by Piper Trace
“Bishop.” Pen touched his shoulder, and he breathed out, relieved she could at least still bring herself to touch him.
“He said, ‘Your brothers like her too.’” Bishop’s voice cracked, and Pen started to say something but he cut her off sharply. “It gets worse.”
His guttural statement was like a bomb he’d tossed between them, and he felt her flinch, the warm spot where she’d touched him now empty and missing her.
“I remember fireworks exploding behind my eyes, like my brain wasn’t getting enough air. I couldn’t think.” He closed his eyes and shook his head hard, wanting the memories to shatter against the inside of his skull and turn to dust so he could no longer remember the story.
“Cerise was literally quaking next me, clinging onto me, and that’s when I realized I’d participated in raping her. I think I was on the verge of hyperventilating, and that’s when I saw my father unfasten his belt.” Bishop swallowed back bile, even now feeling the panic of that moment.
He didn’t tell Pen the next part. His dad had snapped his fingers and barked an order at Cerise. “You ain’t done suckin’ yet, bitch.” As scared as she was, the naked girl sprang from Bishop’s bed as if she was being chased. She’d been on her knees in front of his dad before the older man even had his zipper down. Bishop didn’t want to think about what his father and brothers had done to the poor girl to get her to respond like that.
Bishop finished his horrible tale. “I ran to the bathroom attached to my room and turned the faucet on full-blast to mask the sound of my vomiting. Survival instincts told me I had to hide my reaction from my father. I figured rejecting the family business would not bode well for me, but no way in hell was I going to stay and participate, even just by doing the books. I started thinking of how to escape.”
That was when Bishop had realized he could hear noises coming from his room—the noises of his father doing the same things to that young girl that Bishop had just done to her. He’d flushed the toilet again to hide his dry-heaving, and then stood there, digging his fingers into his scalp. He’d flinched when his father called out to him.
“Come out here, son. Put her to work and spend some quality time with your dad. She’s got holes available.” There was the loud smack of a hand against flesh, and the girl yelped.
Bishop had forced his voice to sound calm when he yelled back that he was getting in the shower. He’d turned on the water but curled up on the floor of the tub, letting the spray drench his face, and thinking maybe the shower would drown him and that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
He stayed like that for a long time before he finally stood up and scrubbed himself raw, yet still, he wasn’t clean.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Penelope
PENELOPE HADN’T KNOWN what to expect, but not that. Never that. She opened her mouth and a sound came out that was more of a squeak than a communication. She closed her mouth. The look on Bishop’s face was more wretched than ever.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.” His mouth twisted as if the words tasted disgusting on his tongue. “I’m sure you would have made other choices concerning your interest in me.”
She put her hand on his back and he raised those bleak, tortured eyes to hers.
“I don’t know what to say to you, Bishop. You won’t believe anything I say anyway.”
“You’re right,” he said grimly. “Not if what you’re going to say is that I didn’t rape her.”
Penelope shook her head. What the hell was she supposed to do with this information? Bishop wasn’t kidding about his dad being evil. If she thought her dad had fucked her up, her sob story didn’t hold a candle to Bishop’s.
She needed time to think. Though she was still sure Bishop wasn’t the monster he thought he was, this was a lot to take in.
But she wasn’t looking for commitment. Deep-seated relationship issues weren’t a big deal when you were just having fun and experimenting, right? She could feel for Bishop as a friend and be there to support him. This didn’t need to scare her off, did it? She wasn’t sure.
She believed in Bishop. She did. But she didn’t have as much faith in herself. Was she falling for him? Would she fall for him? And if that happened, how would either of them work through this matted clusterfuck of emotional and sexual issues his father had dumped on him?
She studied his beautiful, grave face, fearing in the end that none of her concern mattered. Her heart was a raging bull, and nothing would get between it and the object of her infatuation. She didn’t need the benefit of age and wisdom to tell her that, not after she’d grown up denied of the love she knew she deserved.
But right then, she could be strong for him, even in the face of such horror. “That girl was raped, there’s no doubt about that, but you can’t blame yourself. You never would have done any of that if you had understood the true situation.”
He blew out a breath that sounded like a death rattle. “Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled. “I did it, and I’ve had a hard time living with myself.”
“How did you get away?”
He clasped his hands together, his knuckles white, as he told her how he’d tried to go outside to make a run for it while it was still daytime, but was stopped by the armed men. Out of desperation, he’d waited until dark and climbed out a window in his room. He’d crept along the roof of the compound’s connected maze of industrial buildings, moving as much by feel as by sight. When he’d made it to one end, close to the woods, he hung off the edge and jumped.
That move hadn’t hurt him, but he hadn’t known how far away he was from civilization. Plus, he was unfamiliar with the dense forest, and could hardly see with only the moon and his poorly-sighted eyes guiding him. His only strategy had been to continuously move downhill.
After hours of what he described as excruciatingly slow progress, dawn broke, and that’s when he’d heard the dogs. His father hadn’t actually raised vicious guard dogs as Bishop had thought, but he’d had a nice collection of them. Bishop knew he had little chance of outrunning them, especially not at his pace. He’d taken off in a combination of running, falling, and sliding down the steep ravines. He’d cut his face and arms on branches. He’d lost his shoes in the wet, forest muck.
He raised his eyebrows, studying his hands again. “In the end, what saved me is also the thing that almost killed me. I ran straight off a high embankment and dropped into a river. Nearly gave myself a heart attack. The water was ice cold. Somehow in my floundering I managed to grab onto a floating branch big enough to keep my head above water, barely.
“Once I’d coughed most of the water out of my lungs, I let the river take me for a while. I was exhausted, and couldn’t see the shore anyway. It was still too dark. I knew the dogs wouldn’t be able to follow my scent in the water, so at that point, I just had to make it out of the forest without drowning or dying of exposure.”
“Did you get rescued?” she asked, nearly breathless herself after listening to the unbelievable tale.
“After I made it to the other shore, down river, I kept walking. I didn’t hear the dogs at least. Three days later a forest ranger found me.”
“Oh, Bishop.” She couldn’t help but imagine a seventeen-year-old Bishop, innocent, dumb to the outside world, and visually impaired, sleeping on the wet ground, foraging on his hands and knees for food, and finally limping out of the woods after what must have been days and nights of total despair.
“The doctors at the hospital said I was lucky.”
“Did your dad come looking for you?”
Bishop shook his head. “I told the cops everything, and then the FBI. My dad’s name, my brothers, their descriptions, everything I knew about the business operations.” He paused, breathing deeply and flexing his jaw, as if this part of the memory bothered him the most. “And I told them what I had done.”
“What did they say?” she prompted quietly when he fell silent.
“They declined to press charges,” he answered bitterly, as
if that was the worst part of the whole story. “I argued, told them I deserved it, but they disagreed.” He lifted his palms in the air.
Penelope blew out a breath. “I’m surprised they even believed you. That story is so mind-boggling.”
He shook his head. “They didn’t believe me, not at first. But there was a string of missing girls in the area, and neighboring states. Then they realized I was a ghost. I didn’t exist in any public records, and neither did my brothers. My father, though, had prior convictions for fraud and rape.”
Bishop tapped his fingers together, staring at nothing, looking as if his mind was far away. “Then they found the compound, but by that time it’d been cleaned out. My dad’s whole operation, including Cerise and the other girls, were gone.” He blinked rapidly. “For me, that was the worst. I didn’t run for me. I would’ve preferred to die for what I’d done. I ran for those abducted women. I wanted to rescue them.” He hung his head. “I failed.”
Penelope’s heart gave strong, uneven thuds in the cavity of her chest. The things this man had knotted up inside him. The memories and guilt that chased him daily, threatening his sanity, always on his heels, like the baying of those dogs.
And all he could do was keep running. Keep moving. Keep busy. And keep away from young, vulnerable women like Cerise, and like her.
She took a shuddering breath of her own, realizing for the first time how selfish she’d been. All along he’d been trying to keep her away, practically begging her not to tempt him, and yet she’d taken what she wanted anyway. Seduced him ruthlessly.
Her heart, the raging bull.
Then, when he’d finally confessed his damage, her first thoughts had been about how the god-awful story might make him questionable boyfriend material. Shame and sadness swamped her. She wasn’t sure there was any way forward for her and Bishop.
“They sent me to a transitional home for boys,” he continued, unaware of her internal struggle. “They gave me a new identity. I had nothing but my studies, so that’s what I threw myself into. And now,” he held up his hands again, “here we are.”
“What happened to your dad?”
His mouth formed a grim line before he answered. “Nothing. Don’t know.” He shrugged. “But if they ever find him, I’ll testify against him. I’ll do anything I can. They’re still looking for him. At least now they know who they’re looking for.”
“Did you pick your new name?” She was genuinely curious.
“They let me pick my first name.” He smiled, the only time since they’d begun the conversation.
Seeing his face lose its misery, even for a moment, stirred a warmth in her chest. She needed it after that brutal story. “Why’d you pick Bishop?” She tilted her head, trying to catch his eyes. This bit of insight into his thinking felt important.
“Well,” he tapped his fingers together again and glanced over at her shyly. “That part has become especially interesting in the last year. They gave me a book of names and their meanings, and I picked Bishop, because it meant guardian.”
Her eyebrows shot up, and then drew together. “Wh—why?”
He canted his head back and forth as if it was hard to explain. “All I could think about were those girls I didn’t save. My father was their captor. I had wanted to be the opposite of that—thought it might somehow redeem me—but in the end, I couldn’t get them rescued. I picked a name that meant guardian as some small gesture of solidarity with them. I would keep their story alive. I’d try to live my life so as to never hurt anyone else. In some small way, maybe it would honor them, I hoped. Little did I know, I would literally become a guardian to a young woman of my own someday.”
He locked eyes with her, and the honesty and affection in his gaze brought life to his normally ashy irises. In that moment, she realized his eyes weren’t just impenetrable pools of dark secrets. Hiding below the surface was a man capable of love without measure.
Maybe Penelope was meant to coax him out. Perhaps the universe had decided he’d punished himself enough.
“I can’t relate to the horror those girls have endured,” she said, her voice soft, “but I do know what it’s like to be shut away and unloved. I think you picked the perfect name, because you’ve taken care of me more than anyone ever has.” She dropped her eyes, tucking her hair behind her ear and feeling suddenly shy.
“At what cost?” He murmured the words under his breath, but she still heard them.
She turned on the sofa to place her feet on the ground. Fidgeting, she smoothed her hands down her thighs and cupped her knees with her palms, hoping to get her words straight.
“Bishop,” she began evenly, “you were a victim of your dad’s just like Cerise and those other girls, though not in the same way or to the same extent.” She glanced at him and held a finger up, cutting off his argument when he opened his mouth. “I can’t tell you that you shouldn’t feel guilty or ashamed, but I can tell you it honors no one to throw your life away. To lock yourself in the basement of this big, empty house and live half an existence, like a sewer rat.”
She stood up, looking down at him. His eyes seemed to beg her to hurt him, but she wasn’t going to.
“Thank you for telling me. I know it wasn’t easy.” She nodded her head, making up her mind about what to say. “This is a lot for both of us to process, but now, at least, I better understand the demons you’re fighting, and that helps. I’ll back off from pushing you. We’ll give it a rest.”
She hated the relief that washed over his face. It didn’t feel like good news to her. Would it kill him to look a little disappointed?
She crossed her arms under her breasts and Bishop’s eyes dropped. She hadn’t rebuttoned the placket on her top. Behind the pain in his eyes, Pen still recognized an unmistakable spark of lust. It was there in his eyes, and in the way his mouth went hard and he flexed his jaw.
Though she was back to having selfish thoughts, it gave her a small thrill to see how she affected him. The connection was definitely there if they decided they wanted to pursue it.
She could wait, exercise some patience. Give the man a break. Now that she knew his story, it was easy to see how much chaos whipped up in her guardian’s head when he acted on his attraction to her.
With slow, deliberate movements, she reached down and buttoned up her shirt. He glanced up at her, his gaze stuttering back and forth from her fingers to her eyes. Finally, he closed his eyelids and lowered his chin, scrubbing the back of his neck.
She wanted to hug him, comfort him, tell him everything would be okay.
She wanted to run away from him.
She wanted to fuck him, drop to her knees and offer him anything. Wanted to take care of all of his sexual desires. Goddamn, this infatuation for him was getting even more complicated.
Though she cleared her throat, her voice was still gruff with emotion. “Don’t think I’m giving up on you, Professor. You’re a good man with a fucked-up past. That doesn’t make your happiness disposable.”
She reached out and cupped his cheek, and he closed his eyes, leaning into her palm with the slightest of movements. It was as if he didn’t think he deserved her affection, but couldn’t help but respond to it anyway. Her heart nearly convulsed for the man, and she had to take a moment to collect herself before she could speak again.
“Besides,” she whispered, “what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t try to draw you out into the light?” Without thinking, she bent down and pressed her lips to his before she remembered she’d just promised not to do such things.
Bishop tilted his head back like he was helpless against her touch, his lips softening and molding to hers. She swiped her tongue across his mouth and caught his bottom lip in her teeth, making him groan. Every nerve ending at the apex of her thighs came alive at the sound, and she knew she had to get out of there.
She pulled back, and it killed her to realize how quickly they had both been moved to panting. Guardian and ward be damned. What they had between them bu
rned like rocket fuel.
Bishop licked his lips, his eyes dark and flashing. That scary kind of darkness she’d seen there before, of which she now understood the origin. Still, that darkness harkened to her most hedonistic and self-destructive tendencies. She wanted to burn there.
“You need to get some counseling, my guardian,” she whispered. “If you did that, if you could work through this, then maybe I could kiss you whenever I wanted to.”
She left the room, and didn’t look back. Her tears belonged to her, those abducted girls, and to an innocent boy, wrecked before he had a chance to live.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Penelope
PENELOPE TRIED TO ignore Bishop. The story he’d told her swirled through her mind constantly in those first few weeks after he’d confessed it. He had a whole list of reasons why they couldn’t be together, but that last one was a doozy. She spent a lot of time wondering if he was right.
He wouldn’t get the counseling she suggested. He didn’t want to talk about his issues, because in his skewed judgment, he deserved to be miserable. If the counseling was successful, he might be happy, and that wouldn’t support the life sentence of isolation he’d given himself. He seemed determined to disappear back into the bleak and lonely world she’d found him in all those months ago.
Maybe she should let him. It wasn’t her job to save him.
She repeated this in her head, over and over, as she watched him read at night, his elegant and troubled face always too close to the book, even while wearing his reading glasses. He’d frown, flip back to prior pages, and squint at the text. Sometimes he mouthed the words as he went along, his soft lips mesmerizing her for far too long.
She could watch him read all night. Bishop didn’t read passively. He read as if he was having a silent debate with the book. She flipped pages as she progressed, but Bishop seemed to peel the pages away, as if every reveal was a layer deeper into his exploration of the manuscript. As if he was devouring each word, so that when he was done, the book would remain a part of him forever.