Page 46 of Bad Bishop
“Do you like fucking married men,Gealach?” I pushed off the doorframe, entering her domain. After that sketchbook, she couldn’t convince me she was intellectually challenged if her life depended on it. In a way, it did.
She stared at me steadily, refusing to balk.
“Do you like spreading your legs for older men?” I strolled leisurely in her direction. Blackthorn was twice her age. She had no business sucking the old man’s cock.
“Do you call him Daddy?” I taunted.
She answered with a slow, bored blink. She wasn’t going to fall down on her knees and beg for forgiveness. My young wife had pride, and fire in her eyes.
I stopped when my abs were flush against her chest. She was tiny. Finishing her would be easier than killing a fly.
“You know he’d never leave his wife for you.” I arched an eyebrow, smirking. “He’s crazy about her. Was fully prepared to give me the keys to his kingdom when I kidnapped her. You were just a quick fuck.”
Her cheeks flushed, and finally,finally, the mask slipped and her emotions showed.
“Did you fuck him?” I palmed her face, tilting it up, forcing her to stare at the grotesque husband of hers. Without the eye. Without thesoul.
Her nostrils flared. She said nothing.
“Answer.”I clutched her jaw tightly.
She spat in my face in response. Her saliva hit my left cheek.
“Grave mistake, sweetheart.”
It was time to terrorize an answer out of her.
I reared my fist backward.
Lila whipped her head sideways, bracing herself for the hit, but didn’t close her eyes. Her jaw locked, her eyes blazed with anger. My knuckles landed square against the wall above her shoulder, denting it. The crack looked like spiderwebs.
A soft gasp escaped her. The first time she made a sound. It was so fucking soft I second-guessed I really heard it.
Shit. What was I doing, unraveling over a child bride?
It was time to try another tactic.
Threatening her with rape, murder, and the decimation of her already destroyed life didn’t work. Maybe I’d get more bees with honey.
“There’s an Italian deli down the street.” I stepped back. “Make yourself presentable. Wear something that isn’t fucking pink.” I grabbed my jaw, working it from side to side. “You could use some fresh air.” She hadn’t left the apartment since her mother left for Chicago.
As expected, she didn’t answer. But her teeth captured her lower lip contemplatively.
She didn’t hate the idea of leaving the house.
A weakness. I can work with that.
I pressed on.
“They have homemade gelato.”
Her throat bobbed with a swallow. She was conflicted. Confused. Torn between loathing me and longing to escape the cage I shoved her into.
She needed to eat, get better, and not stand in my way of dismantling the Bratva. The rest could be figured out later.
For instance, with what method did I plan on executing Tatum Blackthorn?
My current preference was dousing him in gasoline and making a nice campfire out of him. Roast some s’mores with the fire of his flesh and make her eat it.
