Page 151 of Seeking Vengeance

I don’t understand her sympathy.

I don’t appreciate it either.

She saunters inside, walking out of view.

“That was a dick move.” Bishop closes in, intimidating me into following her with his evil glare. “Now he doesn’t have me in there to watch his back.”

I reject the twinge of guilt sparking in my chest.

“Get moving.” The aggression in his voice is next level. “I swear to God, if he does something he’ll regret, I’ll hold you responsible.”

I clench my teeth, refusing to let Bishop daunt me and walk into the unfamiliar room to stop a few feet inside. I keep my lips fused as I take in the cherry-stained wooden bed in the middle of the expansive area, a matching dresser along the closest wall, and sheer curtains covering French doors leading to what I assume is the balcony.

I remain still as I search for weapon potential—the lamp on the nightstand, the ceramic female figurine on the dresser, the chair in the corner—while Abri watches my inspection from the open doorway of the adjoining private bathroom.

“Are you okay?” She frowns at me as Bishop comes to lean against the closest bedpost, the conversation reigniting across the hall, the words skirting the edges of my consciousness. “You don’t seem to be here by choice.”

“I’ve never had a choice when it comes to your family. I didn’t when you stole my daughter. And I had just as much when you killed my husband.”

Her eyes soften. “I’m sorry for your loss. I didn’t—”

“Save it.” I continue toward the French doors and inch the curtain aside, wishing I was anywhere but here.

Time passes with the rise and fall of voices. Matthew makes threats. Emmanuel chuckles. His bitch of a mother chastises every now and again.

“Can I speak to her for a moment?” Abri asks Bishop. “In private. There’s a few things I have—”

“No way in hell, darlin’. I’m not letting her out of my sight.”

“Beside the fact I’m not interested,” I add, “I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

“Please.” Her brows pull tight. “It’s important.”

The vulnerability is an act. The politeness, too.

But I’m curious to know why.

She’s not armed. Not with a gun at least. Her clothes are too tight to conceal a firearm. There’s potential for a knife, though.

“We can talk on the balcony.” She starts toward me. “We’ll remain in sight at all times.”

Bishop frowns, his gaze trekking her with agitation.

“Please. It will only take a minute.” Her arm brushes mine as she opens the French doors, her long blonde hair dancing in the breeze. “I wouldn’t beg if it wasn’t important.”

“I never knew Costas could beg,” Bishop mutters.

She glares at him, then gives a brittle smile when her attention returns to mine. “He’s right. We don’t usually stoop this low. But like I said, it’s important.”

I have no idea what she’s up to.

Is she going to haul me over the railing? Does a weapon lie in wait outside the door?

“You’ll be fine.” Bishop pushes from the bed to stand tall. “I’ll be watching.”

I nod and follow her past the threshold, stopping two feet outside as she stands out of view of the room.

“Listen to me,” she mouths. “I can help you.”

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