Page 17 of Bishop

Is she fucking kidding? Is this another seduction tactic? Am I her victim now?

Sorry, belladonna. You’re the last place I’d want to get my dick wet.

“I said, put it on,” I sneer.

“I can’t.” She glances away, the sharpness of her posture fading a little more. “It’s ruined. The dress is torn.”

Anger clenches a tight fist around my gut. I should’ve killed those fuckers. I should’ve fucking tortured them.

“Did they hurt you?” I scan her body—the toned legs, the pretty face, the delicate neck still draped in that fucking scarf.

She sighs. “Why are you here, Bishop?”

“I already goddamn told you your brothers sent me, so stop fucking asking.”

“But why you?” She directs her question to the opposite side of the room, refusing to look at me.

“Because I offered.”

Her gaze snaps back to mine. “Why? Is this retaliation for our last encounter? Did you come here to humiliate me?”

“No.” I bare my teeth, still annoyed at how she made me look foolish when she let Layla escape under my watch. “Although I’m yet to thank you for making me look incompetent.”

“I had a duty to help Cole’s sister.”

“And I have a duty to keep you safe. So don’t think about running.”

She raises her chin. “I need to set things right with Gordon.”

“It can wait.”

“No, it can’t. That meeting was important.”

“Meeting?” I scoff and turn away from her, dragging my cell from my pocket to dial. It’s no surprise when message bank cuts in. “You’d better be dead, my friend. Fucking call me.” I lock the home screen and shove the device back into my pants.

When I turn around to Abri, her hands are in my jacket pockets, her nose crinkled as she pulls cable ties from the left side, then a small plastic baggie filled with white powder from the right.

“Tools of the trade?” She raises a brow.

“They come in handy.”

She throws the cable ties to the bed and inspects the powder. “What’s this?”

“Not coke, little miss sniffles, so keep your nose out of it. That shit will put you to sleep.”

Her scowl returns. “Was this for me? The cable ties. The sedatives. Had you planned on drugging me?”

“It’s too early to be talking in past tense.”

Her scowl deepens. “Funny.”

“That’s me, belladonna. I’m a barrel of fucking laughs.” I slump onto the corner of the bed. “Now start talking. Tell me why you were shacking up with Gordon Myers.”

She ignores the question and saunters to the alcove with the minibar, her back to me as she snaps the cap on a bottle, pours the contents into a glass, then throws down a generous mouthful of auburn liquid.

“Abri?” I warn.

“Give me a second, okay?” She rests her forearms against the counter, her head hung.

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