Bishop (Endgame Book 3)

by Riley Ashby

  I pulled out my laptop and logged onto my bank account in the Cayman Islands through a series of backdoor channels that should be enough to throw off anyone trying to follow me, or at least keep them busy for a while. My account balance was steady. I didn’t really expect it to change, but I had to see that number all the same. It represented freedom, security, and the reason I had given up my dream job. It wasn’t enough, not quite, but as long as it was there waiting for me, it made all this other shit worth it.

  I transferred half of my most recent paycheck from Ellery into the account as well and put the rest into my stateside account. I was going to have to take out a loan to fund the rest of my side project, but it was worth it. This job was paying me enough to save a bit more as well as support myself for a few months while I built my goodwill back up at the Bureau. I could get my old job back with a little old-fashioned ass-kissing and by calling in a few favors. I knew enough people in high places. I just had to wait for this to blow over.

  The minute I shut my laptop, the guilt and shame came rushing back. I didn’t know what cruel twist of fate had put the most beautiful woman in the world in front of me but made her too damaged to touch and made me her bodyguard on top of it, but I hated whoever was responsible. I shouldn’t have taken this job. Should have stayed on the East Coast and worked out something over there. It would be better than letting myself be tempted like this, biting my lip while I jacked off in the shower imagining myself doing to her the types of things she probably never wanted to do again. I’d met a lot of women who were survivors of this kind of trauma. I was used to the looks they gave me; some of them were fearful of my gruff voice and stern face, and others were drawn to the power I exerted over the people around me and tried to ingratiate themselves. They couldn’t help it. They knew the most powerful person in the room could either protect or destroy them, sometimes both. They saw me as someone who could give them a sense of a new normal they had come to experience during their time as captives—but in the light of day rather than hidden away from the world. Some of them still wanted to be hidden, but with the security that I probably wouldn’t be as bad as whoever had owned them before.

  One woman tracked me down a few months ago, long after we had closed her case, and I had moved on to other duties. She slid in next to me in my booth at a bar, so shrouded in the darkness I didn’t recognize her as her hand opened my pants and dived down to grip my cock right there in public. I’d sighed and settled back, content to take whatever the mystery woman wanted to give. I was long overdue for a fuck, and her hand felt warm and small around my length. It wasn’t until I moved to kiss her that I recognized her.

  I threw her off me so fast I knocked over the table, and everyone in the bar saw me hurriedly pulling up my pants as I ran outside. I called her mother and told her she had to come get her daughter before she got herself into more trouble. I never heard from either of them again.

  Josie was the first time I had let myself fall back for one of these girls, though. I wanted to believe things were different because we had spent so much more time together than I usually did with the victims of these investigations. We had gotten to know each other in her hospital room as we talked her through the pain and watched sitcoms and soap operas when she was well enough to pay attention, but I knew the look. The way she flushed when I had to issue an order, either to tell someone to move the hell away from her or when muscling out some businessman on a cell phone for the next cab. She was getting better at it, but she still tried to ask my permission to do simple things such as go to the bathroom or get a glass of water. I was just the substitute for her new normal way of living. That was all.

  When she’d looked up at me, my mind went blank. Just like that. I felt like I’d fallen off the edge of the building and I didn’t give one damn what happened when I hit the ground. All my senses were suddenly consumed with her, and I was so grateful this was finally fucking happening, that I was finally holding her and we were going to push past the principle that said we couldn’t be together, that we shouldn’t even want each other. Images of her pouty lips around my cock rose to my mind unbidden. Fuck, I wanted her to go down on me almost as much as I wanted to rip aside her clothes and push inside the secret place that led to the most fractured part of her, then pull her pieces back together until she forgot she’d ever been broken. For the longest five seconds, I let myself envision it. But my pragmatic side fought its way to the surface like always, reminding me I’d brought enough dishonor on myself to last a lifetime. I didn’t need to rack up any more bad karma by giving in to this temptation. I pushed her away even though it felt like ripping off my own skin; broke her down emotionally even though I knew how fragile she was. Did she hate me now? Maybe. Would it be enough to deny the things simmering between us, the hunger for each other’s flesh I’d had to physically beat down more times than I could count?

  I’d tried to scare her. What kind of monster did that? Manhandle her and trap her against a wall when she’d recently been freed from a cage?

  But she hadn’t done what I’d expected. Instead of forcing me away, she’d pulled me closer. I’d felt her shiver as my lips grazed her neck; her breasts pushed against me as she leaned in to my anger.

  How could I fight her when I had no weapons?

  I thought about her in the shower just as I knew I would. And I held myself just a little too tight as I came silently all over the tile. Just enough so it hurt. Just to punish myself a little bit.

  When he came to wake me the next morning, I was already up. My body was still running on New York time, so I was sitting on the edge of the bed and staring out to the city beyond. I’d slept in the only pair of pajamas I owned, and the rest of my clothes from my suitcase were spread across the floor.

  “You have new clothes in the closet, too.” Archer spoke from behind me, keeping out of my line of vision. I closed my eyes and imagined what he looked like—maybe sweaty from a run, shirt clinging to his chest.

  “I don’t feel like getting dressed.” Despite the sun on my face, everything around me looked dark and shrouded. A weight on my heart that wouldn’t lift no matter how deeply I inhaled.

  I heard the frown in his voice. “You should put on something clean. You’ll feel better.”

  I permitted myself to turn and look at him. He had showered before coming over here—smart move on his part—but his hair was still damp.

  “I didn’t say I felt bad.” He’d figured it out anyway.

  He sighed. “I’m not going to argue with you about this.” He stalked to my closet and came out a minute later with an entire outfit, underwear and all. “Put this on, then I won’t bother you for the rest of the day.”

  I never said I didn’t want you around, either.

  He always did that, tried to excuse himself from my presence when I only wanted him closer. But I supposed he was even more eager to get away from me now that I’d made a move on him.

  “Do we have to go anywhere today?” My voice surprised me, catching in my throat. I could see people milling on the sidewalk outside our building, and the thought of being in the midst of them made my lungs shrivel up. I couldn’t breathe at the thought of having those strangers all around me.

  “I hadn’t planned on it.” He softened his voice and moved a step closer before retreating and keeping his distance.

  I nodded, relieved. “Good.” I picked up the clothes, and he moved to leave, speaking over his shoulder.

  “There is a pool on the roof. We could go up later if you want.”

  “So eager to see me in a bathing suit?” I couldn’t help flirting even after he’d made it clear he wanted me to stay away. I turned to look at him just as he raised his eyes to my face and schooled his expression into a scowl.

  He was looking at my body.

  I turned back toward the window. That was my hopeful imagination and nothing more.

  “Is this what not pushing me looks like?”

  I bit my lip. “I never agreed to play by
your rules.”

  There was a light thump behind me; I turned again to see he had set his fist against the doorframe.

  “I’m not the right person for you, Josie.”

  “You think someone else would be?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not interested.”

  I laughed. “You’re a liar.” When I stood and walked to him, he froze half against the wall. I stopped inches from him. “You almost kissed me.”

  “You’re a pretty girl. That’s all there is to it.”

  I blinked. No one has ever called me pretty before.

  He misinterpreted my reaction. “I’m sorry, that was mean. You’re a good person, Josie, but you’re not thinking straight right now. You’re still recovering from a lot, physically and emotionally. You need to focus on getting well.”

  I went back to the bed and snagged my clothes. Too fragile. Too damaged. That was all I was to anyone who looked at me. Couldn’t a girl get a pass on her first public suicide attempt?

  “I don’t want to go to the pool.”

  He sighed. What, was he going to try to convince me now? Persuade me to come up to the pool, out in the open air, my body exposed to anyone who wanted to look at it?

  But he didn’t say anything about it. “I’ll be out here.”

  I took my sweet time getting dressed.

  *

  The sweet thing was, it was almost as if he wanted to apologize for being such a callous jerk. He tried to make conversation with me throughout the day, searching for the shows we’d watched together in the hospital and reminding me when it was time to do my PT exercises. I practiced halfheartedly and watched the shows without comment. After a while, he shut up, and then I loathed the silence.

  By evening, I was glad to eat dinner and get him out of my space. He offered to stay around until I fell asleep, but I waved him off. He was worried enough about my mental state that he left the door between our suites open, but at least I couldn’t see him anymore.

  I went back into my bedroom to look around a bit more. Having never lived anywhere remotely as luxurious as this, I wanted to savor it without anyone judging me for my wonder. There was every kind of soap and lotion in the bathroom—though no razor, of course—and I had never been happier than to have established a waxing routine in my slightly younger years. I imagined asking Archer to shave my armpits for me and didn’t know whether to retch or giggle.

  Lastly, I stepped over to the mirrored closet doors next to my bed where Archer had retrieved clothes for me earlier in the day. I didn’t have much while I was living in New York. A couple of pairs of scrubs the hospital was nice enough to give to me and some thrift-store outfits a charity for abused women brought me. So when I opened the closet in my bedroom to find it fully stocked with every kind of garment from sweatpants to dresses, I almost dropped to the floor in shock.

  He had given me nice clothes too.

  It was still so strange to me to want nice things. To feel like I deserved to have a change of underwear every day or be able to dress up without worrying I’d be thrown into cold rain with only a cocktail dress to cover myself.

  I reached first for pajamas. It was only about seven o’clock, but it was after ten back in New York. But as my fingers ran over the plaid flannel, I found myself stepping instead to the racks of dresses hanging at the back. Gold sequins, velvety black, satin in every shade of the rainbow and in all lengths. I pulled a blue cocktail dress at random. It had fringe like a flapper dress but would come down to my knees. The neckline was high enough I wouldn’t have to worry about cleavage, and it had a side zipper I would be able to manage even with my damaged hand. I could put this on myself.

  I stepped out of my day clothes and into the dress before I could talk myself out of it. Looking in the mirror, I actually caught myself smiling at my reflection.

  Though it was the opposite of most people’s experience, I had actually gained weight in the hospital. I had been unable to eat consistently when living on my own after the rescue, but a combination of a feeding tube and tough love from the nurses and Archer had me eating on a regular basis once more. My skin bounced back when I pressed on my cheeks; the bags under my eyes were significantly less pronounced. My hair had some of its normal shine again, and my ringlets looked bouncy and curly instead of flat.

  I ran to the bathroom on a hunch and retrieved the full set of makeup I’d found under the sink, all matched to my skin tone. I hadn’t worn makeup in forever, but my old routine came back easily enough, and I spread the foundation across my forehead, bronzer under my cheekbones, and put my smoky eye into play. I smiled at myself in the mirror, marveling at the transformation. I almost didn’t recognize myself.

  I had to show Archer.

  I pulled back short of barging through the door; instead, I forced myself to knock demurely on the doorjamb.

  “Come in,” his gruff voice called. I walked into the main room as he emerged from his bedroom, hiking up the sweatpants he’d changed into. The glimpse of his hipbones made my mouth run dry.

  We stared at each other. Desperate to break the silence, I held out my arms and twirled.

  “Do you like it?” I asked at the same time he growled, “What the hell are you thinking?”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?” I spun again, laughing as the fringe flew out from my body. I felt like a princess. “This was all in the closet. Can you believe it?”

  He was shaking his head. “Go take that off. You’re not going out.”

  My jaw dropped open because going out hadn’t even occurred to me. “I wanted to wear something nice. It’s been a long time since I got to dress up. I wasn’t going to sneak out or anything.” Why was I justifying this to him? Why was he trying to make me feel bad?

  With a pained expression, he looked me up and down, from my neckline to my knees and then back to my feet. “Very nice. Now go get ready for bed. You should already be asleep.”

  My frustration was growing, and I resisted the urge to stomp my foot. “Why are you being so mean? I wanted to feel better about myself, and you’re being all grouchy about it. And I don’t need you to tell me when to go to bed.”

  He turned away from me and fell on his couch, facing the TV. “Fine, don’t listen to me.”

  Tears pricked at my eyes. “Would it be so difficult for you to tell me I look good?”

  He sighed. “You look very nice. Is that what you wanted to hear? Now go take it all off so you can go to bed. Hope it was worth the effort.”

  The tears that had been threatening finally spilled over and ran down my cheeks. “It was until you had to be a dick about it. I wanted to feel like a normal person for a few minutes. Is that so wrong?”

  He changed the channel from the news to a cartoon, then pulled up a streaming service. “Go to bed, Josie.”

  I slammed the door behind me as I went back to my room, not caring if they could hear it down the hall. What the fuck was he thinking, talking to me like that? Part of my brain was screaming at me to go back over there and fall at his feet to beg for forgiveness for whatever I had done in the hopes that whatever punishment he decided to dole out wouldn’t be too harsh. But I tapped my fingers against my opposite wrist, reminding myself that I wasn’t there anymore, and I didn’t need to seek anyone’s approval. Least of all his, and least of all for how I wanted to dress when I was at home in my own apartment.

  He thought I was going out? Fine. I would go out. I didn’t care if I was being petty. If he wanted to push me away, I could put some distance there myself.

  Going to the front door, I found the closet just as stocked with a variety of fashionable and functional jackets as I had expected. I snagged a black shawl, shoved on my shoes, then picked up one of the clutches, where I transferred my ID, my phone, and all the cash I had.

  I paused as my foot crossed the threshold of the apartment. I hadn’t been alone anywhere outside my hotel or hospital room for months. I was about to go wandering around without my bodyguard, against the expres
s orders of the people paying for this apartment, without telling him. And if Archer realized I was gone … he would hunt me down like a criminal.

  With a deep breath, I stepped over the threshold and into the hallway.

  Nothing happened.

  No one grabbed my hair to yank me back inside; no knees landed on my kidneys and sent me sprawling to all fours. I looked down at my feet; I was wearing shoes, and there were no cuffs around my ankles. I touched my fingers to my lips and felt the slight stickiness of my lip gloss, makeup I’d applied for myself and no one else. I took another step and then another until I was all the way out in the middle of the hallway, and no alarms sounded my escape.

  I smiled to myself and locked the door behind me, flipping off his exterior door as I made my way to the elevator.

  How was it possible to fuck up so badly twice in twenty-four hours? First, I try to make out with her like a teenager without any self-control, then I make her cry for wanting to look nice for herself. The woman had been wearing nothing but hospital gowns and hand-me-downs for months. Of course, she would be excited about the prospect of new clothes!

  But shit, did she have to look so damn gorgeous while she was at it?

  I sat on the couch, mainly to calm myself. I’d never seen her like that before, dressed in something that actually fit her and wearing makeup that made her eyes pop. She’d grown so much healthier since her suicide attempt, but I hadn’t really been able to take stock until tonight and only a few hours after trying to convince her I didn’t want her.

  I was going to have to suck it up and apologize to her and try my best not to look at the curve of her arms too hard. I could have triggered her, and even though there shouldn’t be anything in her apartment she could use to hurt herself, I had no doubt she could get creative.