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“I could totally fix that.”
Bishop laughs. “You’re not doing our gardening.”
“I’m just saying, I could!”
We stop outside a house identical to the main one, only smaller. It’s adjacent to the pool, yet overlooks it at the same time. Completely constructed from glass with dark trimmings.
Bishop stops outside the door. “So many fucking memories in here. I almost don’t want to open the door.”
“Bishop, I can sleep at home.”
He spins around. “You don’t get it.” He steps forward, touching my cheek. I lean into his grasp. “This should have been your home all along, but because of who you are, you were deprived of that, just like Madison was. I can’t allow it to happen again. How Hector runs shit, is not how I will be.”
I touch his hand with mine. “What do you mean?”
He sighs, releasing his grip on my cheek and leaning against the front door. “Hector has always only taken care of The Kings. The men. The legacies. He has always seen women as disposable. He had no problem dealing with death, no matter the age or gender.”
“Sounds like a great father.”
Bishop scoffs, leaning his head back against the glass. I won’t push for him to open it. He’s obviously delaying it. “The fucking best.” His tone drips with sarcasm.
“And you?” I ask, leaning against one of the pillars. “How will you run it?”
His eyes come to mine. “I will take care of everyone and their families.”
“And what about the others who aren’t tied to The Elite Kings?”
He pauses, and I watch as a dark cloud shifts over his eyes. Goosebumps break out over my spine. “They’re not my problem. My people will always come first. A civilian means less than shit to me.”
“So, Hector with civilians, and Bishop with The Kings?” I chuckle, but roll my lips between my teeth to stop from laughing too loudly.
He glares at me, before a sly smirk crawls onto his mouth. “Smartass.” He stands, his hand on the doorknob. “Get this fucking over with.” He pushes through and we make our way inside. It’s immaculate. With stairs that lead up to a second loft level, a modern kitchen and living space, and all the finest furnishings.
“It’s beautiful.”
Bishop laughs. “Not likely. Don’t eat off the tables. Cocaine and weed stain every inch of this joint.” He points upstairs. “I’m joking. Mom keeps it tidy. Bathroom and bedroom are upstairs. I’ll go grab your clothes.”
I head upstairs as instructed and scrub through the large shower, before finding my bags on the end of the bed and changing. My heart settles in my chest. I can feel Bishop all through this space. Madison, too.
Bishop enters, jumping onto the bed. “I take the gavel tomorrow.”
I dry my hair with the towel, before running a brush through it. “Are you excited?”
He kicks off his shoes and flicks a silver Zippo between his fingers. “Yeah, fuck, I am. I think I’m ready.” His eyes come to mine, a deep sparkle inside of them.
“Well,” I say, pulling back the sheets and sliding beneath them. “I hate to say it, but I’d be worried if you weren’t, since it’s tomorrow.”
He laughs. “Your dress will be here when you wake up. Mom chose it. She has good taste.”
My mouth widens as I yawn. “Brantley told me he kills people.” Sleep weighs on my eyes as I struggle to keep them open. “Is that true?”
Bishop turns to face me. “That’s probably putting it lightly.” I wanted to find a lie in Brantley’s truth, but I should have known better.
“You’re all bad people.”
“The worst,” Bishop whispers, and it echoes through my mind, sticking to the fibers inside my brain.
“So how come I don’t see it?”
There’s a long stretch of silence. “Because you’re not a civilian.”
“You see, don’t you? You see it as clear as day, yet you ignore all of the signs…” The voice was a high-pitched scream, so forceful and urgent. Her face. Pale. Blood-red lips. Fire hydrant hair. Angry brown eyes. She smirked through the dark, while laughter cackled in the background. “Now you’re going to die. I’ll leave you with that.”
I shoot up from the bed, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Foreign bed, white wallpaper, mirror on the ceiling. Bishop’s room.
I’m alone, with nothing but the sound of the AC blasting through the room. It’s dark. So dark. Dark enough to have me urgently seeking out the light switch. I reach aimlessly for switches on the wall as I walk around the room. Hands are on my mouth, and I jolt in shock. My shoulders relax when I recognize his energy.
His mouth is on my neck. “I need you.” He scrapes his teeth across the curve of my shoulder. “But you might not survive it.”
I turn my head, the fire in my belly spreading between my thighs. “I don’t care.”
