Glass breaks, and something hard hits the wall. The ringing of peppered shots ring throughout the room when a body bumps mine on the same side of the unbearable pain.
“I got you, Lou Boo.”
Mills.
An arm wraps around my back, but he doesn’t make a move to help me up, so I try to do it myself, my vision blurred, but I can stand, I think.
“Not yet,” Mills voices as another ripping of shots go off.
Then silence.
“Now we can.” Helping me, my chin lifts to locate Bishop, but it doesn’t take much effort at all. He’s directly in front of me, peering down like I just smoked his last cigarette and looking hella pissed.
“I got it,” he tells my best friend. “Gag and move his fucking ass.”
Mills strays from my side, and I quickly look around to find Alexander on the floor along with the other three men.
Then Ky, Blue, and Marty.
I met Marty’s green eyes, and he salutes me with his two digits. “Hey, Ems.”
“Hey,” I reply when Bishop’s fingers wrap around my chin gingerly to bring me around to face him.
“You’re shot,” he deadpans.
“So are you.”
I expect him to say so much more, but this is Bishop. Not Marty, Ky, or Mills, even Blue and her big mouth.
No, this is the man who has suffered silently.
“Take your shirt off so I can—“ I begin to do as he asks when his grip tightens and moves my head and back and forth for me.
“Not here. Bedroom.”
I roll my eyes because no one in this room really gives a shit about seeing me in a bra but I guide the way, sucking in air through my teeth from the discomfort of my wound.
Bishop follows so closely that I feel the abrasion of his clothes against my body, and when he slams the door behind us, I know I’m really in for it.
Pivoting, he’s right there again and in my space when his lips crash ferociously into mine. His hands grip my biceps, keeping me from moving, stumbling, or both. And when I’m about to forget a little about the searing pain in my side, he jerks from me.
“You scared the shit out of me,” he mutters, pressing his forehead against mine. “He’s a dead fucking man.”
“Did you—“
“No, you’re gonna kill him. We’re just gonna have fun with him.” Before I can ask any questions, he’s maneuvering me into my bathroom and getting me to sit on the toilet seat.
He goes through my medicine cabinet, but there isn’t much in there, just aspirin and deodorant. I didn’t plan on staying here forever.
“You don’t have shit,” he growls.
“Bish, I don’t really live here.”
He pulls out his cell and puts it to his ear. “Grab me some shit. She has nothing.” He’s silent for a moment before saying, “Whatever, dude.” Then hangs up.
Holding out a hand for me, I take it and slowly stand.
“Let me see.“ He begins to pull my shirt up as carefully as he can and haunches down to get a better look, but I swat his help away.
“Let me see you.”
He ignores me, trailing my tee upwards to examine my side. “He just grazed it. I swear to fucking God I’m gonna make his shit hurt.”
My hand rakes through his long hair in an attempt to comfort him, but he’s not done studying my wound. His callous thumb brushes around it, and he presses a soft kiss right below my belly button.
“I swear to God, I don’t know if I can take any more of you getting hurt.” His voice is pained, and the side of his cheek rests against my torso, away from my injury. “You wanna run away, baby?”
“Run away?” He bobs his head and wraps his arms around my legs. I think I’m witnessing Bishop having a mini-breakdown, and it pricks at my chest.
My strong and no-bullshit man is beginning to reach his breaking point.
And honestly, it’s not off the table.
I know that I can’t do B723 anymore the way I used to. I can’t run around the country taking out the bad guys with two babies at home.
Hacking into shit I can do all day with both of them in my lap, but this—getting shot right along Bishop—it can’t happen anymore.
And the only reason he was hit was because of me and my shit. Other than that, Bishop is always prepared and ready.
“Let me see your back and leg,” I instruct.
Reluctantly and after another minute, Bishop rises and turns around. The back of his shirt is stained from the blood still seeping from his shoulder, and when I get his shirt up, the bullet is still lodged inside.
“Let me see you’re—”
“I’m fine,” he growls.
“Take some of this aspirin then, stupid jerk. And I need your phone.”
Bishop hands me over his cell, and I pour two pills into my palm for him to take as I dial up Lucien.
“Hello, Mr. Bishop, it’s been a while. Who needs help this time?”
“Actually, it’s for Bishop,” I convey. “Can you meet me at—“
“Later,” Bishop says. “Business first.”
I narrow my eyes. “He’s been shot.”
“Where?” Lucien asks.
“Shoulder blade and upper thigh.” I look back down at it. “I think it’s bad.”
Lucien sighs. “You all are going to be the death of me. Clean it up and text me where to be.”
“10-4.”
I hang up and Bishop plucks the device from my hand then grabs my free hand with his. “I want you safe.”
“I am with you.”
He shakes his head. “No, forever. I…” He opens his mouth wider to get the words out, but they fail him because he changes the subject. “Come on, let’s go get you bandaged up. We have some shit to finish with ‘ole boy.”
“Bishop.” I stop him dead in his tracks before he even moves. And he won’t look at me. “What happened…with—“
“Stop,” he growls, then flicks his now dark blues to me. “Emmy…”
I swear I’m going to die.
I can’t stand the way his tone sounds like he wants to perish right now. That I caused him more pain somehow. That he
