Page 144 of Bishop

“Watch yourself,” Langston snaps. “I may not be able to lay you on your ass right now, but I can certainly pay someone to do the honors.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Keep running your mouth and you will.”

I tense every muscle against the invisible ties that bind me. He doesn’t know what Abri needs. What’s going through her mind. How hard it will be for her if she makes the wrong decision.

“You’re emotional,” Langston repeats, the words a slowly drawn out placation. “Let me speak to her. I won’t take long.”

“No, let me. Mother to mother.” Layla pushes from the bed. “With what the Costas put me through with my own daughter’s abduction, I’m the only one who can come close to empathizing with her right now. Trust me. I’ll make her see things your way.”

I clench my fists, hating that she’s right, loathing that I’m already taking a back seat to Abri’s situation. “Fine. But if you fuck this up, you won’t like the consequences.”

27

ABRI

I stare at the sky, my fingers curled around the splintered wooden bench, my limbs heavy.

How did I get here? To this random house in the middle of nowhere, where panic attacks haunt me and my backbone resembles a wet noodle?

Bishop.

He’s the reason I’ve become soft. Weak.

He gave me a glimpse of support. Of protection. And not only did I nestle into its warmth like a petrified lamb, but I let him take over.

I lost myself under the shelter of his reliability, and I can’t let that continue. Not when his help has turned me into this teary-eyed, weak-kneed little bitch. And also because he’s leaving tomorrow.

Gone.

Done.

My existence no more than a memory left to fade from his mind.

The back door opens and Layla, Matthew, and Bishop walk out.

I hate that my gaze glues to the man of the moment, the one who diluted the toxicity of the so-called temptress of high society. How I try to subtly read his emotions. Gauge his commitment. Decipher whatever the hell is going on between us.

But he doesn’t look my way.

He doesn’t seek me out at all.

Doesn’t even bother with a side-eyed glance as he moves to Lorenzo sitting on a wooden chair and grabs the vacant seat beside him, then thrusts it in Matthew’s direction.

Layla is the one who descends the porch stairs, passing Remy and Salvatore who both pace the yard, talking on their cells in muted tones and shooting me squinted looks every few seconds as if I’m likely to follow through with my mother’s request and kill them without warning.

Layla continues toward me, her smile friendly as she approaches. “Whatcha doin’?”

I shrug. “Just plotting the death of my siblings.”

She winces. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Only if you have experience in getting away with murder.”

She stops before me, her brows raising in contemplation. “Not personally. But I could give my brother a call. He’s an expert. I’m sure he could give you a few pointers.”

“Thanks for the offer, but Cole and I already have a complicated history.”

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