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It was relief.
And a little annoyance at how damn right he was.
Thirty-seven hours—give or take the few minutes I’d slept in the car when Bishop brought me here to his place from the clubhouse or the hour I’d passed out at the kitchen table while he cooked us dinner last night—that’s how long I’d been awake at this point.
Bishop thought I’d had a restless sleep last night, but the truth was, I hadn’t had any at all.
My eyes burned.
My body ached.
Someone had tried to kill me. I was suddenly sixteen again, afraid to close my eyes and wake up to my father standing over me with his knife raised or listening to whispers in the shadows, spending the whole night staring into the darkness, and waiting for someone to leap out and attack me.
That was how it had all begun before. Those were the worst moments of my life, and I already felt them building again.
The need.
The craving for those little pills that had almost destroyed me.
Most days, I lived my life without even thinking about them. And then there were days where they consumed every waking thought.
They’ll take the edge off.
They’ll help me sleep.
Just a couple.
That’s all I need.
It won’t hurt.
“Shay.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay and bring reality back into vision. “Yeah. Sorry. You want some coffee?”
Bishop raised an eyebrow, and I held my breath as I waited for him to call me out, mentally preparing my excuses and reasons for my shaking hands and jumpy thoughts—the first on the list being that I was fucking shot at the day before.
“Yeah…” he finally answered, though he dragged it out, making it clear my diversion attempts didn’t completely fool him. “Like I said, I think it’s best if we skip a field trip to hell today and wait until the walls of your apartment no longer have bullet holes.”
“Okay, yeah,” I answered quickly, busying myself with the coffee pot before marching back across the kitchen to the refrigerator for creamer.
He grabbed my wrist as I tried to pass back the other way, jerking me to a hard stop in front of him. “You know you’re safe, right?” he said quietly, tugging at me a little harder so I would turn to face him. “They won’t fucking touch you again, I made sure of it.”
I glanced down, suddenly obsessed with how his hand seemed to dwarf mine.
That masculine thing again.
“Thanks.” A sigh of relief wove through my laughter, the air in the room suddenly becoming lighter, easier to breathe, at least for now.
“I’ve gotta head to the clubhouse in a couple of hours for church, but if you want, you can stay here and get some rest,” Bishop announced a moment later, my hand slipping from his grasp as he stepped around me and reached for the coffee pot.
“I’ll come with you to the clubhouse if that’s okay. Maybe catch a nap there while you’re busy.”
“Of course.”
Surely, in a clubhouse full of Exiled Eight MC members, I could shut my eyes for a few minutes, knowing I was safe. I needed to take every opportunity I could because I got the feeling fear had no intention of releasing its tight hold on my mind just yet, and I was fully aware of the consequences that could come if I didn’t navigate it carefully.
I guess that was one thing. I might feel those same emotions sixteen-year-old me let consume her, but I wasn’t that girl anymore.
