Page 63 of Bishop

I don’t do comfort. Or kindness. Still, I’m driven toward that ledge without my consent. Just like last night, the compulsion to place my hands on her takes over.

“Lorenzo loves children. He’s always petitioning his kids to have more grandbabies. Your child will want for nothing under his protection.”

“Stop,” she begs. “Stop.” She shakes her head. “Just stop.”

Over and over she pleads, the word becoming fractured, her inhales sawing like a serrated blade through turmoil I don’t understand.

She hunches, clutching for the counter.

“Abri, you need to calm down.”

She doesn’t listen. Her fight for oxygen increases, the front of her chemise gaping to expose excessive cleavage that should not be on my radar.

“Tell me what’s going on,” I grate, pissed off by the sordid distraction.

She keeps shaking her head. Keeps clinging to that fucking counter.

“Abri,” I warn.

She sways. Shit. She’s going to pass out.

I close in behind her, my chest to her back, my fingers over hers on the counter. “Do I need to drag you to the shower again?”

“No.” She pushes backward, her ass rubbing my crotch.

If I wasn’t already going to hell for my sins, I’d be fast-tracked to the front of the line for the way my dick reacts.

“Let me fucking help you.” I grab her hips and turn her to face me, the terror in those mesmerizing eyes punching hard into my sternum.

She blinks back the weakness, scrunches her nose as if hating the emotion she can’t control, each ragged breath waging war against her fragility.

“You can’t help.” She shakes her head, this tenacious, venomous woman a quivering mess in my hands. “I need my mom. I have to find her.”

“She doesn’t want to be found, belladonna, and she doesn’t deserve your loyalty. You’re better off without her.”

She heaves a sardonic laugh. Gulping. Gasping.

“I know it’s been hard.” I press closer, keeping her upright. “You lost your dad and now your mom is MIA, but you’ll learn to live without them.”

“No, I won’t.” She shoves at my chest. “I need to find her.”

“Abri, you—”

“I have to, Bishop.” Those eyes pin me, the ocean blue fathomless in their stricken depths. “She’s the only one who might know the location of my daughter.”

I straighten, my blood running cold. “Why? What does that mean?”

She continues to push me away, heaving, wheezing.

“Listen to me.” I step into her, my shoe between her bare feet, my knee between hers. Hip to hip. Face to face. “You’ve gotta calm down.”

I know she can’t. She’s too far gone.

Fuck my life.

I grab her, hauling her off the ground. She doesn’t fight. If anything, she willingly complies, flowing with my movements as if she’s part of me. I stalk the few feet of space to the fridge, place her on the counter beside it, then yank open the freezer for a fistful of ice.

“Keep talking to me.” I slam the door shut and give her my undivided attention, my stomach against her knees, the lower half of her legs trailing down the top half of mine. I feel her everywhere, no place more potent than my chest as her suffering burrows under my ribs. “Tell me about your daughter. Why don’t you know where she is?”

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