by Hazel Grace
“Same,” she conveys as Bishop takes steps to get inside of the house. A gorgeous home at that in the middle of nowhere. “Come join us. We have plenty of food.”
I hold up a hand. “I’m good, thanks. I have some appointments I have to hit.”
More lies.
I’m not about to have family time with a woman whom I’ve never met with a million, and one questions about who I am and how long Bishop and I have worked together.
Let’s not leave out our little secret that no one knows about. That I made sure was buried so deep in the ground, not a soul would find it.
Something that Bishop was and still is super pissed about, I guess.
Scarlett nods understandably and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. Damn, those are fucking perfect too. “Fair enough. I hope I get to see you again then?”
“That’d be nice.” This time I give her a grin that’s not so rehearsed before she turns on her heel and lets Kyson hold the door from slamming in my face.
He scowls at me. “What are you doing?”
Well, that escalated quickly.
I’d rather take the door in my face than the expression that Kyson just threw at me.
“With what?” I ask, automatically on the defense.
My God, I get interrogated more than anyone on this team.
“You just got back, so what could you possibly—” Bishop shows up at the entryway again, making Kyson move so he can walk out and give my eyes time to appreciate his body.
I sigh, keeping my emotions in check because what good are they?
Dressed in dark blue jeans and a black shirt that hugs his chest, Bishop stands in front of me, blocking off my view of Kyson and all the air that demands to fill up my lungs.
He controls everything—a conversation, an interrogation, my breathing pattern, and the fact that my body wants to yield or flee at any given moment.
“What kind of appointments?” he asks, his tone dropping another octave as he peers down at me.
I notice now that his and his sister’s eyes match. I’m surprised I didn’t put two and two together earlier since I stare at his any chance I get.
Which means I can’t miss the black and blue underneath them.
“What happened to your eye?” I ask through my own set of knitted brows.
“I was having a conversation.”
“With what, a tree? A rock?”
“Marty and Mills, same thing.” I roll my eyes and avert them to the mint green siding of his home. “Now, where did you say you were going?”
I shrug because what I’m doing and how much junk food I’m going to consume in my hotel room is none of Bishop’s business. I have a whole season of Grace and Frankie to watch on Netflix. “Just a few errands.”
His expression flashes as though some sort of recognition hits him. “Ah, yes, the boyfriend.”
“The what?”
“The boy you told Marty about.”
I inwardly scoff. Boy?
First of all, I don’t date boys.
In fact, I barely date at all because I can’t. I’m not able to release myself from Bishop’s grasp. When I mention divorce, he steers the conversation off of it. When I attempt to talk about us, he glares at me like it’s a topic I’m never allowed to discuss.
Did I mention he’s a dumbass?
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I further state, not that I owe him any sort of explanation.
“Fuck buddy then.” I flick my gaze back to him, meeting his challenge for me to lie or change the subject.
I mean…
“Is that what I can call him now? I didn’t know if we had to be friends for a certain amount of time or if I could just give him the one-night stand status.” Bishop takes a menacing step in my direction, but he won’t do anything that stupid.
Our second family is feet away from us. One rise of my voice, and Kyson will be coming out here quicker than Bishop can finish his sentence.
He’s like my little pitbull, cuddly on the inside and ferocious on the outside. They might be best friends, grew up together, but Kyson would never allow Bishop to try and seize me by the throat to rattle some truths off my lips.
“Are we allowed to fuck other people now?” His question is offsetting because when we broke up, he was quick to move on.
“According to you, we are.”
“We broke up, Emmy.”
“So, I guess the answer to that is yes, Kace.” His features soften a tad, and if I would’ve blinked, I would have missed it.
I never call him Kace, not anymore.
We all call him Bishop and move on. I treat him or try to, like everyone else.
It was upon his request that I use his first name. But when he splintered my heart into a few pieces, I gave him back his status of just being part of B723.
Nothing more.
Now, if I could get my heart to understand, I’d be all set.
“Well, since you’re cheating on me, Ems, the least you could do is eat with me.”
I slit my eyes. “When do you care about my eating habits or where I’m going?”
“Since you shoved your nose into my business and said you were going to help me.”
“I did, and I’m still waiting on you to agree to drive to the Hamptons with me.”
Bishop rolls his eyes. The other day, I discovered that this Willy Wonka character is a prestigious rich prick that lives in the Brentwood subdivision. He pretty much employs people in the slums to make him wealthy. I highly doubt he lifts a finger for anything but to ask a maid to grab him something.
“And I kindly said no,” he rebuffs. “And that’s all I’m going to say about it. I’m good with not experiencing the other side of that life.”
“Well—” I bravely take a step closer, watching his body tense at my proximity. “—that’s a shame, Bish.”
“Why?”
“Because Willy Wonka is throwing a very large party this weekend, and I got us an in.”
“You’re telling me that a lowly drug dealer—”
“He’s far from lowly. He’s thirty-two, owns a yacht, a few really nice cars, and a home in Puerto Rico. He uses low-lives to make his fortune. I doubt he’s ever stepped foot here to collect a thing in his life.”
“Sounds like your type,” he grumbles. “You’ll fit right in.”
“You don’t know my type.” I pat his chest harder than necessary like a petty asshole. “But, if you still wanna play the husband card, you can keep watch while I hack into his computer. You know, making yourself useful and all.”
“I’m divorcing you, wife,” he ventures flatly. “You didn’t work out for me the first time.”
“The first time?” I repeat, twisting my face in repugnance. “You mean when you fucked Blue because I needed you to be open with me?”
“We broke up,” he retorts through a growl.
“Then divorce me for real.” Bishop’s nostrils flare, and I swear to God he’s going to kill me one day. Just whip out a blade and slit my throat so he can watch me bleed out for him.
He’s a sick fuck like that.
“I’ll think about it,” he dismisses. “In the meantime, if you need the backup, I guess instead of sending Marty or Mills, I should go to make sure that shit is done right.”
“Oh, Bishop, you really think I’d go somewhere with you alone without one of the guys? I’d fucking kill you.”
He closes another inch between us so that I have to crane my head back more to meet his clear blues. “I’d love to see you try. I’m extremely curious about your methods.”
“Mhm.” My lips coil in a shitty smile. “I’m sure you would. In fact...bring your girlfriend, she loves to fuck my brothers just to see me get all pissed off, so maybe you’ll get your wish.”
Yeah, Blue did that.
Invite a bitch to your family birthday party and walk in on her deep throating your brother’s dick in your childhood bedroom.
I mean, why would we pick the bathroom with
a lock or maybe his room.
Blue keeps striking out with me left and right, literally fucking me over with the men in my life.
“Does it involve your lips wrapped around my dick or you talking me to death?”
You see, I never can fully read this asshole.
One moment it appears that he loathes me. The next, he wants to fuck my brains out, and my body is cheering the idea on with pom pops and a full marching band.
“My Wushu Whip chain.”
“Choking was never a fetish of mine, but I’ll try anything at least once with you, Ems.” His chest presses into mine but gently, attempting to erase why I should be annoyed with him. “Just tell me when. It’ll more than likely be the last time you get fucked good in your life.”
“Who says I can’t do it all by myself? I don’t need a man to make me come.”
Bishop’s lips curl. “Now, you’re just being a tease.” His hand latches around my waist, searing the skin underneath. “Come inside and eat, and we’ll talk about a plan.”
I shake my head and take a step back, crossing my arms over my chest to protect me from everything him.
The push and pull effect that I get from Bish is exhausting. I came back here as a favor because he’s family, not someone who belongs to me. I need to start hammering it into my brain more and more. Maybe tattoo it in my palm so I can look down at it every time I catch myself drooling.
“I already have one,” I assert confidently.
“And I don’t like the sound of it.”
“Kace,” chimes a small voice behind him. He doesn’t turn around, but I don’t require him to because it’s a female and not Scarlett. “Lunch is set up.”
“I’m coming,” he deadpans, gaze still honed in on me.
If he wants a staring contest, he picked the wrong one, two older brothers—need I say more?
“Text me when you’re—”
“Why would I need to text you when you’re right here?” he challenges with a raised brow. “Don’t you like spending time with me, wife?”
“No,” I reply flatly. “I don’t.”
“But she enjoys time with me,” Marty replies, wrapping a warm arm around my shoulder. “Don’t ya, Emmy Lou?”
I attempt to shrug him off, but he squeezes me into his body. “Not really.”
“Awww…” Mills chimes in, clasping my hand and lacing his fingers with mine. “I know I’m your favorite but—” He lowers his voice to a loud whisper. “—we promised we wouldn’t tell the others.”
“Would you get off me?” I roll my shoulder and yank at my hand, but both men stay put despite my growing frustration.
“Welcome home,” Bishop muses before stepping aside. “You’re eating lunch with your loving family.”
I can’t be the only one in this house to feel the tension. I mean, literally, it’s suffocating and uncomfortable, clogging my throat as I try to eat.
And I’m not talking about how Kyson and Mills are sandwiching me in between them, but because the blonde known as Camilla hasn’t stopped studying me like a piece of shit on her shoe.
We’re all eating hamburgers. The boys are too busy stuffing their faces while Scarlett talks about how cool it is that we all work together and are helping Bishop “clean their mother’s trailer”.
I don’t know what the hell that means, but I’m taking a wild shot in the dark that she has no clue what her brother does nor what we do, for that matter.
So, instead of being the person to break the news, I nod and smile at her comments.
Bishop, surprisingly, lets her carry on with asking questions while he sits next to her and eats, knowing full well we’ll play along with whatever story he’s come up with. Kyson is in the same mindset across from him, with Camilla at his side while she continues to just pick at her food.
She’s the blonde at the daycare bust.
The one Bishop took with him, and he hasn’t introduced us at all, which pricks at my nerves and paranoia, leaving Kyson to do the awkward intro of “this is a childhood friend.”
Except she doesn’t strike me as one.
Not when she steals longing glances at Bishop with her eyes glimmering over in something I can put my finger on—regret.
Regret of not making him hers in some way because I feel something similar.
I should’ve told Bishop that I was interested in long term. That he might be closed off and a fucking douchebag, but I was and still am in love with him. That we need to work it out because, without him, I’m not sure what I’m doing with my life.
“Emmy, do you live here?”
“No,” I tell Scarlett, and I can’t help the irritability that comes off my words. “I live in Connecticut.”
Scarlett smiles. “Boyfriend there?”
“No, I’m—” Bishop glances over at me for the first time since sitting down, rendering my lack of forming words.
He lifts a brow, imploring me to finish what I was going to say. Like he actually cares about what I’m going to spill.
“No.”
“I’m surprised,” Scarlett quips. “You’re gorgeous, and you’d have to be smart to work for a technology company.”
I nod. “Right, it’s tricky business.”
Bishop’s sister nudges him without prying her eyes or smile from me. “Isn’t she beautiful, Kace? Locked up in an office all day is a shame.”
“She’s stunning,” he replies without faltering, causing my whole face to slowly blanch crimson. “But it’s safe for her to be in an office. She’d give everyone whiplash with her mouth if she was allowed out in public.”
Mills chuckles at my side while Camilla forms the first rendering of a smile.
Yep, I’m not imagining shit here.
“Stop teasing,” Scarlett says like she needs to defend me. “It sounds like you all need to stay on your toes. She just makes it more fun.”
She winks at me and finally shuts up—no offense—returning back to her food while her brother looks at me for another moment before doing the same.
Kyson is unbothered or interested by the conversation, but Camilla...she illustrates that she’s not at all fond of me working closely with her “childhood friend”. And since I talk female, I receive the message loud and clear.
Kace Bishop is hers—end of story.
And maybe, he is.
“Who’s the blonde bitch to Bishop?” I ask Kyson through a mutter as Scarlett asks Marty something giving me the first opportunity I’ve had to inquire about her. “And if you don’t tell me, I’m going to start a scene.”
“Knock it off,” he grumbles through another bite of his hamburger. “She’s a nobody.”
“That’s staying with Bishop?”
“She’s not staying here. She’s staying at the trailer.”
“For?”
“Leave it be, Emmy.” I begin to rise from my seat when Kyson’s hand shoots out from underneath the table. “Seriously?”
“As a fucking heart attack.” I feel Bishop’s eyes on both of us, suddenly catching on to our private conversation, which is something he’s either going to ignore or press about later. “Better hurry up.”
Kyson shakes his head slightly, obviously hiding a secret. I mean, c’mon, if it wasn’t, he’d just say it.
“Ex-girlfriend, fucked him up pretty bad when we were kids. Addicted to cocaine. A waste of space. He left her behind with me when we joined the military. We did some fucked up shit to protect her. End of story, Ems.”
Jealously rips through my frame, but my heart also slows from the story.
“Did he love her?”
“Emmy…” Kyson’s voice is a warning and a clue.
It’s also a confirmation—yes.
And possibly the reason why he could never get close or love me.
If Bishop was capable of it once before, something or someone broke it. I might be staring at that someone right now.
A heated wave of rage suddenly pierces through me as I flick my attention to Cami
lla, who’s already looking back at me.
Yeah, I see you, bitch.
A slow and purposeful lift of my lips causes hers to frown.
I am the definition of a spoiled little brat to some and downright vicious to others. If she broke Bishop, then she deserves to be mangled herself.
An arm, a leg, maybe her nose.
She’s pretty, but I can tell by the way she lifts her already turned-up nose at me that she’s a little cunt who doesn’t know me but still wants to judge me.
But, oh, am I going to get to know her.
“Stop staring at the girl like you’re about to make her choke on your burger, Lou Boo,” Mills whispers at my side. “You’re making me uncomfortable.”
A mirthless chuckle rumbles from my chest as Camilla watches my best friend and I share a private moment.
She probably perceives me as a slut who possibly fucked all the guys at this table with me.
Nah, girl. Just the one across from you.
A door creaks somewhere in Bishop’s home, followed by a small stampede of feet stomping towards the small dining area.
“Uncle Kacie!” A bundle of dark curls, plump cheeks, and the speed of a little Tasmanian devil runs straight for Bishop. “Daddy got me a gun!”
Bishop immediately drops his burger on his paper plate and twists to lift her into his lap.
Holy…is he holding a child in his lap?
With a cute little purple shirt and jeans, the little girl leans back into his chest, comfortable and elated as she shows off the nerf gun in her tiny hands.
Her blue eyes search the table, landing on my squad curiously before they stop at me. She blinks, her long eyelashes brushing against rosy cheeks when she opens her mouth.
“Who are you?”
“Yes,” repeats a masculine voice right after her. “Who are you?” I didn’t realize that someone else had walked into the room as I locate a leaner version of Bishop now standing behind his chair.
He smiles at me, exposing his teeth and everything, which makes him boyishly handsome. His facial hair is dark stubble, perfectly shaping his strong jaw and brings out kind crystal blues.
His forearms lean against the back of Bishop’s chair as he patiently waits for someone to tell him who the hell I am, just as I’m pending confirmation on the lookalike staring back at me.