Page 18 of Bishop

I don’t like this. Something about the situation sits like lead in my gut and I don’t know why.

Maybe exhaustion is the culprit. Or maybe it’s getting a front-row view of what Emmanuel Costa has made of this woman. How he created a sexual commodity out of his daughter. A piece of fucking merchandise.

I look away, needing a reprieve from my stifling anger.

More liquid is poured. Glasses clink. Her feet shuffle.

She moves to stand in front of me, handing over a scotch glass with a finger of amber liquid swimming inside.

I take the offering, forcing my attention to her eyes instead of all that toned, smooth skin visible through the opening of my gaping jacket. “I’ve already been told about the type of work you do for your father. So I guess it’s safe to say tonight was about extortion.”

She swirls what I assume is vodka in her glass. “You know nothing about me.”

“Then do me the honors.” I throw back the scotch in one gulp, thankful for the burn that acts as a distraction from wanting to shake the answers from her.

“Like Gordon said, it was entirely consensual,” she grates.

Bullshit.

That scream wasn’t the sound of a woman who’d given consent. The fear in her eyes when I stormed the room wasn’t a reflection of her willingness to participate either.

“I’m growing impatient, Abri.”

“And I’m getting bored. How about we make this mutually beneficial? I’ll give you an honest answer if you give one in return.” She raises her gaze from the glass, staring at me from under dark lashes.

It isn’t hard to understand how she easily entraps men. She’s perfectly choreographed. Exquisitely deceptive.

I place my empty glass on the floor at my feet. “What information could I possibly give?”

She shrugs. “Tell me what Remy and Salvatore are currently doing with Matthew.”

“I wish I could. But I’m just as clueless as you.” It’s not a lie. I have no idea where those fuckers currently are or what they’re currently doing.

She smiles, the curve of lips fraudulent but so fucking sinful. “Well, if you’re not going to play, then neither am I.” She finishes her drink, turns, and places the glass back in the alcove. “I need to go fix the mess you created.”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t want to get out of there. I fucking saved you.”

“You shocked me,” she clarifies. “I didn’t expect my estranged brother’s right-hand man to break down the fucking door on an extremely private meeting.”

“Stop calling it a meeting. It doesn’t make what you were doing seem classy.”

She blows out what I assume is a calming breath, but that woman is far from Zen. “I’m leaving. And you’re not going to stop me.”

“You bet your trouble-making ass I will. You’re staying with me until I can hand you over to your brothers.”

She pivots back to me with a barely audible laugh. “Like I’m an asset to be transferred? How misogynistic of you.”

“I don’t hate women, Abri. Just mankind in general.”

“Nice to know. But unless you plan on telling me what my brothers are doing together I have no use for you.”

Now that I can technically answer, yet for some reason I’m tempted to deny her again. I itch to see what she’ll do. How she’ll retaliate.

“Bishop?” She raises a brow. “Are we doing this? Or am I leaving?”

“They went to see your Uncle Lorenzo.”

She grows an inch with the straightening of her posture. “Why?”

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