CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
The tension in the small office felt hot and sticky and heavy. Stella sat across the desk from Bishop, the bags of fast food between them. The clock ticked loudly in the silent room, and was sometimes accompanied by far off buzzes and clangs of the garage. Since stepping foot in the office, the throb in Stella's sex-exhausted muscles worsened.
Bishop wasn't faring much better. When Stella texted him, asking for a lunch date, he tried to decline. However, his treacherous body typed back: Sure my place or yours?
His stomach churned at his own self-betrayal. However, no amount of self-deprecation could stop his hunger. Bishop chewed lazily on his cheeseburger, hoping the mouthful could help him avoid any unneeded conversation.
Stella picked at her fries, but her burger remained untouched. Though nervousness paddled through her stomach, she chalked it up to having a rather humongous breakfast. Stella tore her gaze away from the fries, pinning Bishop under a thoughtful gaze. An amiable dialogue needed to be opened, and she racked her brain for starters. “So, I have a new partner.”
“That's good,” Bishop muttered around his mouthful of beef. He kept his eyes from Stella's gaze.
“Yeah, and she told me something interesting today.” Stella plunged forward, despite Bishop’s disinterest. Might as well get to the heart of their visit since beating around bushes never amounted to much after all.
Bishop still refused to look her in the eyes, as he halfheartedly muttered, “Oh?”
“Delilah named the gang involved with the cocaine ring.” Stella watched Bishop closely, looking for any twitch in his jaw, any flinch, any sudden rigidity in his shoulders. The man was a complete picture of neutral stoicism though.
“Oh.”
Stella narrowed her eyes, resisting the urge to scowl. Licking her lips, she toed the dark surf. “You don't sound very surprised.”
Bishop paused after he swallowed. His mind reeled with options. He could continue with evasion, or he could be frank. After all, none of the Seven Tribesmen were being hauled away in handcuffs. Obviously, Delilah hadn't named the 7T as the snort pushers. His gaze flickered to Stella, catching her intense stare. His heart thundered in his chest under the heat of her gaze, as he gently put down his half-eaten burger. His voice didn't betray his internal excitement though. “I'm not.”
“Is she lying?” Relief zipped through Stella's mind, as Bishop met her gaze head-on. His avoidance was starting to worry Stella. Even if his gray gaze held a guarded expression and his tone fell flat, if she could see his eyes, it would solidify the 7T's innocence in her heart.
Bishop shrugged his shoulders and replied, “I can't say.”
Stella sighed in frustration. She pinched the bridge of her nose, seeking a happy balance to their little conflict. The fact glistened in her mind that she trusted Bishop to tell her the truth—if they spoke candidly to one another. “Look, if I talk freely about this, will you give me your word you won't take matters into your own hands?”
“I'm flattered my word would mean so much to you, Agent Holmes.” Bishop leaned back in his chair. Pain echoed through his muscles and along his leg, but he didn't allow it to show across his face. He crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw clenched with determination. “But club business is club business.”
“Arthur.” Stella stared at him, disbelieving the direction of his candor. This wasn't unexpected though. They had gone back to their respective lives. No matter how many hot nights or orgasms they shared, they both remained on very opposite sides of the law. Stella swallowed down the disappointment, as it crawled up her throat.
“The Seven Tribesmen will take care of the problem gang as we see fit.” Bishop's resolve firmed with his every word. His muscles tensed though they complained with various levels of ache. The gunshot wound on his calf screamed under the tight tension. Bishop held on to all of it, concentrating on the pain in order to sweep the other emotions away.
“And what if it is more than one gang, Mr. Bishop?” Anger steeled Stella's voice. She jumped to her feet, and worry dotted her thoughts along with frustration. Bishop's pigheaded decision could get the Seven Tribesmen killed! Stella's heart twisted painfully at the very thought. “What then? Will you send your men to their deaths for some testosterone-driven, vindictive sense of revenge?”
“They knew what they signed up for when they joined.” Bishop's eyebrows lowered into an angry 'v' as he followed Stella's movement. His muscles tightened and his jaw ached, as he clenched his teeth. Pain bit through his thoughts and body, keeping his warm enamor concerning Stella far away.
“Yeah? Is Thomas Shupe out of the hospital yet?” snapped Stella. Rage and fear completely blanketed her thoughts, manifesting in pointed, venomous words. “Or is he still recovering from the price of loyalty?”
As the words rang out through the air, silence descended. Stella gasped and a hand slapped over her mouth, her eyes wide and apologetic. Bishop's gaze flared with heat, as they darkened like an angry storm. The ache in his jaw tripled. Around them, the squeal of power tools sang through the air, and the tick of the clock boomed between them, as if counting down to an explosion.
Stella breathed in and out through her nose. Her shock still danced at the corners of her thoughts. She hadn't had an outburst like that since she was a teenager. When her heart stilled to a reasonable rate, she lowered her hand. Her voice quivered as she spoke, “Arthur, I'm sorry, I didn't me‒–”
“Get out.” He didn't want to hear her words. He didn't want her apology. Bishop clung to the words that Stella snarled in a fit of anger, lassoing the indignation that flared from her words.
Stella gasped and said, “I'm sor–!”
“Now!” roared Bishop, slamming his hands on his desk as he rocketed to his feet. One of the pops fell over, and dark soda fizzed down the side of his desk. Both of their gazes flicked to the fallen drink. Bishop swallowed, reigning in the conflagration he used to keep the distance between himself and Stella. Without taking his gaze off the soda, he grunted, “I have nothing left to say to you, Agent Holmes.”
Another beat of silence hung in the air, hollow and cold. A car engine roared somewhere in the garage, and the clock continued to tick loudly, marking their meeting's minutes. After a breath of hesitance, Stella shuffled away from the desk. She paused before opening the door and turned to cast one glance back. Bishop still refused to look at her, keeping his gaze determinedly on the spilled beverage.
Guilt stabbed her through the chest, knowing her words had been completely uncalled for. He didn't want to hear her apology though. However, a small part of Stella decried allowing him to rush to his death. The Seven Tribesmen didn't deserve a bloodbath ending. Stella swallowed heavily, settling on a vague warning. “Be careful, Bishop. This might be bigger than the 7T can handle.”
By the time Bishop registered her words and his eyes darted to the door, she was gone and the doorway was left wide open. He stared at the empty space for a breath, his brain churning the last half hour over and over.
Delilah had given up the name of the snort-pushing gang. Perhaps Coyote should pay Firecrotch another visit. Or maybe Qwerty could get his hands on a copy of the statement. His guts pinched with premonition. He was certain the Devil Spikes were the proxy, with the Grave Demons being the main contact. That made the 7T's retribution a little more complicated.
Why would Stella warn him though? She had to know he'd use the information for his own means.
He shook the curious thought from his head. Now, he had something to clean up. Snatching the napkins, Bishop hissed against the pain in his leg and crouched down. As he sopped up the fizzing soda, Stella's warning continued to echo through his head.