Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Oh shit.
He was way past pissed.
He sauntered into the little room even more, his swagger mixed between a relaxed soldier getting ready to go to war, and a loose teenage boy who gives no fucks.
He was… was he drunk?
“Bishop?” Stupid first thing to say, but it was all I could manage.
“Oh, shieeetttt,” Nate shuddered, quickly opening the door again. “Yo, Kitty, we should come back…”
Suddenly, I felt an overwhelming rush to run. It was as though Nate and I just walked straight into the lion’s den, and I’m almost certain we were about to be ripped to pieces. Dumbest decision ever. Why the hell did I think it would be a great idea to come and poke the monster that I created? Well, because like the stupid girl I was, I thought the monster would forgive me. Monsters don’t forgive, especially ones who have tattoos and drive Maseratis.
I sucked down my nerves when his chest brushed against my breasts. I stepped backward quickly, my back smashing against the wall, knocking down a painted canvas.
His nose came to mine, and I slammed my eyes closed. I couldn’t open them. I couldn’t face him.
“Open your fucking eyes, Kitty,” he whispered devilishly, his lips brushing against mine ever so softly. So faintly, I fell for it and my eyes opened. Terror seized my muscles when I saw his pupils were dilated, his eyes almost pure black. They looked erratic, deranged and unhinged. This was Bishop not in control. He would always say how he hated getting drunk, and it really just wasn’t in his nature to do so. He was always in charge of his surroundings. It was unchartered territory him being drunk, and I was going in completely blind.
“Leave, dawg,” was all he said, his eyes staying on mine, but his words directed at Nate. His hips slowly pressed into my pelvic area, pinning me to the wall. He raised the bottle to his lips, took a swig, his eyes still on mine, and then dropped his arm, the other coming up to the side of my head, half caging me in. He smelled like Bishop. Minty, leathery, with a slight dose of cologne and soap, but now that was also mixed with whiskey. Shit. He tilted his head toward Nate when he saw he wasn’t moving. “I’ll deal with you this weekend. The way we deal with things. For now? Get the fuck outta my face, bruh.”
“What’s going on in here!” an unfamiliar voice interrupted jokingly. I tried to peek around Bishop to see who it was, but he blocked my view.
“Nah uh, kitty. Don’t want you getting ideas with this one.”
“Nate?” I whispered, my eyes on Bishop’s. There was no way I was going to be able to escape this. So I would stick it out and with him. Anyway, I’d rather I be here with him while he’s in this state so I can look after him. “I’ll be ok.”
Nate’s eyes flew between the two of us, but I witnessed right then and there the power difference between Bishop and Nate. If you didn’t know it yet, you would definitely know right then that Bishop was the alpha.
Bishop laughed, his head going back as he pushed off the wall, his dick pressing into my stomach roughly before standing straight with his shoulders back. “She definitely won’t be ok, but you can’t do shit about it.” Now he was going toward Nate. “I’d leave right now. We all know what happened last time I was this drunk, huh?”
Nate took a deep breath, and then looked back at me. “Text me if it gets bad. I don’t believe he’d hurt you—regardless.”
“That’s why you aren’t very smart, pup,” Bishop grinned at him, and then headed for the sofa in the lounge.
My head bobbed. This wasn’t the first time I had been terrified at the hands of Bishop, but no matter how scared I had been in my life, there was always a firefly sitting underneath that fear. That firefly held the light of hope.
Nate left, closing the door, and then I finally let my eyes go to the other guy who was in the room. He was shirtless too and was a little older than Bishop. He was bulky in the muscle department, veins popping out everywhere and had a long, thick dark beard. He didn’t look that old, because his body was beautiful, and his face looked young, I would say he had to be around thirty-one, or something. He was eyeing me as if trying to make a decision on me, and then he scoffed and shook his head, leaning forward on his elbows. Bishop lit up a—what I’m guessing—was a J, brought it to his mouth and inhaled before passing it to the big guy.
He hit play on his phone which was linked to the massive sound system set up he had around the entire room. He grinned, leaning back on the sofa, his leg perched up on the coffee table where there was a little mirror sitting on with lines of cocaine laid out and a rolled-up dollar bill. Fucking hell. The song started playing, and it was “#icanteven” from The Neighbourhood. Great. I have a whole night of this shit.