Page 1 of Bishop

One

Bishop

I feel myself fading.

The off beat dripping of water is the only sound I focus on.

Not the scratching of the metal tools Liam is picking up from the stone table top or the upbeat tune he's chosen to hum as he figures out what's next on his sadistic menu.

Drip, drip...drip.

"This will do." Liam mutters before something heavy and hard collides with my side.

I throw my head back, roaring with the pain that is now bouncing back and forth like a ping pong ball against my rib cage. Sweat drips off my face, several drops sliding into my eyes as I squeeze them shut.

Liam grunts. I brace myself for another blows but this one lands lower against my hip. My bones protest and I'm almost sure something is broken.

Struggling is useless, Liam and the rest of the guards in the room have made it impossible for me to get away from the torture.

Peeking over my shoulder, I see Liam standing slightly to the side, a crazed smile on his face and a mini sledge hammer leaning on his shoulder.

Of course, he's trying to break me down with brute force. He was never able to beat me physically before, I'm guessing this is his way of proving his strength.

"You sadistic fuck." I grumble.

Liam gasps and presses the head of the sledge hammer to his chest as if he were offended, "who, me?" With a chuckle he slowly walks so he's standing in front of me. "Now why would you go and say a thing like that? You know me, Bishop. We've riden together, partied and prayed... we've done it all together."

"Yeah, so when the hell did you get so fucked up? You're not the same man I knew before." I wheeze, trying to get the pain in my side and hip to lessen.

"You're right. I'm not the same man. In fact, I'd go so far as to say you're one of the main reasons I am the way I am today."

My eyes never leave his as I shake my head in confusion, "I've got nothing to do with what you've got going on here. Don't blame me for your bullshit."

Quickly, the broad grin on his face drops as he lets go of the sledge hammer and grabs the back of my neck tugging forward and holding me at a uncomfortable postion. "Of course, you were part of it. The Boys of Djinn MC was going straight to the top. There was no one around to stand in our way. Not only could we have run the underground but with most of us having ties in the FBI we could have run all the legit avenues as well. All you had to do was going along with the plan. But that wasn't good enough for you. You were the one who got it in my brother's heads that we should try to link up with the Wings of Diablo, afterwards it was your idea that the club stay true to their word about not coming after them. You might not have come up with the plan but you damn sure made it so we needed one."

Finally, he lets me go and the sudden momentum forces me to swing backwards. "Do you even hear yourself. That's called being a good person. There was no need to go after them in the first place. They weren't a threat to us until you made them one."

"We're just going to have to agree to disagree on this one. I'm hoping that sooner or later you're going to see things my way." He shrugs and pulls the hammer back into position.

I know what's to come. More pain.

"I'm never going to see things your way, Liam. Never."

"Oh, don't say that. We're going to be here for a long, long while.

***

We’ve moved on to an ice bath.

I’m not sure if this form of torture is better or worse than the blunt trauma. On one hand, at least he’s not trying to break my bones anymore. But on the other hand, I’m shivering so hard it feels like my muscles are going to rip from my bones.

“I don’t understand… I… I… I don’t know what you want,” I speak through clenched teeth, the force of keeping my jaw locked making my head pound.

“Oh no, shhh, don’t worry yourself about figuring out what you can say to make me stop. I promise you, there are no right words. I don’t want anything from you.”

I groan and try to flex my fingers. The ice, along with the way I’m shackled in the big tub, makes it hard for me to get any blood circulation going.

“Then wh… why?” Asking is moot at this point. I already know the answer, but no matter how many times he’s brought me to this room and set up various forms of pain, I always wind up asking him.

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