Page 36 of Deceit

“No, shit.”

I push my cheek with the tip of my tongue, ready to aim this gun again and shave some of that chip off his shoulder. Also, to keep my temper in check.

“I’m happy to know that he still listens on command and didn’t kill himself.”

I scoff. “Yeah, you should be. If the poor thing would have, you’d have a bullet in your head for animal abuse.”

Bishop takes another hit of his nicotine, letting silence fill the air between us as he allows his eyes to flick over me leisurely again.

It makes me feel hella self-conscious and small when he does it. Most of the time, when he sees me in his sights, he cuts into the other direction or grunts at me like an animal.

It’s super flattering.

“How’ve you been?” I press, filling in the need for words. I’ve never enjoyed the stillness of a room without something in the background playing, sounding, or running. Silence makes me anxious and fidgety.

“Fine.” He leans forward, the chair underneath him complaining and creaking under his weight. Bishop appears bigger than before, but I know it’s because I haven’t seen him in what feels like almost an eternity.

Absolutely pitiful.

“Marty got married.”

He knows that moron.

“So I heard.”

Another upsurge of ear-piercing silence, and I’m starting to wince under Bishop’s gaze.

The lack of conversation and how I don’t know how to approach him because he’s not a normal man makes me anxious.

I can help Marty all day, fully aware of when he’s reached his limit and patience with me. But Bishop never allowed me to get close to him like that. That wall he has built, no amount of dynamite or sledgehammers will ever get that baby to fall over or crumble.

“What are you doing here, Emmy?” His tone is sharp and disconnected, soaking up the oxygen in this room when it’s mine and very much needed.

“He’s sitting in between your thighs, isn’t he?”

He perks a brow. “You came here just to bring my dog back?”

“Are you surprised? He does belong to you, right?” He cocks his head slowly to the side like I just spoke a foreign language.

I guess caring would be one for him.

He shows none. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him hug anyone, and smiling is very limited and far in between off his lips these days.

“Sounds like you’re meddling again.” He spits the last word out like it’s foul and sour in his mouth, but he answered the question, so…here we are.

I clear my throat, shoving away the lump that is beginning to form. “You’re welcome. Kyson will be here tomorrow.”

Bishop slowly rises then, and my chin follows his height as Armageddon remains where he is. “To help, I’m assuming.”

It’s not a question but a fact.

He’s not so far up his own ass to know that his second family, B723, would want to help if Bishop was having trouble.

But if he is, I have no clue. Kyson didn’t and wouldn’t say anything about it.

“More than likely.” I cross my arms along my chest, and I’m glad that I do. Because Bishop moves forward, and every stride in my direction makes my heartbeat triple time. Goosebumps lick at my warmed flesh the closer he gets. His scent, nutmeg, and leather mixed with smoke fill my senses, and my knees begin to shake.

I am a trained assassin, not a teenage girl with acne, and a diary to write my sorrows in. Get a grip.

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