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“Not the time.” Silas isn’t the only buzz cut sprinkled among the gangsters. I spot a few other SAS agents, who look more familiar when they glare.
I dip my fingers into Jin’s pocket, letting him tow me across the lobby. The pitch of his growl deepens with my touch.
When we pop outside, the valet has a sleek, black car idling. Jin goes for the wheel.
Before I can duck in back, Bish sweeps me into the passenger seat. “Stick close.”
I’m supposed to be clinging to my mates, so I don’t argue.
Bish secures me between his thighs and buckles us together, crushing my backpack to his stomach.
Afraid he’ll guess what’s hiding in the lumpy shapes, I cheat and blast Serafina’s lemon.
Then the syringe case isn’t the hardest thing between us.
His scent spikes, peach as fuzzy and desperate as his whisper. “Queen.”
When Bish readjusts, his firm length seeks room to breathe, spreading a lane in the valley of my ass.
I don’t dare shift, afraid I’ll freak.
But now that Bish has my manual, his hands don’t stray near my throat.
His scent is another story.
Remember that book where the kid gets trapped inside the big peach?
Now the peach wants to be inside me.
“Hold on,” Jin grits.
“As our leader commands.” Bish locks arms around my waist.
When we gun away from The Barrington, a fleet follows.
“Why follow us in the open?” I watch them through the side mirror.
Jin speeds through the city. “Because they want us to know.”
Gravity crushes me into Bish.
“Our enemies want us afraid,” he whispers, halfway inside my ear.
Fear isn’t a problem with Bishop’s hardness cutting through two layers of my pants. “How soon after we land will they have people on the property?”
“They won’t,” Jin says.
“They can’t.” Bish blows my ear, drawing out a shiver. “No airstrip where we’re heading.”
“Where’s that?”
“My private island.”
Sure. Let’s pretend that’s normal. “Then we’re taking your boat to your island?”
“The feds reclaimed my father’s fleet.” Bishop’s nostrils flare in distaste. “We have to rent.”
“How awful.” I pat his knee.
