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“He comes from a place of hurt,” she offers as if reading my mind.
It takes me a minute. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for him then?” Because I don’t.
“No, I just want you to understand. To hear it from someone other than Jericho. He’s too emotional when it comes to this. To you and what he needs to do.”
“What does he need to do?”
“What he thinks he has to do,” she continues as if she hasn’t heard me.
“Which is what exactly?”
She sighs deeply. “Angelique likes you, Isabelle. Very much.”
“I like her. She’s sweet. Unlike her father,” I add that last part under my breath as I take a bite of my sandwich.
She chuckles. “Well, if there’s one thing my son has never been and will be it’s sweet.”
“What is he planning? What’s going to happen to me?”
She studies me, then stands, paces for a moment. “His fiancée, Angelique’s mother, died in his arms. Did you know that?”
God. No. I shake my head, putting the sandwich down, the bite in my mouth feeling too big, like it will choke me if I swallow.
“He was the target,” she adds.
“I didn’t know.” Goosebumps cover my flesh and I set the plate aside.
“Your brother hired the men who did it.”
I blink. “What?” Is it the words themselves, their meaning or the casual way she says it?
She doesn’t repeat herself. Just gives me a few minutes to hear her. It’s going to take me a hell of a lot longer than that to process.
“The feud between our families has been going on for generations. It started when we bought this land. Legitimately bought the land that was once Bishop land. The Bishops have always had money for as long as their history has been recorded. But as often happens with generation after generation of money, the less one has to work for it, the more entitled one feels, the more quickly a fortune is squandered.”
Entitled. There’s that word again. Reginald Bishop had felt entitled to Mary St. James. At least how Jericho told it.
“And of course, they were a founding family of The Society. How much do you know about IVI?”
“Not much. I never really was all that interested honestly. I only learned that my father, the man who was my biological father at least, was a Bishop a few years ago. I’ve never considered myself a Bishop. Never considered anyone but the man who raised me with love to be my father. I’ve never thought about anything else.”
“But you changed your name,” she says, and I can’t tell if her tone is accusatory or what.
“I was sixteen. I had just lost my brother in a brutal attack.” My eyes mist. “I had been beaten. I would have died if our neighbor hadn’t called the police. So, when Carlton came for me telling me the news of my parentage, taking me in, having me sign page after page of legal documents, I can’t say I really cared much about a name or any of the rest of it. I was numb.” No one bothers to remember how this all happened. How Christian, who wasn’t even supposed to be at the apartment but had come home to check on me, died. I stand up, wipe the tears that fall with the heels of my hands. “I’m tired,” I tell her.
“I know your story, Isabelle,” she says. She walks toward me, closes her hands over my arms. “And I’m sorry for your loss. Very sorry. We’ve all lost. But what Jericho is doing now, he’s doing to protect Angelique.”
“What does my being here have to do with Angelique? Because from what I understand, it’s all about revenge. What am I? Collateral damage?”
“There’s much more at play behind the scenes. Things you don’t know.” She drops my arms and walks away.
“Then tell me. Tell me and maybe I’ll understand and maybe I can help.”
She walks to the door. “I need to go check on Angelique. She still wakes up asking if her daddy is home. If he’s coming to see her. That child has lived a life like a fugitive on the run. And this, what he’s doing with you, it’s all to keep her safe. She’s our only concern. We’ll all do whatever we need to do for her.”
“And what does that mean for me? What’s he going to do to me?”
“To you?”
