Page 55 of Bishop

No matter Abri’s intent the night of the gala, the marks he left are unforgivable, the brutality inexcusable to someone of her lineage.

I kneel on the carpet, oddly humbled by the sight of her.

It’s been years since I’ve been this close to a sleeping woman. Since I’ve heard the soothing cadence of another lost in slumber. And it’s the first time I’ve witnessed it with someone as beautiful as Abri.

Her lips are gently parted. Her inhales a calm, rhythmic dance.

But it’s those bruises that continue to draw my attention and steal the tranquility, making my temples pound.

I reach out, sweeping a stray strand of hair from her left cheek, my fingers brushing the pure softness of her skin. “Abri.”

She whimpers, faintly coherent.

“I need you to wake up.” Slowly, I rub my knuckles along her jaw, earning another whimper, gaining a faint bat of her lashes. “Just for a minute.”

“Bishop?” She opens her eyes, the deepest blue staring back at me in confusion as she struggles to rouse. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” I don’t stop touching her. I can’t. I take liberties with my fingers, trailing them lower until I’m skirting the edge of the damage Finch left behind.

She moans, her eyes falling closed. It almost sounds sexual—pleasurable—but I’m smart enough to understand that perception is only due to the lingering effects of my most recent shower activities.

There’s no love lost between us.

I don’t want her and she doesn’t want me.

But I can admit the pretty package she comes in is far more tempting when all her crazy is locked away.

“I need you to hear me, belladonna.”

She gives another whimper. Struggles again to open those ocean depths and blink back at me.

“I gave you a vow I had every intention to keep.” I hold her gaze as her glazed eyes fight to remain open.

“Mmm?” She raises her brows in question.

“This is me keeping my promise.” I change the path of my fingers, giving in to temptation with a slow swipe of my thumb along her bottom lip.

A delicate sound emanates from her throat, one I picture capturing with my mouth. I could smash my lips to hers and maybe she’d never remember. Maybe she’d never know. But I would. Her poison would forever taint me.

She’s my belladonna for a reason.

I drag my hand away and stand. “I’m leaving to take care of Finch. By the time you wake, the man who hurt you will be dead.”

12

ABRI

I wake up slow and warm, the comforting edges of a good night’s sleep still cuddling my consciousness.

I keep my eyes closed. Stretch. Then pause at the unfamiliar fabric of the pillow.

In a heartbeat, solace slips away and reality floods in—where I am, why I’m here.

I sit up, swallowing back the panic that wants to drag me down, fighting against it like I have for two days.

The morning sun beams heavily against the thin curtains, announcing it’s far later than my usual five-thirty wake-up call. Jesus. I’ve wasted too much time.

Faint noise filters from the other side of the closed bedroom door, the barest scent of bacon singing to my empty stomach. If only going out to the kitchen didn’t mean I had to face Bishop in all his authoritative glory.

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