Page 74 of Bishop

But what about her?

The hairs raise on the back of my neck. I’ve got some sick, twisted sense that I owe her something. Loyalty? Trust?

It’s not like she’s earned my allegiance. She only has a modicum of my commitment because of her bloodline.

I dump the empty beer bottle at my feet and grab my cigarette case and lighter from my jacket pocket, torch the end of a cancer stick, then breathe that shit deep into my lungs. The smoke burns my throat, the heat adding to the sparks that still linger in my veins from a woman who should be nothing more than another feminine name instead of a hundred enticing body parts.

I unlock my cell screen, press Langston’s contact details, then wait as the dial tone rings.

“How is she?” he says in greeting.

“Painful,” I grate. “The more time I spend with her, the easier it is to determine all the annoying traits the two of you have in common.”

He huffs a laugh, but unlike our last call there’s actual energy in his voice, not the frailty of impending death. “Did she drug you again?”

It feels like it. Like somehow, she’s plunged a needle in my vein and hijacked me with an aphrodisiac.

“I’m going to pretend I don’t regret telling that story.” I glare into the darkness. “You feelin’ any better?”

“Yeah. Can’t complain. Remy and Salvo still haven’t heard a word from Abri though.”

“Well, she did try to gouge their eyes out a few days ago. I assume it will take a while to get her back in civil territory.”

He pauses, the silence thick as I take another puff. “How is she really?”

I exhale the smoke, the toxic white tendrils disappearing into the night. “Not great. That’s why I’m calling. I found out she’s mixed up in some pretty heavy shit.”

“Mixed up how?”

I take another puff, despising the tightening of my chest that I refuse to believe is guilt. “You need to hear it from her.”

“Then put her on the phone.”

“I can’t. She doesn’t know I’m talking to you about this. If she did, she’d run.” I rake my hand over my mouth, annoyed at myself for bringing up her secrets, but also angry that I have no goddamn choice. Lord knows what his crazy bitch of a mother has planned for Abri’s daughter. Maybe it’s already too late. “You need to get your ass here. This is the type of conversation that needs to take place in person.”

“He can’t travel.” Layla’s voice cuts in. “He’s on strict bed rest.”

I balk as rage blindsides me, white hot and explosive. “You’ve got your girl listening in on our conversations now?”

“She hasn’t left my fucking side since I was shot.” There’s a warning in his tone. “I have no plans for her to start.”

“You’ve turned into a little bitch, Langston.”

“Says the asshole who got sedated by my baby sister.”

I snarl, my teeth bared, my fingers digging into the cell.

“It’s okay,” Layla murmurs. “I’ll give you some privacy. I’ll be back soon.”

“It’s not like it’s too much to fucking ask.” I take another drag, holding the smoke in my lungs, letting it poison me longer.

Neither of us speak for drawn-out moments. One minute. Maybe two.

“She’s gone, okay?” Langston’s animosity filters through the speaker. “You fucking happy now?”

“Goddamn delighted.”

More silence. More tense, palpitated anger from both ends of the call.

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