Page 24 of Bishop

Oh, God, I’m done for.

There’s no going back from this. No hiding it from my father.

Gordon retreats behind the safety of the gates as they grind and whir closed. “You’ve got two minutes before I call the police.”

“Come back here you fucking pussy.” Bishop climbs onto all fours. “Let me have a crack at those chalky bones.”

“You already had a crack, you idiot.” I scour the lawn, searching for my clutch so I can get the hell out of here. “You’re making this worse.”

“It don’t get much worse than what you’ve done, belladonna.” He stands to his full height, swaying, his eyes half-mast yet still promising retribution. “Now get in the fucking car.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” I snatch my clutch out from beneath a manicured hedge and retrieve my cell. “You need to leave before the police arrive.”

“No, you need to get in the car before I wring your fucking neck.”

“Could you even find my neck, though?” I raise a brow. “Because you sure as hell had the wrong coordinates for Gordon’s face.”

“Very funny.” He huffs a murderous chuckle. “Get in the fucking car.”

“Bishop, I wouldn’t get in your passenger seat if you were completely lucid and acting the gentleman, let alone this drug-addled mess of a man you are now.”

“Who made me this way?” He storms forward, getting in my face, his lips snarled, his teeth bared. “Who fucking drugged me, Abri?”

I stand my ground. Unflinching. “I’m getting an Uber.”

“You’re getting in that car. Dead or alive. I don’t care which.” He grabs my arm and drags me toward the vehicle.

“Stop. Don’t.” I pummel his chest, struggling not to fall to the ground as my heels sink into the lawn. “You’re in no shape to drive. You’ll kill us both.”

He scoffs. “Now you’re worried about your safety?” He pauses, digging into his pocket to pull out a key fob. “Here. You take the wheel.” He smacks the key into my palm. “Start driving out of town. I’ll put the location in the GPS.”

Like hell. I have to go home. I need to see my father. To explain in person…

But maybe I could do that in Bishop’s car. He can barely keep his eyes open. He’s on the verge of unconsciousness.

“Now, Abri.” He tugs me again, hauling me to the driver’s door.

“Okay. Fine.” I yank my arm from his grip. “I’ll drive.”

He stops. Stares. Scrutinizes.

He knows I can’t be trusted.

“Hurry up and get in before I leave you behind.” I yank open the door. “Or worse, the cops arrive.”

His jaw ticks. “If this is a—”

“Just get in the goddamn car.” I climb behind the wheel as he stumbles around the hood.

I should take off. Leave him stranded while I skedaddle my sorry ass out of here. I’m not sure why I don’t.

I reposition my seat while he slides into the passenger side, then reverse off Gordon’s nature strip, and drive away at speed.

Bishop fumbles with the GPS, his finger missing buttons over and over again. “For fuck’s sake.”

“Forget it.” I keep my eyes on the road but my head is already at home with my father, trying to figure a way out of this mess. “I know where I’m going.”

Bishop gives a dismissive grunt, clearly fighting against the sedative’s effects. He taps the screen again and again, finally bringing up a location. “You need to go here.”

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