Page 134 of Bishop

Her eyes are pools of liquid as she meets my gaze. “Why is she like this?” Gasp. “How can she hate us so much?” Gasp. “Her children?” Gasp. “Her own flesh and blood?”

I take another step, my hips leaning into hers, caging her against the door. “I need you to look for five things in the room and tell me what they are.”

She pushes at my chest, frowning. “What?”

“Find five things, Abri.” I grab the scarf around her neck, loosening the material, my touch gravitating toward her scar. “Tell me what they are.”

She shakes her head.

“Five things,” I growl. “Just tell me five fucking things.”

“Why?” she wheezes.

“Do it. Tell me.”

She glances over my shoulder as my thumb strokes her throat. “The bedcovers—”

“What color are they?”

“Pink.” She scowls, the heel of her palm digging into my chest in an attempt to gain space I’m not willing to give.

“What else do you see?”

“The lamp.”

“What does it look like? Is it pretty?”

She scrunches her nose. “No. It’s a horrible beige. It looks like it belongs in a nursing home.”

“What else?”

“The chest of drawers… The vial on the carpet.”

Her gaze returns to mine, the watery stare eating away at me. I hate watching her struggle, despise how she battles invisible demons that are out of my reach. It’s my job to protect Lorenzo’s niece, even if that’s from herself. And failing in my task feels like a hot poker jabbing through my chest.

“Your eyes…” She sucks in breaths. A little slower. A little longer. “They’re the darkest, deepest blue I’ve ever seen. A stormy sea that threatens to drown me.”

She’s drowning me, too. Each poetic word fills my lungs with water.

“Why am I doing this?” she rasps. “It’s stupid.”

I guide a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, ignoring the question. “Now tell me what you hear. Four things.”

“Bishop, please.” She pushes at me. “I just need—”

“You need to answer my questions. Tell me what you hear, belladonna.”

She swallows. Gulps for more air. Shakes her head.

“Tell me.”

“Footsteps,” she says in a rush. “Behind the door.”

Yeah, I hear those too. The nosy fuckers are eavesdropping.

“My pulse in my ears…” she whispers. “My mother’s taunts in my head. God, why is she so cruel?”

I grab her chin with far more gentle fingers than I’d thought I possessed. “Don’t do that. Don’t listen to her. She won’t beat us.”

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