Page 15 of Bishop

“Leave, Bishop.” She throws the pillow at me, the projectile not getting within a few feet before it falls to the floor. “Now.”

Panic is potent in her eyes as she raises her chin, defying her fear or maybe just defying me.

“How do you two know each other?” the old guy asks. “Did Emmanuel send you? Has he gone back on our agreement? Because I don’t take kindly to bait.”

“I’m not bait.” Abri shakes her head, frantic. “That’s not what this is.”

“My instructions come from someone far more unaccepting of these types of situations.” I shuck my jacket and throw it at her. “Put it on and start walking for the elevator.”

She shoves my offering away and pushes to her knees. “No. This is none of your business.”

God, how I wish that were true. How her safety wasn’t currently mine to ensure.

“Put on the fucking jacket and get your ass off the bed.” I scoop her dress off the floor and her clutch from the nightstand, then throw both in her direction while my gun remains on the standing guard. “Before I haul you over my fucking shoulder.”

“You’re making a big mistake,” the old guy warns.

“Good. They’re my favorite kind.” I point my gun at his forehead and take a threatening step in his direction.

He stumbles back into the chair and quickly rights himself. “I mean you’re making a mistake about her. She wanted this. She agreed.”

I don’t give a shit if Abri signed herself up to be a pincushion. It’s not happening on my watch. “Give me a reason to pull the trigger, old man. All I need is one. It’s been a few days since I had the taste of blood.”

He stands taller. “I don’t want trouble.”

“It’s a bit late for that.” I keep my barrel poised in his direction and glare at Abri. “Move.”

She doesn’t.

I stalk for her, my blood searing with rage as I grab her arm and bend forward to haul her over my shoulder.

“Stop.” Her words protest but her body doesn’t. There’s no hitting. No kicking.

“If anyone follows before we get in the elevator you’ll be tasting bullets.” I pivot the aim of my gun between the two conscious men. “Understood?”

Their only acknowledgement is continued eye contact.

I step over the piece of shit on the floor and back into the hall, expecting defiance.

“Please, Bishop,” Abri begs. “Put me down. I have to stay.”

“Shut your goddamn mouth.” I stalk to the elevator, press the call button, and wait a beat before measuring quieter steps toward the fire escape.

I keep her over my shoulder as I inch open the thick metal door, then slip inside. I place her on her feet, closing in against her as I shove my gun back into my waistband, and spy through the tiny crack I leave open between the door and the jamb.

“Please,” she repeats. “I know I was screaming but—”

I raise a hand to her face, placing a lone finger over her lips.

The elevator doors open with a clunk, painful seconds later, they close with a swoosh. Then there’s silence.

I wait for Gordon to follow. To attack.

Nothing happens.

A few heartbeats later, the doors close again.

“Stay quiet,” I whisper. “Not a fucking word.”

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