Page 115 of Bishop

“No, the least would be not telling my brother to come here. The same brother who killed my father and put me in a position where I’m scrambling to get a sign of life from a daughter none of my siblings even cared to notice I had.”

Okay, well, that jab feels like shit. Still… “You knew this was coming, Abri.”

She scoffs, her hand raising to her neck, seeming to instinctively cover the scar she trusted to leave uncovered in front of me for days. “When did you tell him to come?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes. I want to know if it was before you got what you wanted from me. Or after you used my body like everyone else.”

My nostrils flare. “That’s not how it was.”

“Really?” She drops her arm to her side and straightens her shoulders. “So you contacted him prior to getting a piece of Emmanuel’s little whore?”

The blood heats in my veins. “I’ve told you not to talk like that.”

“Or what? Are you going to bend me over and spank the words out of me like you previously threatened? I’m sure my brother would love to see that.”

I bite my tongue, refusing to give her the fight she wants when the result of our colliding aggression will set this house on fire.

“Put the tire back on my car, Bishop.” She turns on her heel and starts for the house. “And stay out of my fucking way.” The front screen slaps closed in her wake. Seconds later, another door slams inside, rattling the windows.

“Fucking perfect,” I mutter.

I lean back against the railing and pull out my cigarettes, lighting a smoke as the Lincoln pulls up in front of the house. Lorenzo is in the front passenger seat, one of his men acting as chauffeur.

The driver cuts the engine and Layla gets out the far back door, giving me a cringing smile over the roof of the car.

Great. She saw enough to pull whatever the hell that pitiful expression is meant to be.

She strides around the trunk to the opposite side of the vehicle and helps Langston climb out, the sight of him dousing my self-loathing in a layer of guilt.

He’s fucking frail, his movements slow and measured as he struggles to his feet.

If only I’d been there when Emmanuel attacked. If I’d stayed in Virginia Beach instead of coming here…

Then Abri would’ve been raped in that hotel room.

I take another drag, holding the smoke in my lungs.

Langston’s hard eyes meet mine, making it clear he saw enough between me and his sister to determine I deserve his spite. Layla nestles close to his side, wrapping her arm around his back, slowly guiding him toward the house in short steps.

The chauffeur attempts to do the same with Lorenzo, exiting the car to open the passenger door only to be batted away with a walking stick.

“If you continue to fuss around me like I’m a newborn I’ll make sure walking becomes a difficulty for you, too.” Lorenzo’s Italian accent is thick with frustration. “Stay in the car. Or outside the house. I don’t care which. Just stay away from me.”

“Yes, sir.” The guy nods.

I could smirk at how green the driver is, how fucking pathetic and new, but the fact Lorenzo had to bring a novice to Denver shows the success of Emmanuel’s onslaught. Many men must have been lost.

Langston reaches the bottom step and grabs the railing. “I can take it from here, mia dea.”

Layla’s lips part. She wants to protest. Instead, she closes her mouth and nods, remaining close as she watches him ascend the stairs as if he’s a toddler learning to walk.

He climbs onto the porch to face me, animosity swimming in his eyes. “I thought you said you weren’t fucking my sister.”

“I’m not.” I take a drag, exhaling the smoke slowly as he scoffs.

“Don’t use your word games on me, Bishop. I know you.” He continues to the door, Layla reaching the screen seconds before him to pull it open and allow him access.

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