Page 40 of Bishop

“That’s not how this works.”

Whether she likes it or not, she’s now a figurehead in Lorenzo’s organization. I can’t let this shit slide.

“I’m tired.” She drags in a deep breath, the water dripping over her mouth. “Let me get through today without having to deal with unnecessary complications.”

I can’t tell if her bleak demeanor is an act.

I’m sure the different masks she wears have made many men fall to their knees. Cheat on their wives. Betray their children. Risk scandal. Has she assumed her softer side will get me to brush my duties under the rug?

Her brows knit. “Please, Bishop.”

There’s that word again. The one that sounds foreign from her deceptive mouth.

“Fine.” I need more time to work her out. To unravel what the fuck is going on. “Have it your way.” For now.

She smiles, weak and unfathomably beautiful with her soaked hair and matted lashes. Most women would resemble Medusa under the circumstances. But not Abri. She knows how to wield those deep eyes and venomous lips like an enchantress. “Thank you.”

I reach around her waist to shut off the water, then backtrack to the farthest corner of the open-ended shower, giving her space to leave as I start undoing my shirt.

She doesn’t move.

Instead, she watches as I work my buttons. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to find you something to change into.” Her gaze treks my chest, then my stomach. “You’re as tall as Salvo but…broader.”

I tug my arms from the clinging fabric, exposing the switch blade attached to my left wrist by a now-drenched leather cuff, and let my shirt fall to the shower floor with a heavy slap.

“Far broader.” She eyes the weapon. “And more battle ready.”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead in your brother’s clothes.” I kick off my shoes and discard my socks. “Have you got a drier?”

“Yes. But I’ve never used it. We have staff who usually take care of the laundry.” She discards her blazer, then pulls the cotton shirt over her head. Her skin is pebbled with goose bumps, the purple bruising a thick collar around her neck.

I don’t look away when she bends to shimmy out of her white pants, but I sure as shit keep mine on. I’ve risked enough proximity to this woman without exposing her to my package. Especially when my dick gives a throbbing reminder that it’s been a while since it had any action.

“Abri?” A man’s voice carries from somewhere in the house.

Her head snaps toward the doorway.

“Is that Remy?” I ask.

“Yes.” She leans over to snatch the only dry clothing from the floor—my fucking jacket—and shoves her arms in the sleeves. “I suggest you stay in here.”

She storms for the door, her spine ramrod straight as if she’s prepared for war.

“Wait,” I warn.

She doesn’t listen, disappearing into the bedroom.

“Fuck.” I stride after her, my soaked pants leaving a wet trail along the carpet while my gun sticks to my back.

“Abri?” Remy calls again, his voice carrying from the lower level.

I’m halfway down the staircase, peering at her brothers bruised faces in the foyer below by the time she reaches the bottom in a whirlwind of pumping legs and drenched hair.

Salvo takes in our appearance with narrowing eyes, apparently not appreciating how we’re both half-dressed and dripping if his clenching fists are any indication.

“Morning,” I taunt as I stop on the bottom step, Abri still continuing toward them.

Remy’s lip curls. “What the fuck is thi—”

---