by Hazel Grace
KYSON: Because I know damn well it has something more to do with Bubba and Hardy’s daughter. He in trouble?
BISHOP: No, Scarlett. Apparently, she’s here running from an ex-boyfriend.
KYSON: I’m coming up.
BISHOP: No need, brother. I got it. He’s bound to grow some balls and show up again.
KYSON: She shouldn’t be there. That place is a fucking hole in the Earth that should’ve been blown up years ago.
BISHOP: No, shit. I was going to take pictures for you and everything to show you how scenic it is. She’s staying up at the house with my niece.
KYSON: It’s been three weeks.
BISHOP: You said that already.
KYSON: I’m still coming up.
BISHOP: Dude, no. Stay down there and watch the fam.
KYSON: Dude, no. Do you know how hard it is to keep Emmy and Mills at bay? They’re talking about coming to see you all because you won’t answer the phone like a normal human being.
I really don’t give a flying shit, to be quite honest.
Mills is a pesky fuck, and Emmy…with her comes the need to touch her, the will to kiss her, and the headache that follows right afterward.
Not only has she continuously been sending me pictures of my dog, him eating fast food, sitting on the couch with her, and sleeping on her fucking bed, but she’s making me jealous of my own damn pet.
And with Mills and Em comes everyone else on B723.
I can deal with the boys and Blue, but Emmy cares so much that I’m starting to believe that the woman requires therapy or a bowl to smoke just to chill.
She has some sort of overlying anxiety that she needs to get tampered down, and last time I checked, I wasn’t a head shrink.
BISHOP: Do you think I should answer the phone?
KYSON: Stop being a smart fucking ass.
BISHOP: I rest my case then.
KYSON: The girl is losing her damn mind.
BISHOP: That’s her problem, and you’re just searching for a way out.
KYSON: Then fucking give me one.
BISHOP: Tell you what…if I don’t have this done in the next forty-eight hours, you can bring your happy ass up here.
KYSON: Deal.
BISHOP: And make sure you watch my dog.
KYSON: Emmy has that handled.
BISHOP: Grab my dog.
KYSON: Should’ve thought of that prior ‘ole boy.
BISHOP: I’m seriously not fucking around.
EMMY: Attachment
I’m surprised that I can actually see anything from how slitted my eyes are when her text comes through on cue like a damn sitcom.
It’s a photo of her and my dog cuddled up on a couch with a blanket. A completely dangerous thing for her to do.
Because my dog may just go off and assassinate himself from her overbearing ass.
However, she’s absolutely beautiful. Her whitish-blonde hair cascades lazily over her shoulder. Those hypnotizing honey-browns peer up at the camera, innocent and unknowing of how much I want to fuck her out of my system.
I’m jealous of my damn dog and the baby blue blanket that’s draped over her body.
BISHOP: That shit’s not funny.
KYSON: What isn’t?
I forward him the picture and immediately get a response back.
KYSON: LOL, dude, I’m telling you she knows that I know where you are.
BISHOP: Keep her away from here.
KYSON: You tell her to stay away.
BISHOP: Are you a bitch or something? Why is everyone scared of this chick? If anyone makes you shit your pants, it should be Blue.
KYSON: Blue is like one of the dudes. Emmy is emotional.
BISHOP: Keep her away from me, or you’re going to have to deal with tears, chick flicks, and gallons of ice cream when I send her ass back to you.
KYSON: Yeah…about that.
KYSON: She’s on her way there.
My alarm notification buzzes on my phone, and the sound of a car rolling up and crushing into the gravel has me instinctively out of my conversation with Kyson about Emmy altogether.
Sitting up, I don’t bother moving the horizontal blinds to see if someone stopped in front of my trailer and didn’t just get too close.
I know they did.
I look down the hallway to see that Hardy hasn’t moved an inch, still sleeping like a baby on the only new thing I’ve bought for this place.
Although, he won’t be if someone starts to fuck with the door again.
So, I invite the asshole in.
Unlocking the front door as if Hardy and Scarlett forgot to do so, I step into the shadows near the small closet to block me from view.
It doesn’t take long for the jiggling of the handle to move, then the door to slowly creak open. My heart begins to match my adrenaline, sprinting like a familiar freight train as I patiently wait for our new visitor to step inside.
Movement from my bedroom catches my eye, and fucking Hardy isn’t lying in bed anymore. The lump of blankets that covered his body are no longer in my view.
Trait number three that he got from me—moving smoothly and silently without being seen or heard. I’ll have to thank his commander in the army for training him so well to hide from threats and stand by for the perfect opportunity to make a move.
With my index finger on the trigger of my trusted Glock, the front door opens wider, creating a black wall to block my view of my room. Either Scarlett’s ex-boyfriend or one of Bubba’s buddies came to play.
The intruder’s footsteps make the tiled floor whine as I slowly close the door with the pad of my index finger to get him back in my sights. Inching closer to the far side of the trailer where Hardy is, I don’t hesitate a second longer—no point—and send a bullet somewhere into the back of his leg.
I’m not picky.
“Fuck,” he hisses, not giving an obvious shit that if his cover wasn’t blown before, it is now.
Stepping out of the dark, my fist slams into the back of his skull, sending the man forward as my brother comes out with a baseball bat clutched in his hand. He doesn’t linger to move closer, then surprises me when he swings back and connects with the bastard’s head, knocking him out cold with a heavy thud against the worn tiles.
The lights turn on, and Hardy is heaving short breaths through flared nostrils as he glares down at the heap of skin and bones on the floor.
“Nice hit,” I comment, shoving my gun into the back pocket of my jeans.
“Thanks.”
“You wanna go check on Scarlett?”
“Your phone still hooked up to the alarm system at home?”
“Yeah.”
“Then, no.” He raises his chin to face me, clearly wanting to end this shit as much as I do. “How are we handling this?”
Shared trait number four—getting shit over with ASAP.
“Depends. You squeamish with blood?”
“Nope.”
I nod. “Alright, then. Pineapples is the safe word. Let me know if you need out.”
* * *
Hardy and I have beers in our hands when the long-haired blonde that is my sister’s so-called ex-boyfriend/stalker decides to grace us with his consciousness.
My brother moves out of his seat when I outstretch my arm to halt him to remain still.
He’s pissed.
If anything besides the four traits I’ve already discovered, he definitely has my temper. And this fuckhead is in for a real treat with the two of us as his company.
“Thanks for joining us,” I drone, my lips hovering over the end of my beer. “I’m so glad to finally meet my sister’s ex-boyfriend. Chad, right?”
Chad glances over at Hardy, obviously confused because ‘ole boy over here probably doesn’t even know I exist.
“Hey, asshole,” my brother greets with a malevolent tone to his voice. “I thought I told you to leave Scar alone.”
“She won’t return my calls,” he answers, patting down his chest. We found two kn
ives and another handgun in his jean jacket, which are now in Hardy’s possession.
And also, what’s up with everyone getting concerned about other people not answering their fucking phones, geezus Christ.
“And why would she do that?” I press, brushing the wet beads of my beer away with my thumb. “I hear you got quite the angry disposition.”
Chad furrows his brows. “That only happened twice…and I was drunk. And that time with Madelyn was…” He steals another look at Hardy. “Dude, I’m sorry, it was a mistake.”
Hardy tenses, clenching his bottle so hard that his knuckles are turning white. He senses my gaze and fills me in.
“This is the second accident my daughter has been in. Scarlett was babysitting, and Chad over here drove them to get something to eat at this pizza joint. Little did our sister know that he drank a fifth on the side of the establishment and proceeded to drive them home.”
My head slowly turns back, anger brewing in my veins and up my spine. My jaw steels as I take in the skinny piece of shit who couldn’t take out a grown man, so he decided to use my baby sister for kicks and smacks to make him feel like one.
“Then what?”
“Madeline got whiplash, and Scarlett went through the windshield.”
The table rattles as I slam my beer bottle down. “Remember the safe word?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, because I’m about to show you what I’m all about.”
I allowed my brother to kick Chad’s ass with his baseball bat in the woods behind Mom’s trailer while Chad’s curses turned into cries and pleas for help. When the word pineapple failed to be mentioned through Hardy’s lips, I realized we had yet another thing in common.
No mercy for those who fuck with our family.
I lied to Hardy when I said I took Chad to Allegheny Police Station, and he went to check on Scarlett at the house.
Instead, I shoved two M-80’s down his throat and lit the fuse. The report on the bastards wasn’t as loud as I wanted them to be; however, he cried enough for it to be worth it.
While half his jaw hung from his face, the last words he ever heard was, this is for the Bishop girls because I blew his brains out and left him for the coyotes to eat.
“I know, I’m so sorry, Arm.” I run my fingers along the wall of peeled wallpaper of my hotel room, looking for the light switch. “I tried not to be gone for too long.”
My thigh drives into the sharp corner of a piece of furniture, and I curse out, immediately rubbing the exact spot where I ran into it earlier.
Kicking it—or trying to—with my foot, my already rooted rationality rears its ugly head.
I shouldn’t be here.
If Bishop doesn’t give two fucks about his dog, then why the hell did I just make a four-hour drive to deliver him back?
Because you haven’t seen him in weeks, and your weak ass misses him.
Armageddon whines, probably sensing how pathetic I am.
“Yeah, I know, buddy. It’s pretty distressing that a thirty-something-year-old can’t get it together. I’m surprised you’re still alive.” My fingers finally locate the light switch, and I flick it on. “We’ll go out tomorrow and find your daddy when—“
“You found him.” My heart leaps into my throat as I pivot, hitting the same table that assaulted me seconds ago and reach for my gun.
It’s out and aimed in the direction of the octave tone that just startled me.
The very one I can’t misplace in my head.
Sitting in one of the cheap chairs with Armageddon resting obediently between his calves is the man I’ve been searching for.
The one that brings that pitiful mood in me.
Dressed in a gray t-shirt that hugs and snuggles every single muscle that I’ve stared incessantly at for years and tattered dark blue jeans, Bishop lazily allows his gaze to absorb my black leggings and high-waisted tee.
I feel every inch that his eyes touch and graze, causing me to freeze like an idiot, but I can’t help but do the same.
He looks well, with no signs of anguish or lack of eating. He does appear exhausted, though.
The almost black stubble around his strong jawline is longer, along with the front pieces of his hair that overlap the sides. His skin is more tan, and his vibe still put off. But then his arctic blues suddenly latch onto my browns, openly staring without a care in the world, forging my cheeks to immediately flush at his open-ended stare.
It’s intense, scary, and utterly breathtaking to be soaked in by Kace Bishop and his shitty ass attitude.
“What the fuck, Bish?” I finally chide, finding my voice and watching him pull out a cigarette and light it between his lips. “You couldn’t leave the light on?”
Well, something has him fucked up because I’ve learned over the years that he’s not a casual smoker by nature.
He’s a stressed-out one.
“You gonna drop the gun, Princess?” His tone drips sarcasm and disgust, picking on the nickname that drives me fucking nuts, and he knows that. It’s not the name he used to softly call me when I believed he felt something more for me than my wet pussy after a few drinks.
I lower my weapon and watch him watch me stand here looking lost in my own hotel room.
Like always.
I’ve been addicted to him in a way that doesn’t make sense, but it’s there nonetheless. No matter how many self-help blogs I’ve read or magazine articles at the doctor’s office, I can’t get Bishop out of my head so I can comply with reason.
There’s zero.
I’m a dumbass.
“You forgot your dog,” I deadpan.
“No, shit.”
I push my cheek with the tip of my tongue, ready to aim this gun again and shave some of that chip off his shoulder. Also, to keep my temper in check.
“I’m happy to know that he still listens on command and didn’t kill himself.”
I scoff. “Yeah, you should be. If the poor thing would have, you’d have a bullet in your head for animal abuse.”
Bishop takes another hit of his nicotine, letting silence fill the air between us as he allows his eyes to flick over me leisurely again.
It makes me feel hella self-conscious and small when he does it. Most of the time, when he sees me in his sights, he cuts into the other direction or grunts at me like an animal.
It’s super flattering.
“How’ve you been?” I press, filling in the need for words. I’ve never enjoyed the stillness of a room without something in the background playing, sounding, or running. Silence makes me anxious and fidgety.
“Fine.” He leans forward, the chair underneath him complaining and creaking under his weight. Bishop appears bigger than before, but I know it’s because I haven’t seen him in what feels like almost an eternity.
Absolutely pitiful.
“Marty got married.”
He knows that moron.
“So I heard.”
Another upsurge of ear-piercing silence, and I’m starting to wince under Bishop’s gaze.
The lack of conversation and how I don’t know how to approach him because he’s not a normal man makes me anxious.
I can help Marty all day, fully aware of when he’s reached his limit and patience with me. But Bishop never allowed me to get close to him like that. That wall he has built, no amount of dynamite or sledgehammers will ever get that baby to fall over or crumble.
“What are you doing here, Emmy?” His tone is sharp and disconnected, soaking up the oxygen in this room when it’s mine and very much needed.
“He’s sitting in between your thighs, isn’t he?”
He perks a brow. “You came here just to bring my dog back?”
“Are you surprised? He does belong to you, right?” He cocks his head slowly to the side like I just spoke a foreign language.
I guess caring would be one for him.
He shows none. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him hug anyone, and smiling is very limited and far in be
tween off his lips these days.
“Sounds like you’re meddling again.” He spits the last word out like it’s foul and sour in his mouth, but he answered the question, so…here we are.
I clear my throat, shoving away the lump that is beginning to form. “You’re welcome. Kyson will be here tomorrow.”
Bishop slowly rises then, and my chin follows his height as Armageddon remains where he is. “To help, I’m assuming.”
It’s not a question but a fact.
He’s not so far up his own ass to know that his second family, B723, would want to help if Bishop was having trouble.
But if he is, I have no clue. Kyson didn’t and wouldn’t say anything about it.
“More than likely.” I cross my arms along my chest, and I’m glad that I do. Because Bishop moves forward, and every stride in my direction makes my heartbeat triple time. Goosebumps lick at my warmed flesh the closer he gets. His scent, nutmeg, and leather mixed with smoke fill my senses, and my knees begin to shake.
I am a trained assassin, not a teenage girl with acne, and a diary to write my sorrows in. Get a grip.
“You’re an observant little thing, aren’t you, Emmy Lou?” The warmth of his voice, no matter how shitty he’s about to get with me, sends the butterflies in my stomach scattering and knocking into each other. “If my lack of response to your text messages didn’t give it away, you found a way to come anyway.” He stops when his chest is only but a tiny gap between us, seizing my full and utter attention. “Go home.”