Page 25 of Bishop

I glance at the map with its directions outlining a one-hundred-and-forty-five-minute journey.

No, thank you.

“Don’t fuck me around again, belladonna. Tomorrow is going to be bad enough between us without adding more transgressions to your list.” He slumps into his seat. “Get to this location and maybe all will be forgiven.”

I have to make it to tomorrow first, which, considering the disastrous outcome of tonight, isn’t a given.

He has no idea what I’ve lost due to my failure.

But I follow the navigation momentarily, my hands clinging to the steering wheel while I chance glances at Bishop every thirty seconds.

He fights slumber, his head lulling before snapping upright. Once. Twice. It takes three minutes for him to pass out, his neck crooked sideways, his face somewhat handsome now that he’s not wishing me dead with those cold eyes.

I cancel the navigation and do a U-turn at the next intersection to head home.

I’m well aware my father will shoot Bishop on sight. Or at least have someone do it for him. He’s been murderous toward anyone that’s contributed to my oldest brother’s estrangement, which puts Bishop at the head of the list along with my Uncle Lorenzo, who took Matthew in.

I’ll have to dump the car down the darkened farm road and walk through the property gates to keep air in Bishop’s lungs. I’ll also have to hope like hell that my entrance goes undetected so I can put some clothes on before I have to face my own firing squad.

But as I reach the desolate road on the far outskirts of the city to approach my home, something doesn’t feel right.

The glow of lights that usually carries miles from my house isn’t there.

There’s only silvery moonlight to bathe the open fields.

I ease on the brakes, driving past the towering brick perimeter, scanning the road for potential threats before stopping at the gates.

Where is everyone? My parents? The sentries?

There isn’t a single light to illuminate the two-story mansion or the yard. Not one spark of bright through the dark.

In all my years, I’ve never seen my home this lifeless. Completely abandoned.

Something is wrong.

Even if my father had joined the security team he’d sent out of town, he would’ve left someone here to guard the house. To guard me if I returned.

I scrummage through my clutch for the gate remote and open the massive steel barriers.

Bishop doesn’t budge from his fairytale slumber fest, his head nestled against one shoulder, his lips slightly parted.

“I’m sorry, big guy, but you’re coming inside with me.”

If this is a trap, I’m not going in alone.

I scour the road again, squinting into the moonlit shadows, watching for movement.

There’s nothing. No cars. No sign of life.

I attempt to call my father again, but he doesn’t answer.

What if the house slipped his mind? Could this be an innocuous mistake I don’t need to fret about? If my father left town in a hurry with all our guards, he might have forgotten to ask someone to watch the property. And if he’s that distracted, maybe he’s also forgotten the job I had tonight. I might have more time to work out a plan.

I inch the car past the gates and close them behind me. I slowly continue around the back of the house, scanning the garden, squinting at every shadow to check for movement.

I pull into the darkened garage without a peep from sleeping Satan, cut the engine, then close the door quickly behind me.

Normally a sentry would greet me. But nobody walks out from inside the house.

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