Page 60 of Bishop

We eat in silence, his appetite that of a Goliath while I nibble around my constant thoughts.

“Obviously I went grocery shopping while I was out,” he says once his plate is empty. “I wasn’t sure how long you wanted to stay, but I can’t live another day without red meat. There’s a lot of food options now. I also bought you some wine, and there’s chocolate in the fridge.”

“Thank you, but I won’t impose much longer.”

“No? You’re ready to go home to your brothers?”

I fight a scoff as the icy tendrils of betrayal crystallize in my chest. “I’ve already told you I don’t want anything to do with them.”

He pushes to his feet and takes his plate to the kitchen. “I agree that they’re assholes, but they were ambushed. You can’t blame them for something that was out of their control.”

“I’m not arguing about this again. All you need to know is that I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“Not if you’re on your own. You don’t get to run unless someone has your back.”

I bite my tongue, wanting to snap yet withholding for some reason.

There’s something about his protection that brings a warped sense of companionship. Nobody has cared for me like this before. Not me as a person. Only as an asset. My value has only ever been measured by my manipulation, and here’s Bishop, promising I’ll never use those skills again.

“I appreciate the concern.” I finish my bacon and push to my feet. “Really, I do. But you won’t stop me.” I follow to the kitchen, my chin high, my shoulders straight despite my limited clothing.

He needs to know I’m not daunted by him. I’m not. My pulse flutters for other reasons.

Bishop triggers so many parts of me—my intrigue, my aggression, my confusion—but I don’t fear him.

The sooner I get away from him, the more chance I’ll have to settle my skittish pulse.

“It’s my turn to do the dishes.” I sidle up beside him at the sink, giving him a soft nudge with my hip.

He grunts and steps away, but instead of leaving the kitchen, he grabs a dish towel and returns to my side.

“You don’t have to dry.” I turn on the faucet, grab the dishwashing liquid from the cupboard, then squirt some into the running water. “I can handle it on my own.”

“You keep making it clear you can handle shit. Hopefully soon you’ll catch on that it’s better to share the burden.”

I raise a brow. “You want to fix my problems, Butcher?”

He shrugs, his gaze on the mound of bubbles growing in the sink. “Would it be such a bad thing if I could?”

The hairs raise on my arms, the subtle sound of alarm bells ringing in my ears.

I learned years ago that relying on anyone is dangerous. Everyone is a backstabber for the right price.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I’ll be okay.” I cut the water and begin scrubbing the dirty dishes and piling them on the drainer.

I feel his eyes on me, sense his meticulous mind trying to align my puzzle pieces. I can’t let him figure me out. Not when I’ve succeeded in hiding the worst of my mistakes from the world for this long.

“While I was out, I made another house call we haven’t discussed.” His voice is suspiciously devoid of emotion as I hand him a bubbled plate.

“Let me guess—you caught up with my brothers.”

“No. I paid Senator Joe Hillier a visit.”

I turn to stone, all my limbs rigid.

“He wasn’t happy to see me, but not many people are.” He keeps looking at me, the weight of his stare relentless in my periphery.

“Why would you do that?” I keep my tone light even though fear infuses me with pulse-raising adrenaline.

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