Page 20 of Bishop

“Stop,” I bite out. “Fucking stop.”

The pressure vanishes, my wish granted in an instant.

I heave breaths as her legs slither out from around my neck, then with one mighty kick to my chest, she sends me toppling from the mattress.

I hit the floor. Hard.

“Call me a whore again, asshole.” She slides from the bed and saunters back to the alcove, this time retrieving her cell from her clutch. “See where it gets you.”

I remain on the carpet, equally stunned, pissed, and impressed. I try to regain my equilibrium, to suck in air to clear my head, but my brain is foggy. Exhaustion has me by the balls. That’s probably how she got me down so easily.

I need a fucking nap.

She connects call after unanswered call while I fail to pull my shit together.

“Why aren’t Remy and Salvo answering?” She dials again, the subdued trill ringing in the background. This time, an answering service kicks in.

“You’ve reached Emmanuel Costa. Please leave—”

I shove to my feet and lunge, snatching the cell. My brain protests the sudden movement by momentarily short-circuiting my vision. “What the fuck are you doing?” I stumble, holding the phone high above my head.

She scrambles for the device, her perfectly manicured nails scratching my arms through my shirt. “I need to talk to my father.”

“Like hell you do.” I shut off the phone.

“Give it back.” She yanks at my sleeve. “Bishop, please, this is important.”

“Why?” I tower over her, my dominance now an act because it feels like a bag of feathers could knock me down.

“Goddamnit. What is your problem with having to know everything?” She shoves a rough hand through her hair, raking the tangled strands. “I need another drink… Do you want one?” She starts for the alcove.

“No.” I’m already living on an unsustainable concoction of adrenaline, insomnia, and the after-effects of her choking thighs. My sight is a mess, my vision blurry, my skull heavy. I can’t sustain this level of animosity. It takes too much fucking energy. “I need to take a piss.” I lob the cell to the bed. “If you attempt to call your dad again, the punishment will be my own version of that kung fu, boa constrictor, neck-crushing bullshit you pulled on me. And we both know my crotch isn’t as pretty as yours.” I walk for the bathroom, stopping behind her as I pass. “If you leave, I follow. And whoever I find you with will end up dead. Do you hear me?”

She glances at me over her shoulder and bats her lashes. Still incredibly beautiful despite the underlying venom. “Loud and clear.”

“I’m not joking, Abri. If you leave, we’ll both end up in prison.”

“I heard you.”

Good.

I need a fucking breather from her toxicity. This woman is an energy vulture and I’m her latest victim.

I enter the bathroom, flick on the light, and close myself into the sparkling white room. The blinding glow stings my eyes and skewers my brain.

Christ. How long has it been since I slept for more than a solid two hours? Three days? Four?

I postpone the bladder relief and walk for the sink to splash water on my face in the hopes of delaying the inevitable crash and burn. I need to get Abri out of here first. She can’t be trusted to stay inside this room, let alone the hotel.

The safe house outside the city limits is where we need to be. But the thought of the ninety-minute drive is a killer.

I splash more water, scrubbing my skin, scouring my two-day stubble in the hopes of reviving some of my lost energy.

When I straighten to meet my gaze in the mirror, the world spins on its axis like a motherfucking Tilt-A-Whirl.

Shit. I clutch the counter, my legs heavy with fatigue, my chest thudding with pummeling arrhythmia. What the hell is going on?

I’m dead on my feet. Entirely wiped.

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