Page 252 of Deceit

“Let me seeyou.”

He ignores me, trailing my tee upwards to examine my side. “He just grazed it. I swear to fucking God I’m gonna make his shit hurt.”

My hand rakes through his long hair in an attempt to comfort him, but he’s not done studying my wound. His callous thumb brushes around it, and he presses a soft kiss right below my belly button.

“I swear to God, I don’t know if I can take any more of you getting hurt.” His voice is pained, and the side of his cheek rests against my torso, away from my injury. “You wanna run away, baby?”

“Run away?” He bobs his head and wraps his arms around my legs. I think I’m witnessing Bishop having a mini-breakdown, and it pricks at my chest.

My strong and no-bullshit man is beginning to reach his breaking point.

And honestly, it’s not off the table.

I know that I can’t do B723 anymore the way I used to. I can’t run around the country taking out the bad guys with two babies at home.

Hacking into shit I can do all day with both of them in my lap, but this—getting shot right along Bishop—it can’t happen anymore.

And the only reason he was hit was because of me and my shit. Other than that, Bishop is always prepared and ready.

“Let me see your back and leg,” I instruct.

Reluctantly and after another minute, Bishop rises and turns around. The back of his shirt is stained from the blood still seeping from his shoulder, and when I get his shirt up, the bullet is still lodged inside.

“Let me see you’re—”

“I’m fine,” he growls.

“Take some of this aspirin then, stupid jerk. And I need your phone.”

Bishop hands me over his cell, and I pour two pills into my palm for him to take as I dial up Lucien.

“Hello, Mr. Bishop, it’s been a while. Who needs help this time?”

“Actually, it’s for Bishop,” I convey. “Can you meet me at—“

“Later,” Bishop says. “Business first.”

I narrow my eyes. “He’s been shot.”

“Where?” Lucien asks.

“Shoulder blade and upper thigh.” I look back down at it. “I think it’s bad.”

Lucien sighs. “You all are going to be the death of me. Clean it up and text me where to be.”

“10-4.”

I hang up and Bishop plucks the device from my hand then grabs my free hand with his. “I want you safe.”

“I am with you.”

He shakes his head. “No, forever. I…” He opens his mouth wider to get the words out, but they fail him because he changes the subject. “Come on, let’s go get you bandaged up. We have some shit to finish with ‘ole boy.”

“Bishop.” I stop him dead in his tracks before he even moves. And he won’t look at me. “What happened…with—“

“Stop,” he growls, then flicks his now dark blues to me. “Emmy…”

I swear I’m going to die.

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