh cold and clammy to the touch. His fingers laced through her hair, sifting the brown locks between his digits. “I'd love it if you stayed, Stella.”

“Thank you.” She shifted, raising herself up far enough to see his face. Stella's eyes flicked from his eyes to his lips. Desire tugged at her insides. She wanted to forget about these revelations, take a breath, and enjoy herself. Ease herself away from the veil that protected her from excessive paranoia.

She inhaled Bishop's scent and relished in his warmth. One of his hands pressed against Stella's back, hot and firm through her clothes. His other hand played with her hair, sending pleasing tingles along Stella's scalp. Their eyes locked, lips hovering close to one another.

Attraction drew them closer together, like opposite ends of a magnet. Stella's eyes fluttered shut, Bishop's soon following, as their lips met. Electricity roiled through him, razing his achy muscles. Her hand clenched at his shirt, tugging him closer as their kiss deepened. Stella leaned into him, one of her hands trailed upward through his hair, tugging at his locks. The man groaned low under his breath, his body craving everything about Stella.