Page 22 of Bishop

I pass the concierge and continue outside to order an Uber, ignoring the gawking stares from street and foot traffic who make it clear my current fashion sense is far from subtle.

Fifteen minutes. I can't get a car out of here for fifteen fucking minutes.

“Goddamnit.” I want to scream. To tear at my hair. To throw up.

I never should’ve let Bishop drag me out of Gordon’s room. I could’ve handled the situation. At the very least, I could’ve gotten over it.

But I’d been in shock. Finch had choked me and thrown me on the bed. My throat and neck were burning from the onslaught. Then the door smashed open and it felt like a lifeline had walked in. I’d been riddled with misplaced relief.

For a split second, I’d wanted Bishop to save me, and I’ll be paying for that weakness for years to come.

I’m six blocks closer to Gordon’s neighborhood, my feet protesting the power walk, by the time the Uber catches up to me. I keep trying to call Gordon throughout the drive, my impatience turning me into a sweating mess as the car pulls up in front of a massive Georgian-style home.

“Is this it?” the driver asks.

“Yeah.” I’ve been past once before while doing recon for tonight. I wanted to get insight into the man I’d be sleeping with. To determine as much as I could about him from his surroundings. “Thank you.”

I climb out and walk up the path to the locked gate of the wrought-iron fence with its brick pillars and bordered shrubbery.

The car drives away. I’m left alone. Just me, my stun gun, and the little silver bullet of coke that calls my name from the clutch gripped in my hand.

I take another bump to reignite calm as I stare at the house glowing with warm yellow light, the glass entry illuminated by a massive chandelier.

He has to be home.

I don’t know where else to find him otherwise.

I walk to the call button on the pillar beside the gate, the grated beep loud through the silent night. Then I wait, my stomach growing heavier the longer the quiet stretches.

What if he’s already on his way to see my father? What if he got hold of Emmanuel and demanded a meeting to discuss my betrayal?

I press the button again and contemplate another bump.

The drugs aren’t helping this time. My hands shake. My stomach twists with curdling nausea.

“Who’s there?” Gordon’s voice crackles over the speaker.

Thank God. I press the talk button. “It’s Abri.”

Silence is my only response.

“I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding,” I beg. “I had no idea that was going to happen.”

“You dare to come to my home?” he seethes.

“I had no choice; you haven’t answered my calls. All I need is a few minutes to explain. Let me clear this up.” I infuse my voice with sultry confidence. “I can fix our business arrangement. We can make this work.”

I’m not sure how, but I will. I’ll do whatever it takes.

Gordon opens the front door, still dressed in his tuxedo, and strides down the drive toward me. His tie is gone. His top button undone. The casual disarray of his clothing makes him appear laidback and sophisticated. It’s the callous narrowed slits of his eyes that don’t match as he takes in my appearance.

He wants to tear me to shreds, and given my mistakes, someday soon he’ll likely get his chance.

Once he’s a few yards away, he slides a hand into his pants pocket and the gates grumble and whir as they part two feet before stopping.

“Your father is going to hear exactly how disappointed I am in tonight’s events.” He walks through the gap to stand in front of me. “I’ve never been more humiliated in my life.”

“I understand. And I apologize.” I paste on the most sincere puppy-dog expression. “I’m so incredibly sorry, Gordon. I had no idea my brothers had sent someone to watch over me. It was all a terrible misunderstanding.”

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