Page 23 of Bishop

“It was a waste of my time,” he grates. “One that ruined any trust I may have had for your family.”

“Please don’t let tonight tarnish what could be a lucrative relationship.” I step closer. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll fix this.”

He crinkles his nose in distaste. “You think pathetic groveling will help your cause? I have no time for a spineless tramp. My agreement with your father was to indulge in the ‘temptress of high society.’ Yet the woman before me is a coked-up disappointment.”

I take the chastisement with the raise of my chin, attempting to reclaim the title I hadn’t known I’d earned.

“Go home, Abri. You’ve done enough for one night.”

Tires screech in the distance, the far-off traffic reminding me civilization exists outside my own little world.

“I can’t. Not until you promise to give me one more chance.” I reach out, gently touching his fingers. Bishop’s jacket parts with my movement, revealing my half-naked body. I do nothing to rectify the exposure. “I’m exactly the woman you thought I was. I can give you the experience you dreamed of.” I inch closer as more tires screech. “And now that I know your preferences, I’ll be far more prepared to help you indulge.”

“My men aren’t happy,” he sneers.

“And they have every right to feel that way.”

There’s another screech, closer this time, followed by an unhealthy rev of an engine.

“If we were to reschedule, my men would be sure to right the wrongs of tonight with far more enthusiasm.” He holds my gaze, the twinkle of revenge burning in his eyes.

“Of course.” I fight against the need to swallow. I don’t want to know what he means. I’ll deal with the repercussions later.

A fourth screech of tires squeals from nearby, an engine being gunned.

I glance over my shoulder, my eyes blinded by beaming headlights that have turned the nearby corner to hit me head-on.

“What in damnation…” Gordon grumbles.

I squint through the glare as the car careens our way at high speed.

“What’s going on?” I retreat toward the fence, my pulse fluttering.

The SUV mounts the curb, heading straight for us.

“Get out of the way.” Gordon grabs my arm, yanking me into him as I scream.

The driver slams on the brakes, the tires skidding through pristine lawn to come to a violent stop a few yards before mowing me down.

The old man flings me to the grass, my clutch falling from my hand as the driver’s door opens and a bulking frame stumbles out from behind the wheel.

“Oh, shit.” The whispered words escape me without consent.

Bishop stares at me with animalistic fury, his lip curled, his steps lumbered. He staggers toward Gordon, his business shirt untucked, the faint outline of a gun visible through the light material while I pull myself to my feet.

“What are you doing here?” I scramble after him.

His eyes are heavy lidded, his blinks slow and lethargic. The little baggie of sedatives I’d given him had a noxious effect… Just not noxious enough.

“Get in the car,” he spits through clenched teeth and points a menacing finger at Gordon. “Stay the fuck away from her.”

“Bishop, no,” I plead. He’s destroying the slight momentum I’d made and making this situation a million times worse.

“I swear if I see you near her again, I’ll fucking kill you.” He stops within feet of Gordon. “And if Langston finds out, you’ll wish I’d done it sooner.”

He cocks a fist and I gasp even though he’s not within contact range. The swing leaves me silent. It’s wildly off course, with way too much follow through.

His entire body continues the trajectory of that punch, his feet stumbling. He spins, losing balance to land on the cement drive with a grunt.

---