Page 214 of Bishop

“My anger is not your concern.” I force myself to relax, to release the tension in my jaw. “Is Adena downstairs or not?”

“She is.” He inclines his head. “But I will remind you there’s to be no bloodshed. She’s to remain alive.”

“Whatever you say.” I turn on my heel and stalk to the door leading downstairs.

I take the steps two at a time, descending to the sterile open space mainly used for emergency surgical procedures, and stop before the metal medicine cabinet to drag it forward.

The bottles inside the heavy piece of furniture rattle with the movement, the wheels on the bottom making it easy to shift away from the hidden door behind.

My pulse thrums as I enter the pin code into the security panel on the wall and wait for the steel door to slide open. Then I continue into the secret bunker, the florescent glow from the lights illuminating the windowless room.

I’ve waited nine long fucking days for this.

Over a week, praying the opportunity would come.

And now here it is—Adena in the barred cell I helped build eight years ago, the clothes she wore the last time we met now stained and filthy as she sits on a stool a few feet in front of the portable cot in the corner.

The room smells of piss and shit, the rusted bucket on the floor a fun reminder that there’s no bathroom facilities in her new home.

What I don’t approve of is the fucking hobby Lorenzo allowed her—the big ball of pink wool on the floor beside her feet dancing as she knits like a weathered grandma.

The soundproof door automatically closes behind me, locking us in together.

“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not handing over the financial information, brother?” She doesn’t raise her gaze from the project in her lap. “I don’t care if you keep me here forever.”

“Your brother tapped out,” I drawl, stepping farther into the room. “You’ve got me now.”

Her attention lifts, her eyes sparkling with delight as she eyes the damage she caused to my face. “My, don’t you look a treat?”

I smirk, my stitches pulling taut with the movement. The bullet grazed my cheek, slicing all the way to my jaw. Almost three inches worth of damage that itches like a motherfucker and will probably leave me looking like a Wish version of the Joker. “I can’t wait to return the favor.”

She laughs, the chuckle of a maniacal bitch grating my last nerve, the click, click, click of her knitting needles chipping away at my control.

“Let me tell you how this is going to work.” I drag a spare stool from the corner of the room and approach her cell, entering the pin for the barred door to release and open. “I’m going to ask you for the same information Lorenzo has failed to acquire for more than a week. But this time, you’re going to spill the details.”

I plant my stool a few feet away, sit, then hunch forward, resting my elbows on my knees, gifting her with my full attention. “I want the code for the house safe. The specifics for all your crypto. And any other financial particulars you might have hidden.”

She raises a derisive brow and continues click, click, clicking those knitting needles.

“Your children are going to clean you out, Adena. If you’re ever lucky enough to leave this cell, you’ll be nothing but a financial prisoner for the rest of your life, just like they once were. No more Luis Vuitton. No more Prada. You’ll be the failed widower of a designer label now stuck wearing the latest fashion from Walmart.” I give a subtle grin. “When was the last time that old skin of yours was draped in nylon?”

She rolls her eyes. “Lorenzo will look after me.”

“The same Lorenzo who locked you in a basement and deprived you of food for three days? How’s that chamber pot working for you? You also realize every square inch of this room is being recorded, right? I’m sure watching you hover over a bucket has become a favored pastime for your brother’s men.”

The knitting needles pause.

“You think you can provoke me into caving?” She glares. “I attempted to kill my brother, yet here I am, in his home, without so much as a scratch.” She returns her attention to her wool. “Lorenzo has always had a soft heart toward me. Eventually, he’ll give up and have someone send me a meal. Then new clothes. Then I’ll get proper bathroom breaks. And eventually freedom. All I need is patience.”

“You’ll need a lot more than that now that I’m here.”

She scoffs. “Have you grown sick of Abri already? Why am I not surprised?”

That name on her lips turns my vision red.

“I wouldn’t leave her unsupervised for too long.” She drags up the string of wool, continuing her knitting. “She doesn’t know how to live without a man. Once a whore, always a—”

I shove to my feet, the stool clattering to the floor behind me. “I’m not here to discuss her. What I want is the money.”

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