Page 122 of A Breath of Life
“Invitation only.”
“How does one get an invitation?”
“You don’t qualify.”
“Why not?”
He chuckled. “You ask too many questions, Mr. Krause.”
“I’m a curious man.”
“A curious man who talks too much. Your chattery mouth will get you in trouble one of these days.”
My next sip of bourbon went down the wrong way, and I choked, sputtered, and laughed. “Chattery mouth? Do me a favor. When this is over, tell my boyfriend I was sochattyit annoyed you. He’ll never believe it.”
The Bishop leaned against the sideboard with his freshly poured drink, a coy expression painting his face. He was ahead of me now, downing shots faster as I purposefully slowed down. “Do you gamble?” he asked.
“Never been rich enough to throw money away like that. I have other addictions.” I tipped my still-full glass in salute. “Why?”
“I could fetch some cards, and we could enjoy a game of—”
The distinct sound of shattering glass drew our attention tothe ceiling.
Alarmed shouts followed. Then, a clatter like the toppling of furniture.
The music cut out.
Someone yelled what might have been a warning.
The lights flickered.
“Shit.” The Bishop set his drink down and raced to his trove of treasures. He lifted a panel and withdrew a pistol from a hidden compartment before taking off.
The door slammed in his wake, and I was suddenly and unexpectedly alone.
The commotion above swelled.
I listened, unsure what the fuck was going on.
At the single shot of a gun, I knew it was time I got the fuck out of there, or I was going to die.
31
Tallus
My stomach churned. Thoughts of Diem stirred my brain into a vortex, and I was glad Costa was too busy to notice how badly I fidgeted. The more I focused on the disaster that had befallen us, the more trapped I felt in the unremarkable hotel room.
The muffled impact of a solid hit, followed by a miserable groan, played on repeat inside my brain. If it wasn’t that, it was the argument we had before Diem left me in the bathroom at the courthouse.
Or the one at the officebeforewe headed to the courthouse.
Or the one we had the previous day before I went to work.
Or the one in the middle of the night after he returned from captivity.
Pointless fucking disputes that meant nothing in the end. Sometimes, it was simply how we communicated our feelings.
We may not have had a perfect relationship, but it was ours, and I wanted it back. At the end of the day, despite bruised egos and hurtfeelings, we always found our way into each other’s arms. We always forgave and forgot.
