Page 114 of Bishop

“Abri. I get it. You don’t have to—”

“But I do.” She winces. “Not just because it’s good for me to step out of my comfort zone and voice appreciation, but because I think someone like you needs to hear it.”

Someone like me?

A criminal? A murderer? A cold, heartless son of a bitch?

“You’ve done a lot for me in a short space of time.” She inches into me, making me stiffen when her fingers idly grip the bottom of my shirt. “And although it’s clear the intimacy means nothing on a romantic level, it sure packs a punch that a guy actually cares about my enjoyment for once. You’re the first to make me feel human instead of a mere object, as pathetic as that sounds.”

It’s not pathetic. Those men never should’ve had the ability to touch someone like her. I shouldn’t have either. But I can’t tell her that.

“I trust you,” she murmurs.

I fight to hide a cringe.

“And you’re obviously uncomfortable with the admission.” She chuckles. “Which is okay. I didn’t say any of this because I was looking for some form of reciprocated admiration.”

The crunch of gravel carries in the distance, adding a lead weight to my gut. “Abri, listen, I’m—”

“No.” She smiles. “Don’t bother saying something awkward and completely out of character. Just let it be what it is—a few words of thanks that needed to be spoken and not necessarily acknowledged.”

The rumble of the approaching vehicle grows, becoming more than background noise. It’s the sound of the inevitable end to this messy hookup.

She looks to the hill, her brow furrowing as she focuses on the dirt road. “Can you hear that?”

I itch to light another cigarette. “Yeah.”

She glances at me in confusion. “Should we be worried? Is someone coming?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I hold her gaze, memorizing the calmness of her gorgeous features as they slowly transform.

“You’re expecting company?” She frowns.

I keep staring, keep letting reality sink in.

She stiffens, her hands dropping from my shirt. “My brothers?”

I incline my head, the confirmation subtle even though I get a front-row seat to the way it punches through her, parting her lips and widening her eyes.

A car enters my periphery. The same black Lincoln Langston drives whenever he lands in Denver. She turns to watch it crest the hill and travel toward us.

When her attention meets mine again, the gentle beauty of a woman I’ve learned to appreciate in such a short space of time has transformed back to the venomous viper I faced at the gala.

“Who?” she barks. “Matthew? Salvo? Remy?”

“Matthew.”

“And you asked him to come.” There’s no question in her tone, only vicious aggression as her chin rises in disdain.

“I told you I’d hurt you.”

Her eyes flare in outrage. “That’s it? That’s your apology?”

“I’m not going to apologize for doing the inevitable.” I push from the railing and she backtracks, fleeing from me. “I haven’t told him your secrets. I’ll leave that up to you.”

“How fucking thoughtful.”

I shrug, pretending I don’t care that I’ve betrayed her. That it’s no biggie that I’ve become a fucking snitch. “It’s the least I could do.”

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