Page 36 of Ruthless Redemption

I invest in limited edition books from authors I haven’t heard of. Signed memorabilia gets added to the list from major sporting clubs I didn’t know existed. And the pièce de résistance is how I’ve memorized his credit card details, the digits firmly secured in my mental bank for safe keeping.

“What are you up to?”

I jolt, snapping my gaze toward the sound of Bishop’s voice to find him approaching from the hall.

He glowers. “Did I scare you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

He continues into the living room, his disapproval raking over the shirt I’m wearing before turning toward Matthew on the deck. “I’m going for a drive. Do you want me to get you something to eat?”

My stomach squeezes. I’m unsure if it’s from hunger or trepidation. “Can I come with you?”

He looks at me as if I’m scum on the bottom of his shoe. “You’re kidding, right?”

No, not kidding at all. “I don’t want to be left here with him.”

“Well, you probably should’ve thought about that before you decided to wear my fucking clothes in front of him after I told you not to.”

“He doesn’t care.” I click the final order button on my most substantial purchase and close the laptop. “He knows I only put it on to annoy him.”

“Is that what he said?” He scoffs. “Come on, Layla, you’re not that naive. His temper would be soaring beneath the surface.”

I follow his gaze to where Matthew watches us from his position near the railing, his cell still plastered to his ear. There’s no hint of any temper as he stares inside. There’s no hint of any emotion at all with his smirk no longer in place.

“I assure you,” Bishop continues, “every second my clothes are on your skin, he’s imagining how to rip them off.”

Matthew strolls forward, headed for the door.

“See?” Bishop glares at me. “He can’t even stand us being alone in the same room. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The door is flung open, Mr. Calm and Casual walking inside. “Yes. I’m keeping an eye on it,” he speaks into his cell. “I’m not concerned, but let me know if we approach the limit.”

My stomach fills with unwanted butterflies as he disconnects the call and places the device in his inner jacket pocket, his attention fixed on Bishop.

“You’re awake.”

Bishop juts his chin. “I am. I was about to go for a drive and find something different to eat.”

“And I’m going with him.” I place the laptop on the seat beside me and stand.

Matthew’s lips thin. “No, you’re not.”

“You’re not my keeper.”

“Aren’t I?” His brow raises, the haughty expression hacking into my restraint. “When you’ve got no money or support outside these four walls, I wouldn’t test that theory. You might not like the outcome.”

“I’m leaving.” Bishop turns for the entry. “For the love of God, could you two sort your shit before I return? I’m fucking sick of the ping-pong match.”

He disappears into the far hall, Matthew’s presence becoming all the more suffocating the closer we creep toward being truly alone.

“I’m going to my room.” I leave the laptop and credit card on the sofa to flee.

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t follow.

Thank God.

I count down the minutes until dinner in my room, lazing on the bed, my back against the headboard, a pillow clutched to my chest while new phone conversations murmur from the living room. I can’t even close the door properly to give myself privacy because the super villain broke a piece of the latch with his entrance earlier.

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