Page 99 of Deceit

“Sure,” Mills states. “We’ll just pick him up like a frat boy and throw him over our shoulder. I’m confident no one will ask questions on our way out.”

“Why don’t you go entertain someone with your Purple People Eater costume and leave the work to the grown-ups,” Marty shoots back.

“Enough,” I snap in a low whisper. “I swear to God you all are annoying as fuck.”

“I’ll babysit Mills. Kyson, go with Marty,” Blue chimes in, still at my side. “We’ll take the side office that I saw while walking in. See if we can find a laptop or something.”

“Be careful,” Kyson conveys as Blue grabs Mills’s forearm. “We all need a story of why we’re wandering the fuck off from the party. Make sure you have them straight.”

“You hear that, Mills?” Marty quips. “A story is where—“

“C’mon,” Kyson chides, knocking into his shoulder. “Quit being a jerkoff.”

Marty doesn’t say another word, following Ky in the crowd of waitresses with trays of appetizers and entitled assholes. Blue does the same with Mills, and then there was two. The man who scowls, barks, and growls like a starved dog.

Except for last night.

Those growls were all because he was losing his shit while fucking your brains out.

“I guess it’s just me and you, Em,” he emits, closing a step between us. “And you came dressed to kill, didn’t you?” I try to fight back a blush by thinking of something else but fall short. It only causes Bishop’s lips to tug upward.

“The dress was collecting dust,” I reply, while his eyes appreciate my red gown. It embraces every single one of my curves, especially the attribute that Bishop talks about most—my ass. “Let’s take a walk around.”

“I say we do what Marty mentioned,” he states. “Lure the fucker out so we can leave and redo last night.”

His eyes meet mine, and fuck the slight blush, my whole body combusts into a ball of red-hot fire, matching my dress, I’m sure.

“You know we can’t do that.” I steal a glance through the packed room. “Way too many people.”

“And what do you suggest, mastermind?”

“I have a tranquilizer,” I quip. “I need him in a room.”

Bishop lifts a brow. “You want to get him in a room alone?” His blues slice down my frame again. “I don’t think so.”

“I can handle him.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, baby…I know you can.”

“Bish.”

“Mhm?”

“Eyes up here.” He doesn’t right away, enjoying himself and making me antsier by the second with his heated study of me. But when he cuts his focus back up to my face, I continue. “I only need a few minutes.”

He blinks a few times, sorting whatever is going on in his head before he asks but not too happily, “How long does it last?”

“Two hours max, depending on how his body reacts to it.”

“And how do we get him out?”

A smirk graces my features. “Are you a good actor, Bish?” He perks a questioning brow at me. “How would you like to play the man of the house?”

“For what?”

“I call the cops, people leave. You have to answer to the police, though.”

“I can deal with pigs,” he grumbles.

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