Page 167 of Bishop

“You should when they come from me, belladonna. I don’t like being ignored.”

And I don’t like feeling fragile, but that’s exactly the effect he has on me. I always want to crawl toward his protection. To hide behind his strength. I guess neither of us are getting what we want today.

“I have no doubt you’ll find me. But will it be before I meet with Geppet?” I ask. “I doubt it. And after that I won’t care about your threats because I’ll already have the information I need.”

“You’re being fucking stupid,” he growls.

“And you’re being a fucking dictator. Salvo and Remy will watch over me. I’m being cautious.”

“Your brothers wouldn’t know how to fight their way out of a preschool beat-down. Why the hell won’t you trust me to do this for you?”

The elevator dings its arrival, the gleaming gold doors opening before me. “This isn’t about trust. It’s about me not needing to be saved.”

“That’s a goddamn lie. You want to be saved as much as I want to save you.”

My eyes widen at his admission, my heart throbbing.

I shake my head. Denying him. Denying the way the pained organ beneath my ribs wants to agree with him.

“Look…” I swallow over the tightness taking over my throat. “I appreciate you wanting to help. And I’m grateful for all you’ve already done. But—”

“Shut the fuck up with that Hallmark shit and tell me where the hell you are.”

And just like that, my frailty vanishes. Poof. Gone. “Fuck you, Bishop. I suggest you make peace with me doing this my way because I’m not changing my mind.”

“I won’t make peace with it, belladonna. And once I find you, you best believe I’ll make you understand how much I don’t enjoy being defied.”

A shiver runs down my spine. One that shouldn’t hold a hint of pleasure.

“You’re only making this worse for yourself, Abri. Tell me where you are. Tell me when you plan to meet Geppet.”

I step into the elevator. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you once I’m done.”

“Wait.” There’s a pause before he continues without the edge of malice. “There are easier ways. If you’re adamant on going at it on your own, then fine, have it your way, but let me be the one to watch your back.”

That was an Olympic backflip if ever I’ve heard one. Why?

“Are you tracing this call?” I accuse.

Is he trying to get me to stay on the line? Shit. I hang up before receiving an answer and slam my finger against my floor number.

He can’t get an accurate trace from a cell tower anyway. His tactics are useless unless he’s installed a tracker app on my cell.

My phone vibrates with a text.

Bishop

I don’t need to trace the call, belladonna. I already have men watching Geppet, remember? See you soon.

I stare at the screen, anger flooding my veins, but there’s also the unwanted thrill of the chase, too. He’s coming for me.

Son of a bitch.

I jog to my suite as soon as the elevator doors open and connect a call to Geppet.

“Hey, baby girl,” he answers.

“Hey. Can you get here sooner?” I open my hotel door and start undressing one-handed. “We can’t wait any longer.”

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