Page 174 of Bishop

I rerun his statement in my head. Over and over. He can’t actually be that warped, can he?

“My woman?” I roll my eyes. “Really?”

I can admit some parts of me are getting a kick out of his outrageously caveman response—mainly my tumbling stomach and the tingling void between my thighs. But my life is spiraling closer toward Armageddon with every passing second, and I have no time to encourage this Beauty and the Beast stitch.

One minefield at a time please, Satan.

“And I would never allow my man to dictate my life for me.” I shove at his chest, my clutch thumping his shirt. “This is my daughter.” I shove again. “My responsibility.” Another shove. “My mistake to fix. Don’t back me into a corner, Bishop. You won’t like how I fight my way free.”

“Cute threat.” One side of his lips kicks in a violent grin. “Want to slide a hand over my dick and see how hard violence makes me?”

My throat dries. And my heart—holy hell. The hammer of arrhythmia makes me dizzy.

This isn’t the Bishop I know. This man is next level. Bishop 2.0.

Or, more accurately, the Butcher.

“I need to get back out there.” I sidestep to walk around him. “Geppet is already suspicious.”

“He’s also a few dumb moves away from a death sentence.” He grabs me by the hips, dragging me backward into him again. He places his mouth right near my ear, his nose nuzzling my hair. “Let me protect you, belladonna.”

Is that a request? No longer a demand?

My heart squeezes at the slight fracture in his dictatorship. But I can’t cave. “I need to do this on my own,” I whisper.

“No, you only think you do.” He roughly turns me to face him, the harshness of his stare holding me hostage more than those forceful hands. “Why are you so fucking stubborn?”

“Why are you?” I counter.

“Because getting the information from him will cost me nothing. Can you say the same?” He stares at me pointedly. “I see you, Abri. You’re not the viper you think you are. That heart of yours is full of gold.”

I force out a laugh. “You don’t know me.”

“I know that you want me to save you.”

I shake my head, denying him. Denying the truth. Denying how the weakness threatens to seep back in.

“That you want nothing more than to be taken care of,” he continues. “And I know you’re well aware I’m the only man capable of doing it. I’m the only one who can calm you. Protect you.” He pulls me against his hips, his crotch rubbing against my pubic bone to make me burn. “Pleasure you.”

Oh, God. “Stop it.”

“Never.” He smashes his mouth to mine.

I gasp into the contact, his tongue sliding between my parted lips to deepen the kiss.

His hand grabs the back of my neck. The other is possessive on my hip. He consumes me until I’m a puddle of need, clawing at his shirt, scratching at his throat, completely and utterly immersed in him.

“Bishop…” I pull back, struggling for air. I’m about to plead my case to get back out to Geppet but that deep ocean blue staring back at me catches me off-guard.

All the anger is gone. It’s not even passion that peers down at me.

It’s something deeper. Something like what he shared with me in his bedroom at the safe house.

Our panted breaths mingle between us. The silence stretches.

Finally, he presses his forehead to mine, the hand on my neck tightening. “I claimed you. You’re mine. Stay safe or I’ll kill you myself.”

I should laugh in his face. Should shoot him down in flames and tell him I’ll never be claimed. Never be owned. But my chest becomes tight and achy. I swear, my heart swells.

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