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“Let’s go figure this out, Cora,” he says gently. “Do you have any clothes?”
She blushes and nods.
“We’ll give you some privacy to—”
“Please don’t leave,” she blurts. She still looks fucking terrified. I don’t blame her; she did just get shot at.
“We’ll turn around.”
“Thank you,” she whispers.
She dresses quickly. It might be wrong, but I know Bishop and I are both wishing we had eyes in the back of our head. Or that we were both a little less good men in this instant. But hell, we are, and neither of us sneaks a peek.
Because even with what just happened, what I saw before is forever etched into my head.
