Page 99 of Seeking Vengeance

“Who is it?” I bark.

“Bishop,” comes the mumbled reply. “Open the fucking door.”

I stalk for the entry only to be stopped by Layla scrambling in front of me, her eyes stark with determination.

“Tell me.” She splays her hands on my chest, her heavy palms feeble at best against my strength. “Who is he?”

I stiffen against the pent-up air in my lungs, the pressure of a lifetime’s worth of bad decisions caging me behind tightening ribs. “Let me get rid of Bishop first.”

Stall. Stall. Stall.

That’s all I’ve fucking done with her.

Delayed the truth.

Delayed her disgust.

Delayed the end of us.

I step around her and stalk for the hall, checking the peephole to find Bishop’s scowl before I yank the door open. “You’re meant to be taking Lorenzo home to see his doctor. Why—”

“The old prick is still downstairs. He told me to take a hike. I’m not going to baby him.”

I clench my teeth, battling against rage. They’re both as prideful as each other. Both pains in my fucking ass. “He needs a doctor.”

“He needs a lot of things, but mothering ain’t my strong suit.” Bishop juts his chin toward the inside of my suite and lowers his voice. “Nice mood lighting. It’s almost as if you anticipated needing the romantic seduction to stop her from running.”

I lash out, grabbing him by the throat.

I don’t know if it’s his audacity or the reaffirmation of her leaving that makes me snap.

He doesn’t flinch. Not even when I shove him backward, walking us down the hall, away from her listening ears. The door clicks shut seconds later.

“Watch your goddamn mouth,” I snarl.

He tilts his chin higher in defiance. “You need to get rid of her.”

“I’m not doing that.” My voice is barely a whisper as I keep stalking us farther from the suite, my fingers digging into his neck, my aggression impatient for him to retaliate so we can take this exchange to the next level. The one where I get to dispense all my anger through a mindless pummeling of fists and decimating impact.

“Then at least tell her the truth so she can see herself out.”

“She won’t leave me.” I release him with a shove and step back, needing space from his smug grin.

We both know I’m full of shit.

She’ll leave. She’ll fucking sprint.

“We need to get back to D.C.” He yanks at his lapels to straighten his jacket. “I’ll get the helicopter organized—”

“No.” I stand tall, denying him the most logical response to a targeted shooting. Now, more than ever, I need this isolation with Layla. These hours are necessary to explain everything she’s going to demand to know. To convince her to remain at my side. “I’m not changing our plans. We’re staying the night.”

He scoffs. “And I’m supposed to what? Sit in the hall like a guard dog?”

“We don’t need protection. We won’t leave the room.”

His eyes harden to conniving slits. “You’re losing it, you know that, right? Everything we’ve worked for is going straight out the fucking window because of a piece of ass.”

“You’re wrong. She makes me better.”

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