DECEIT (B723)

by Hazel Grace

  Rounding my body, he dismisses me without a care and begins for the door issuing out hier to my furry buddy.

  Come in Russian.

  He’s leaving.

  My coming here means nothing to him, and neither do I. No matter how many times I’ve thought about him doing this to me, it still hurts.

  “Blieb,” I snap, clearly out of my damn mind.

  Stay.

  Armageddon listens—holy shit—and sits back down at my side, pending his next order.

  I can feel the swelter of Bishop’s glare at the back of my head. If it could pierce out laser beams, he’d be all set. He really would be the most dangerous man alive.

  “What do you want, Em?” His tone drops, and here it comes. The irritation that always ensues between him and I when we converse.

  My body steels and waits for it, ready for the harsh words and unattached sentiment of my crowding his space. That I’m such a waste of space in his eyes, worthy of none of his time.

  “You stood me up.” My jaw begins to tighten to lock away the tears and emotions from forming in my throat. “The least you could’ve done was tell me you weren’t going to make it.”

  “Was that another thing you came here for? An apology?”

  I almost scoff because we know it’d be a cold day in hell before that occurred.

  Just like me wishing I could banish him so far from my brain that I could move on without feeling empty.

  Everything about us—Bishop and I—is beyond hopeless.

  It’s a fool’s dream.

  “You can’t do that.” My voice is barely audible, but I’m not able to raise it. The fight in me is fleeting and almost gone. “You can’t just take off and not tell anyone. You’re family...whether you want me to be or not, but I’m here for you. I’ve always been.”

  The last sentence of mine is admission, something I’m working hard on. That my “pushy” manner can come off, as Bishop calls it, “annoying as all fuck”.

  So I try to express myself without being bossy or too much.

  Nonetheless, sometimes I let my emotions spread thick, coating my good sense, and it comes out wrong.

  The sheer heat of Bishop’s chest suddenly rests against my spine, and I draw my eyes shut. “I didn’t pick you to be in my family.” He whispers it close to my ear, causing my whole body to shutter at his proximity and the way his words taunt my dying fantasies. “And we’re over. You don’t get special privileges.”

  “Doesn’t make me any less.” I demand myself to inhale, seizing a long and needed hit of oxygen to keep my lungs moving.

  “Yes, it does, Princess. Because now…you’re just like everyone else.”

  “Fuck you,” I sneer through my clenched jaw, trying to hold on to my calmness that’s diminishing by the second.

  “I have.“ Bishop’s breath hits the column of my neck, and I swear if I didn’t have so much adrenaline coursing through me, I might pass the hell out.

  This is too much.

  I’m annoyingly attracted to his jaded way of thinking. How he’s so negative when I’m so optimistic.

  He enraptures me, and I didn’t choose this, but he did.

  And I was delusional to believe he’d think of me more as anything else, especially after what he did after he broke up with me.

  “Yeah,” I reply, forming my hands into fists at my side. “Then you fucked Blue right afterward. You’re a real piece of shit, so you’ll be sitting right next to me being a nothing.”

  “I wasn’t the one who wanted to keep me a dirty little secret.” His hard chest presses harder against my back, my next breath halting in my lungs at his touch. “But I’ll tell you one thing…you were better.”

  “Motherfuck—“ Bishop clasps the waistband of my jeans and whirls me around.

  My long hair slaps me in the face before somewhat falling back into place around my cheeks.

  I fully expect him to move or step back since he’s allegedly so disgusted by me all the time, but he remains right there where we are damn near almost chest to chest. To where I can feel his warm exhales over my face and every bit of nervousness take over my body.

  “Last time I checked, Em, you were one of the smartest women I know—most of the time. What part of I don’t need you here, aren’t you understanding?”

  “You want to change the subject now?” I solicit as I brace myself to go head-to-head with the most stubborn and arrogant man I’ve ever met in my life. “You piece of shit. Keep rubbing it in my face.”

  “You had three years to bring it up, Em. I’m definitely not going to do it now with you. It’s done and over with. Drop it.”

  I should drop it.

  Leave it.

  Tell him good luck and that he can go fuck himself. I brought his adorable ass dog back.

  My job is done.

  “Then take your own advice and stay out of my life.” The corners of his lips lift into a sinister smirk because he’s aware, just as I, that it can’t be that way.

  Not until he fully lets me go.

  And when I grow the balls to force him to.

  “You done?” Bishop vouches, releasing me but not creating space between us again.

  I fucking hate him.

  I loathe how he can keep his cool while I’m about to burst.

  I despise myself for even making this an ongoing conversation in my brain.

  A mirthless chuckle rumbles deep within my chest, and I stay locked on his beautiful blue eyes. “Are you?”

  He frowns but quickly rights it. “Have a safe trip home, Em.”

  Before he can fully pivot, though, I throw in something that I know will get under his skin, possibly more than I do—unrequested help.

  “Oh, just so you’re aware,” I vouch, watching him slowly turn to face me again. “Whatever shit you’re into, the boys will be assisting with all your needs.”

  Bishop glowers at me, taking a menacing step back into my safe bubble. “What the fuck did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything.” I lift my shoulder noncommittally. “But I wasn’t the only person you didn’t text back, soooo…good job putting yourself on everyone’s radar.”

  “You almost got Marty’s sister killed because you didn’t do enough research on the problem. Why would I want your help?” His words sharply prod the ugly truth into my chest.

  He’s right. I messed up.

  I told Marty that we were good when he sent Stormi away before breaking down and marrying her. That the coast was completely clear while Eli Montgomery waited to make his move without the protection of Marty and all of us at B723.

  Bishop leans in closer, letting my eyes study the dark beard along his chin and up the side of his face. His piercing blue eyes are dim now because of the room, but they’re beautifully haunted. It just creates more of a need to be here.

  Blue is cold like he is.

  I’m warm and cuddly (not that we’d necessarily have to do that), but he’s fully aware that I’m an asset that is residing right in front of him.

  “It’s up to you, Bish,” I transmit cooly. “I mean—fuck it, maybe Blue can—” Bishop’s grip finds the waistband of my jeans again and twists the fabric, letting the material dig into my skin to get me to shut up.

  “I don’t know what your fucking problem is but, again, I’m not obligated to tell you shit, nor are you entitled to be involved in what I do. We may work together, be on the same team, but when it comes to my personal life…you don’t belong in it. You never did. Everything was a mistake.”

  His words sting, yet I steel my spine against them.

  I’m not going to beg him for shit because he’s right. He did away with me like the next piece of trash he needed to pitch out.

  “And I’m so glad you feel that way,” I surmise through the burning at the back of my eyes.

  I will not cry in front of him. I will not show him what he does to me. Bishop destroyed me then obliterated my happiness for his own fucked up reasons.

  Bishop
stares at me for a long moment before opening his big-ass mouth again. “I’m glad we were able to have this chat then. Extremely enlightening and useful for future conversations. Because there is no one else I’ve ever met that I’ve wanted to shove my dick so far down their throat that it’d rupture their vocal cords, so I don’t have to hear them speak every two seconds.” His hands drift up towards my naked skin, and he digs his fingers into it. “Your encroaching in my life is fucking old. I don’t want you here. The only benefit about you is that you’ve made me come harder than I ever have in my life. I guess I can thank you for that, wife.”

  Abruptly, he releases me and steers back for the door, calling out to his dog again to follow.

  Wife, what the fuck does that word even mean anymore?

  He doesn’t honor us getting drunkenly married one night, our feelings brimming over to where things were about to change for us. We were on the brink of allowing everything to shine through.

  Then we woke up.

  The reality of our lives settled in.

  We tried, and I did my own things to jack up our relationship.

  Bishop and I were doomed before we even started.

  So why he won’t divorce me…I think it’s so he can watch me struggle to seize that chunk of my heart that I’ve wanted back for years.

  I should’ve kept the dog.

  “What the fuck?” With the door still open, I stand on my porch and stare at five familiar faces, all standing as a united front next to each other on the gravel drive.

  Kyson.

  Marty.

  Mills.

  Blue.

  Fucking Emmy.

  Then some gangly-looking asshole on Marty’s right side.

  “Who the fuck is that?” I growl, nodding at the stranger with slitted eyes that has zero effect on anyone in my midst.

  Mills strides up, ignoring my question with a shit-eating grin on his face as he removes his designer sunglasses and continues in my direction.

  “Motherfucker,” he quips cheerfully. “I fucking missed you.” He hops up the two wooden steps and bro-hugs me while I remain still in the doorway of my trailer.

  Mills doesn’t miss a beat of my sullen mood, stepping down and away from me so I can go back to glaring at the rest of my second family minus our commander, Ledger.

  “Brought you a gift,” Marty emits flatly before shoving the guy at his side forward. “Tell him your name, asshole.”

  The dude glances back before tucking his chin into his chest, almost shyly. “Name’s Crackhead Chuck.”

  “Who?”

  “Runs with Bubba,” Kyson fills in, shoving his hands into his jean pockets. “Thought you might want to look into some things.”

  Like what?

  “Is this a joke?” I leer. “How in the hell is that—” I point at him. “—running with anything. What are you twelve?”

  “Nineteen,” he affirms, missing the insult. “And I ran Bubba’s accounting for his business when he was in hiding.”

  Wow, talk about how times have changed. This kid is singing like a canary about his dead boss, and you'd get your ass beat for looking at someone wrong back in the day. The simple fact that Bubba must’ve been desperate for help to hire a child who probably just learned how to do math last year.

  I rub at one of my temples, watching Blue chopping on her gum, bored out of her fucking mind, and Emmy with a white paper bag in her hands. Kyson is studying the park for anyone that might be eyeballing us, and Marty matches my annoyed scowl. Mills, on the other hand, looks excited like we’re about to hit a theme park or something.

  “Did you guys expect to do this in the middle of the day or…”

  Blue moves, grabbing the back of Chuck’s green shirt and guiding him inside the trailer. Her light Daisy Duke shorts ride up her toned legs as her red hair blows seductively in the gentle breeze.

  Too bad there isn’t anything else there to keep me occupied. She was meant to put another wedge between Emmy and me and nothing more.

  “Move,” she orders, shoving Chuck up the stairs and through the threshold.

  “You couldn’t do one thing,” I growl at her as she passes, smelling of artificial watermelon from her bubblegum.

  “Blame your butt buddy, Ky, for not keeping Emmy on a leash,” she sasses back, brushing my chest with her arm. Then she stops and peers up at me with gorgeous pools of green eyes. “But it’s nice to see you, Bish. I could use a good fuck while I’m here.”

  She’s suddenly hurled forward, being replaced with a blonde vixen who’s more my type and won’t keep her ass out of my shit. The bag in her hands is propelled into my rib cage as I meet Emmy’s honey eyes that are behind white and floral-rimmed glasses.

  “Here’s lunch, douchebag,” she sneers then proceeds on, obviously not missing Blue’s pointless comment.

  My dumbass doesn’t allow the opportunity to go by without checking out how her jeans cup her voluptuous backside and thighs as she angrily stomps inside my place. Somewhere she’s never been before.

  However, before I’m even to let that thought form entirely, Mills interrupts and tries for another hug before I palm his forehead and drive him back.

  “Always the dickhead,” he disappointingly mutters.

  Then Marty.

  “Thanks for the wedding gift,” he imparts. “Just know your money was well spent.”

  Ah, yes, my wedding gift.

  Since I had to split from helping Marty with his own personal issues, I sent up a guy I knew that liked virgin ass—literally. My B723 brother had a bone to pick with the asshole who laid fingers on his now wife. So, I made up for my absence.

  “Anytime,” I deadpan. “Congratulations on the nuptials.”

  “Which you should’ve been at.” His green eyes morph into displeasure then understanding. “But I get it now. We’ll hit the bar when this shit is all over. You owe me a bachelor party.”

  He smacks my shoulder then joins everyone else before Kyson begins to walk up. I block his entrance.

  “What the hell did I tell you to do?” I sneer. “Since when do you have such a big fucking mouth?”

  “Since your family was worried sick,” he retorts, not reflecting an ounce of regret in his shitty decision making. “So, if you don’t want them to be here or keep calling you, they’re all in there, buddy. Tell them yourself. If not—” He steps up another step. “—get the fuck out of my way so we can end this shit.”

  “What shit? I already handled Bubba.”

  “Didn’t you want to check in to make sure there are no loose ends?” My eyes narrow. “Thought so.”

  Kyson hits the back of my head—hard—to express his feelings about keeping my location on the DL.

  I allow it.

  Busting his lip open will only cause more time with all of them here and Emmy bitching at me for being ungrateful and a class-A prick.

  “Why the fuck did you bring them to the trailer?”

  “Did you want me to bring them to the house so they could meet Hardy and Scar? I figured you’d be here hiding away from them.”

  “Fuck off.”

  He smiles at me because he’s right. “Thought so again.”

  I glower at him. “I can’t wait to learn your little secret that you’re holding from everyone,” I mutter. “It’ll be fun bringing the fam there.”

  Kyson stares back at me with confidence glossed in his eyes. “Good luck, brother. Make sure you bring me lunch.”

  With seven people in the trailer, it’s crammed, but everyone seems to be doing something to help.

  Marty and Mills are hovering over Chuck at the dining room table like a pack of wild dogs ready to rip his throat out. Blue casually watches, legs crossed on the mint green couch with faded and ripped embroidered roses. Emmy sits on the other side, quiet and pounding away at her laptop. The screen lighting up her features, causing me to steal glances.

  Thankfully, she hasn’t stolen one at me or spoken since she’s arrived. And it’s more
for my sake than hers because I feel guilty about what I said yesterday.

  I don’t want to hurt Emmy, period. Regardless of what she make think or believe.

  I’ve never wanted to.

  But I did anyway so that she couldn’t batter and bruise me any more than she has and did. The further Emmy stays away, the more I can function freely because I haywire when she doesn’t.

  Meanwhile, she made me so anxious to the point of feeling like a complete failure in her warm eyes. Obviously, my shitty words about her failing Marty must’ve hit the mark I was aiming for, but it didn’t solve my problem of her going home.

  Emmy does not belong in a trailer park.

  She doesn’t belong in my life.

  And as much as I want her to reside in my bed, it comes with additional actions that aren’t just us fucking and remaining quiet.

  Nah, my blonde bombshell likes to pillow talk and ask questions.

  Kyson shifts next to me, arms crossed along his chest and the most normal thing in this place. His being here settles my already tested nerves because this is our home. He knows what Shady Grove is made out of and the people that come through or live in it. That the moment you step outside, your ass could get shot, stabbed, or called out for a fight.

  “Sooo...this isn’t working,” Kyson drawls low at my side. “He’s high as fuck, and nothing Mills or Marty does is going to make him talk.”

  “We should send in something prettier then.” I look over at him then jerk my head to Blue. “Bet she gets him to spill. Dude looks like the only thing he fucks is his hand.”

  This so-called guy who calls himself Crackhead Chuck was the furthest description in my mind when I envisioned him. He’s the textbook definition of a nerd. Thick, black-rimmed glasses, scrawny and tall, appears to have accelerated in school and more than likely got his ass beat a few times just for being smart and socially awkward.