Damned: Seven Tribesmen MC by Evelyn Glass Page B

instruction. He immediately slid out and stepped away, adjusting himself and zipping up his pants. As soon as he moved away, Stella smoothed her skirt down and turned to face the door. Bishop plopped down into one of the visitor's chairs, laying his ankle over top his knee.
     
    Just before their visitor entered, the woman's gaze darted toward Bishop. He glanced up at her, eyebrow cocked and smug smirk on his lips. Heat tickled at Stella's core as she tore her gaze away just as Stan entered.
     
    Immediately, her partner's eyes flicked from the lounging biker to Stella. His eyebrows ticked upward suspiciously. Stella willed the flush in her cheeks to drain.
     
    “What's he doing here?” Stan's lips screwed into a scowl as he closed the door behind himself. In his hand, he held sheaves of paper. Delilah was nowhere to be seen.
     
    Before Stella could answer, Bishop butted in, “I wanted to make sure Ms. Sampson would be safe.”
     
    “Safer than with you, I bet,” muttered Stan under his breath. Louder, he stated, “What's it matter to you, Bishop?”
     
    “Agent Jackson,” Stella warned. She motioned to the seated biker with a graceful wave of her arm. “Mr. Bishop brought Ms. Sampson in.”
     
    Stan's stiff shoulders fell, his lips pressing into a thin line. The knowledge he couldn't win in this situation settled atop him. He exuded the air of a petulant boy as he turned his gaze to Bishop. Stan struggled to retain his professional air. “Ms. Sampson will be fine. If her statement pans out, we can put her in witness protection until the investigation, arrests, and trial conclude.”
     
    “What if whoever is charged isn't found guilty?” Bishop leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing at Stan. A smug satisfaction filled the biker as he noticed the man's dark bruise. No amount of egotistical delight could calm his worry that Delilah would find herself dead in a ditch or forced into being a drug mule. The thought sent a sick itch crawling over his skin.
     
    “We'll keep her anonymous,” Stan replied, bitterness evident in his voice. Done with the conversation, the agent crossed the room and handed the papers to Stella. When the woman accepted the sheaf, Stan caught her by her wrist before pulling away. He leaned close, making Stella's stomach clench with concern. In hushed tones, he whispered, “I hope you know what you're doing, agent.”
     
    Stan stood back and stared down at Stella. The woman's eyebrows furrowed, curiosity whipping through her head. She didn't have a chance to ask for clarity. The man turned on his heel and walked briskly from her office.
     
    Stella stared after her partner, curiosity bubbling in her brain, as the door closed behind him. The creak of Bishop's chair drew Stella's gaze from the open entryway. The biker hauled himself out of the chair, an easy smile on his lips. The woman's heart fluttered under the warm expression in his eyes. “I should get going, too. Let you get some work done, Miss Holmes.”
     
    “What happened to Agent Holmes?” Stella's lips pursed unhappily as she hid her disappointment behind annoyance. Of course, the biker couldn't stay. She was hours away from her shift's end, and it would be highly suspicious if Bishop was locked in her office with her all day. Those not-entirely-false rumors would fly, and that's something she didn't want.
     
    Bishop closed the distance between them with one step. His large hands curled around her elbows as he leaned over her. His lips brushed against her ear, coaxing Stella's heart to jump to her throat. As the woman tried to reign in her swooning hormones, the man murmured into her ear, “What happened to your panties, Stella?”
     
    He hiked up her skirt with one hand, his other trailing gently over her lower lips. Stella gasped, leaning back against her desk as her body quivered in anticipation. His finger cleaved through the hole in her stockings, his warm digit caressing her swollen lips. Stella hugged onto the