Page 228 of Bishop

“And I’m telling you I don’t give a fuck. I’m here because you’re mine.”

I want to laugh at the ownership. To turn my nose up at the absolute absurdity.

But my entire body aches with how much I want his claim, too.

“Is this about Lorenzo’s ultimatum?” I ask. “I’m not your responsibility or obligation.”

“Lorenzo can go to hell. Me being here has nothing to do with him. I swear that to you. I know staying away was a shitty move, but I had a million reasons to keep my distance. Not only because of my face and the pregnancy scare, but because I hated myself for what I’d done. For treating you like shit the night of the gala. For lacking sympathy during our time together. For allowing Geppet to hurt you. Then for how I disrespected your body after I killed him.”

“You didn’t—”

“I fucking did.” He raises his voice. “I’ve done some messed up shit in my time but never have I struggled with disgust over my actions like I have with the things I’ve done to you.”

“Then why come back at all, even if I was pregnant?”

“Turns out I’m also a selfish prick.” He walks toward me, stopping a foot away, hands at his sides, expression intense. “I figured I could make do keeping an eye on you. Ensuring you were safe.”

“But?” I backtrack, bumping into the door, the heavy wood clapping shut behind me.

“But then I thought about you moving on and convinced myself you wouldn’t appreciate every man who touched you going missing.”

I choke out a laugh. One filled with sarcasm…and fear…and soul-crushing need.

A million butterflies awaken inside my chest, their wings rabidly flapping. What is it about this man that makes me so nauseatingly clingy?

“Every single man for the rest of your life, belladonna.”

I am not going to swoon over his bloodthirsty nature. Nope. Not going to happen.

My betraying knees turn weak.

“I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.” He inches closer, increasing my pulse, making it harder to breathe.

“No.” I place my hands on his chest, wanting to push him away, but those big, strong hands clamp around my wrists, holding my palms in place. “Things are different now. I have a daughter. I’ll never stop being a mother. And I know how you feel about child—”

“You know how I felt,” he corrects. “That little girl changed everything. I can’t fucking sleep because I’m so tied up worrying I’ve caused her nightmares. How I wish I could make her life easier. How the only thing I’ve ever been proud of is saving her from Adena. I know Pentacost has helped but—”

“You arranged her psychologist, too?”

He nods, solemn. “I’m told she’s the best there is… Well, the best in a clinical sense. When it comes to the firewall protection of her patient files, she’s highly lacking, but Najeeb would’ve got into those documents one way or another.”

“You’re insane.”

“I am. But I had to know what Tilly was going through. And how you were handling it. So I’ve kept myself up-to-date with the session notes. I’m aware the caregivers who died used to call her Tabatha, and how you’re making slower-than-necessary steps to get her to recognize Tilly as her name, because you don’t want to make her life harder.” He gives a sad smile. “And I fucking wish I would’ve been here to help get you through it but…”

“But you weren’t.” I accuse, letting out some of the pain he’s caused.

He winces. “I knew the start of your new life together was important. I had no business being a part of it. You needed to find your way on your own, to learn how to be a mother without me complicating things or being crazy fucking protective. So I did what I could from a distance.”

I stare at him. Stare so long my need for air increases, my breaths becoming ragged.

I love this man.

I love his craziness. His security. His intense eyes as they peer down at me. His warm grip on my wrists.

I don’t love that he stayed away. In fact, the amount I hate it sickens me. But I ache at his reasoning. That he battled with the space between us as much as I did.

“Let me be a part of your lives, Abri. I’m not too proud to beg.”

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