Bishop's Queen

by Cristin Harber

  If his stomach had bottomed before, now Bishop’s insides catapulted to a layer of remorse he’d never experienced—not in war, not since the realization that his sister had died and he could’ve prevented it. Ella had a piece of metal wrapped around her arm, and he couldn’t place its origin.

  “It was in her green room?” Parker questioned.

  “Yes.” Bishop’s unease choked him tighter than the sashes around the giant velvet ropes along the stage.

  “Staff, security, and talent…” Parker’s voice trailed off. “Are the only people that had backstage access. I’m rushing through their surveillance footage. Give me a second for facial rec.”

  Onstage, the spotlight followed Ella as she met a Hollywood movie star that Bishop recognized. He watched the man guide her safely to a podium, where they smiled and laughed as if they had known each other for years.

  Good job, El.

  Ella mastered the audience, and she and the actor effortlessly flowed into their lines. They bantered back and forth, pausing perfectly and nailing their timing. Their presentation was scheduled to take five minutes, and they were less than a minute in.

  “Fuck.”

  Parker’s one word stopped Bishop’s heart. “What?”

  “I don’t know what the deal is with that bracelet, but I do know that Jay Graff is on video with the Eco-Ella credentials wrapped around his neck, walking into Ella’s green room hours before you guys got there.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Oh my God. Ella’s wrist burned as though it was on fire. Now was the wrong time to have an allergic reaction to the bracelet, as she stood in front of Hollywood, New York, and cameras pouring live feeds into living rooms around the world. Their spot would be over in a flash, but it seemed as if hours had passed.

  Joe Devlin, the hunky actor at her side, put his hand on her back, leaning close as she tried to hide a whimper of pain. Shoot. Ella blinked, focusing on the teleprompter, trying to find her place. Okay, one simple line. She licked her lips, trying for a smile. “And the winner is…”

  But she couldn’t move her wrist without crying out in pain and grimacing. Ella turned to Joe. Her arm shook as she handed him the envelope, going completely off script. Being the consummate professional that he was, Joe went with the flow. Everything else was a blur, and Ella bolted offstage as soon as she heard the room roar with applause for the winner.

  Her eyes were on her own prize, and Bishop had his arms outstretched—an offstage safety net, ready and waiting.

  His strong hands grasped under her arms, and he lifted her up, as her designer shoes couldn’t carry her another step. “What’s wrong, babe?”

  “Get this off me,” she croaked, clawing at the bracelet and tearing at her skin. The burn seared her fingertips. She’d always been hypersensitive, but this was intense.

  In a deft move, Bishop spun her away from the prying eyes of stagehands and behind the makeshift privacy provided by the dark underbelly of backstage. Footsteps and whispers surrounded her, but she couldn’t open her eyes to make sense of the burning pain radiating from her wrist.

  “I’ve got you. Easy.”

  “My wrist. This bracelet. Something’s wrong. I swear, it’s eating through my skin. Help me get it off!”

  Someone said they were on a commercial break, and another groused that she had lost her mind.

  “I’m not overreacting. This hurts.”

  “I need some light.” Bishop lifted her hand up.

  “Ow. Don’t do that,” she pleaded.

  A dozen cell phones must’ve lit up with their flashlight accessories, and several people gasped. Ella blinked, forcing her eyes open through the tearing mascara—no! Red, irritated skin marred her arm near the bracelet.

  “That’s like a chemical peel gone haywire,” someone behind her muttered.

  “Ew, God,” said another. “Poor thing has the shakes.”

  A cameraman appeared, shoving the lens as close to her wrist as Bishop’s face was.

  “Get that out of here.” He elbowed the man, dropping her hand.

  “Bishop,” Ella cried. When he let go and her hand fell, the pain quadrupled.

  “Shit. Get that asshole out of here!” He knelt back down, and together, they ignored the network staff’s arguments for and against why the camera should stay. “Ella, how do we get this off?”

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t get it off.” Her teeth chattered. The pain began to push the limit of what she could handle without outwardly reacting. “I couldn’t undo the clasp.”

  “Parker, Locke, are you getting all this?” Bishop asked as she started to cry. “Can someone find the house doctor already? It’s starting to blister.” He pivoted on his knees, inspecting and growling at the people hovering nearby. “Keep that camera away. So help me God. And get the goddamn medic already. Some water—”

  “Yes, wash it off.” Why hadn’t she thought of that? She needed someone to get her a bucket of ice water to dunk her hand into.

  Bishop pulled his fingers away, inspecting his hands. “No water. Hang on.”

  Behind her, people ran off. She could hear the scurry and feel the movement, but the localized intensity of her wrist drew her attention like a moth addicted to a flame. “I’m going to be sick.”

  “No, you’re not,” Bishop ordered, wiping his hands on his pants.

  Her head swam as her stomach revolted.

  “El, listen.”

  She looked up and found his green eyes. He had such fierce green eyes. They were angry, on fire. Just like she was right now. She whimpered. This was ridiculous. It was just a bracelet, but it was anything but. A collar. A trap. A torture device.

  Gasping, she couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t understand why the agony wouldn’t plateau. Ella pinched her eyes closed.

  “Look at me, babe,” Bishop said, attempting again to get her attention.

  Shaking, she sought his green eyes once more. Those were always her lighthouse. “Trying.”

  “Jay’s here somewhere.”

  A layer of panic fell over her, smothering her in disbelief. “What?”

  “He was in the green room. This bracelet, whatever’s on it, he has something to do with it.”

  She recoiled. “No.”

  “Think. What is it?” Bishop growled over her shoulder. “Back up. Give the girl some room.”

  “Jay wouldn’t… Could he?” Pain engulfed her thoughts. “I’m not allergic to anything.”

  “I know, babe. This is… corrosive,” Bishop whispered. “This shit’s locked on you. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He brought his arm to his mouth. “Parker, what’s the ETA on someone to cut through metal? Med tech won’t be able to deal with this.”

  Locked on her… almost like a leash, a collar. Almost like… Oh God. “I have…”

  “You have what?” Bishop paused from the conversation happening in his earpiece. “Ella?”

  She closed her eyes. “I don’t remember where…” But she couldn’t forget the slave bracelets that she had seen years ago, a continent away. She hadn’t known things like that existed—burning bracelets attached to wire, leashed so that slave laborers remained locked overnight, so they wouldn’t struggle or try to escape. The more they moved, the more the liquid would rub and seep.

  Jay had been by her side.

  ***

  “Can you move farther back please?” a woman clipped at them. “It’s been a solid two minutes. There are other places to have this problem.”

  Bishop thought of a thousand ways he could explain how they weren’t going anywhere, but truth was, he wanted off backstage and out of New York City so bad that he couldn’t stand it. “You good to stand up, El?”

  And if not, he could carry her.

  She nodded, sweating in pain. “Yes.”

  “Ten seconds until we’re live again,” a man said, walking behind stage. “Ten seconds.”

  Music cued. LIVE boxes lit again.

  Bishop watched famous peo
ple onstage do what they do best, walk. And—damn it! Jay strolled up to the middle of the stage.

  Bishop gaped. “Holy. Fuck.”

  “What’s this?” The woman next to him asked, along with about half a dozen other people, who apparently were all tuning into whatever was coming into their headsets.

  Security rushed onto stage and—stopped.

  “Wait. Why are they stopping?” Bishop turned to the woman, stunned.

  “This is great TV,” she said, eyes wide. “Guys upstairs are going to let it go to see what this guy does. We’re on five-second delay if he does something whacked.”

  “That’s Jay Graff. He is going to do something whacked.”

  She shrugged. “Don’t know the name.”

  “FBI knows the name. Tell that to the people upstairs.”

  She shrugged again. “Buddy, I just take orders and deliver. I don’t tell them shit.”

  “Already on it,” Parker advised in Bishop’s ear.

  Only half of what Bishop thought was an appropriate amount of security and law enforcement for this type of event hovered nearby.

  Jay walked to the middle of the podium and stood awkwardly between the actor and actress who tittered and stepped back. “Good evening.” The entire auditorium lulled quiet. Eerily so, almost as if they recognized him as not quite a B-lister and couldn’t figure out what kind of career suicide was about to happen during this prime-time production. “I have a story for you.”

  “I would’ve guessed he had a political statement to make,” the woman with the headset mumbled.

  “No. He’s insane,” Bishop said.

  Ella propped herself up, leaning on him. “Oh… God.” She sniffed, her breaths catching. “What is Jay doing?”

  Bishop’s enemy was close. He had a gun on his hip, one on his ankle, and a knife on his side. He was armed to the teeth, but the weapons didn’t matter. The deadliest things on him right then were his hands.

  “Let’s not stop the show.” Jay played to a captive audience. “Have you met Eco-Ella? Ella Leighton? If not, you shouldn’t waste your time. I spent years with her. Years. And what do I have to show? Nothing.”

  The woman next to Bishop shifted. “You’re Ella Leighton?”

  “Tonight’s Ella’s big night,” Jay continued, gesturing with his hands. “Every night is Ella’s big night. But this is Ella’s very big night.”

  “Everyone’s on the same page now,” Parker said in Bishop’s ear.

  A second later, security must have received the message from the network producers to cut Jay off. En masse, they started onto the stage at once, circling him.

  “Hold on now.” Jay smirked. “There’s a loose piece missing somewhere. Part of the game unaccounted for. Or do you have it under control, Bishop?”

  Loose piece?

  Bishop’s pulse stuttered at his name. He glanced about, having no idea what the lunatic was referring to, but he stepped closer to Ella.

  “Ah, Eco-Ella fans,” Jay said as Bishop lost sight of him to security. “Maybe you don’t know who Bishop is. I think it’s time for you to meet him—”

  The sound system cut off, but several security guards abruptly jumped away from Jay.

  Ella went limp against Bishop’s side. He took his eyes off the stage to help her. “Sit back down, El.”

  “Heads up,” Locke said. “Tara’s gone. Who the hell knows where? Piss-poor timing for her to go missing.”

  “What the fuck?” Parker growled. “Nothing’s coincidence now. Searching this huge-ass place.”

  “Missing how?” Bishop asked. Because if there was a loose piece missing, and Tara was MIA…

  A few security officers simply walked off the stage as though they weren’t paid enough to deal with the headache Jay caused. What was wrong with them? Watching Jay’s arrest might be a career highlight for him if the officers would go on and cuff the dickhead. Then Bishop could go back to helping Ella.

  “I’m sweeping everywhere,” Locke said.

  “Facial rec’s running,” Parker added. “This place has too many people, tunnels, and—Tara walked off with Jay just about the moment Ella went onstage. Wasn’t a pleasant conversation between friends.”

  Bishop bet not. Tara was likely to throw a right hook if she got fired up.

  More security peeled back. Jay was left standing center stage, holding what looked like a remote. Motherfucker!

  All hell broke loose in the auditorium. Silence erupted into a chaotic war as famous people jumped out of their seats and rushed to every exit.

  Bishop stared at the madness. “Are you seeing this?”

  “Damn it,” Parker growled. “NYPD should have a bomb squad on standby. But goddamn it!”

  Two small clicks sounded in Bishop’s ear. “I’m here.” Rocco cleared his throat. “What a shit storm.”

  Backstage cleared in hysteria as two EMTs arrived. “What’s happening out there?”

  The people tearing out of the place had no idea. When they saw others run, they hauled ass too. These first responders were cut from the right cloth, not giving two shits about actresses in fancy dresses, feigning worry when they didn’t know why.

  Locke rushed to join the newly arrived EMTs and Ella. “We need to get you three out. We’re evacuating.”

  Cops appeared where celebrities had been seated, but they hung back. The onstage security officers who remained acted as though they were a heartbeat away from attacking. But everyone waited.

  “Why are they evacuating?” Ella gaped. “What is going on?”

  The two EMTs exchanged a brief good-bye and hustled out.

  “Locke, get her out of here,” Bishop pushed.

  Jay walked toward their side of stage. “I want to see Ella. If she leaves, I’ll trigger the switch.”

  Enough! Bishop charged in front of the backing security force. “You goddamn asshat.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you. Say hi.”

  Locke, Parker, and Rocco debated in his ear about whether or not Jay was bluffing and whether that remote was set to detonate anything. Would Jay be so stupid? Yes. He absolutely would. Would he kill himself and take out everyone in the awards hall? Bishop wouldn’t put it past the guy. All those murder-suicide news reports came to mind. He didn’t know one thing from another when it came to psychology of the broken-hearted, but he did know that Jay was off his fucking rocker and had a creative mind that was warped enough to end it all.

  “There’s bomb-sniffing dogs and hostage negotiators on the fast track,” Parker reassured him. “But do what you gotta do.”

  “Damn it. You don’t know if there’s a dead man’s switch,” Rocco said, reading Bishop’s mind. “This would be some good fucking TV if not for everyone about to die on my fucking job.”

  Bishop turned, momentarily aware of the cameras and not caring. “Walk offstage, Jay.”

  “No way.” He looked over Bishop’s shoulder. “Unless she’s still over there?”

  “What’s on her wrist?”

  Jay stopped searching for Ella. “The fun part of vlogging every part of her life has been working with her fans. They haven’t had a chance to meet you. Say hi, Bishop. You’re spending all your time with her now. They deserve to know who you are.” He pulled his phone out, running his thumb over the screen. “Yup, they’re asking about you.”

  “Walk offstage.”

  “Say hello.”

  “You’re hurting her. Make it stop. If you ever loved her.”

  Jay laughed and looked down. “It’s real time. The cameras are rolling, and this is the man they’re meeting? Big, angry, shouting Bishop. Not someone that should be with Ella.” Jay clucked, and Bishop wanted to put his fist through the guy’s face. “This is a great live stream—are you looking for Tara?”

  His stomach dropped as the earpiece clicked again.

  “Jared here. I’m read in. Stay steady, Bishop.”

  That didn’t do much for his plummeting stomach.

  “Hey,” Locke broke i
n. “Ella wants to talk to Jay.”

  Goddamn it!

  “No go, Locke,” Rocco ordered. “Stay with her.”

  “No shit,” Locke muttered. “Just looping you in.”

  Parker rumbled a low curse. “Found Tara.”

  “Where?” Locke asked.

  “Bomb dogs have her pegged in a room directly below stage. Waiting on bomb techs to arrive.”

  Ella wouldn’t leave. Tara was directly below stage. Too much was happening. “Ella’s who you care about, Jay. Let’s talk about her.”

  Jay held out his arm. “I always wondered if we could create pandemonium online like we just did in here.”

  Then he tossed his head back. “Now, Bishop. Stakes are higher. You showed up, thinking Ella was queen of the castle. But then there’s Tara. What’s your move? Are you the queen’s Bishop, or do you play defense another way? Tick, tock. What to do?”

  “Jay,” Ella cried out from offstage. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Where is she?”

  “Damn it,” Jared growled. “Locke, let her onstage, keep her close.”

  As Ella came onstage, Jay twisted, studying her in such a detached way that Bishop’s blood slowed. The man was emotionless except for his focus on proving his issue to the camera and the Internet. The complete tunnel vision was terrifying.

  “Ella,” Jay droned, unaffected by her hair clinging to her temples and the black streaks of makeup that marred her cheeks. “You had so many opportunities to do the right thing. I gave you so many chances. And now you’ve come to a point where you’re going to look back on your life and realize that you had a decision, and you messed up. You’re going to regret it for the rest of your life—however short or long that may be.” He looked at his phone and watched for several seconds. “Wow, they loved that line.”

  Jay was watching the reaction on social media? What. The. Hell.

  “I don’t know who you are right now,” Ella cried. “But this person? Whoever you’ve become? You’re nothing to me.”

  “Wrong, Ella. You’re always wrong.”

  “Bomb tech crew is with Tara,” Parker reported. “Keep him talking. This is almost done.”