I step around her and stalk for the hall, checking the peephole to find Bishop’s scowl before I yank the door open. “You’re meant to be taking Lorenzo home to see his doctor. Why—”
“The old prick is still downstairs. He told me to take a hike. I’m not going to baby him.”
I clench my teeth, battling against rage. They’re both as prideful as each other. Both pains in my fucking ass. “He needs a doctor.”
“He needs a lot of things, but mothering ain’t my strong suit.” Bishop juts his chin toward the inside of my suite and lowers his voice. “Nice mood lighting. It’s almost as if you anticipated needing the romantic seduction to stop her from running.”
I lash out, grabbing him by the throat.
I don’t know if it’s his audacity or the reaffirmation of her leaving that makes me snap.
He doesn’t flinch. Not even when I shove him backward, walking us down the hall, away from her listening ears. The door clicks shut seconds later.
“Watch your goddamn mouth,” I snarl.
He tilts his chin higher in defiance. “You need to get rid of her.”
“I’m not doing that.” My voice is barely a whisper as I keep stalking us farther from the suite, my fingers digging into his neck, my aggression impatient for him to retaliate so we can take this exchange to the next level. The one where I get to dispense all my anger through a mindless pummeling of fists and decimating impact.
“Then at least tell her the truth so she can see herself out.”
“She won’t leave me.” I release him with a shove and step back, needing space from his smug grin.
We both know I’m full of shit.
She’ll leave. She’ll fucking sprint.
“We need to get back to D.C.” He yanks at his lapels to straighten his jacket. “I’ll get the helicopter organized—”
“No.” I stand tall, denying him the most logical response to a targeted shooting. Now, more than ever, I need this isolation with Layla. These hours are necessary to explain everything she’s going to demand to know. To convince her to remain at my side. “I’m not changing our plans. We’re staying the night.”
He scoffs. “And I’m supposed to what? Sit in the hall like a guard dog?”
“We don’t need protection. We won’t leave the room.”
His eyes harden to conniving slits. “You’re losing it, you know that, right? Everything we’ve worked for is going straight out the fucking window because of a piece of ass.”
“You’re wrong. She makes me better.”
“Better?” He raises a taunting brow. “Is that what you call threatening to kill Lorenzo’s guards if they don’t listen to you over him? If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were gearing up to take the helm.”
“Fuck you.” My words thrash against clenched teeth.
“Touchy subject? Have you been thinking about it, BB?”
I see red, the hint to a forbidden nickname acting like a fire poker to my rage. “Do you want to die today?”
He grins. “There he is. The villain I know and love.”
“Walk away,” I warn.
“I’d fucking love to. Unfortunately, your dumb ass refuses to carry a gun. So I’m stuck protecting you. Protecting her.” He steps forward, getting in my face. “You need to tell her the truth. Tell her what she’s getting herself into. Tell her all the things you’ve hidden just so you can keep her like a fucking pet.”
I’d been trying to. I’d had the confession on the tip of my tongue. I never envisaged misleading her this long. I just didn’t plan on wanting her this much when I exposed the truth.
The tiniest squeak of a door filters down the hall. I turn to see Layla inching out of our suite, her wary eyes finding mine.
I step back from Bishop and cringe at my instinct to shield things from her. She deserves transparency—honesty—even though she hasn’t offered it in return.
“Go back inside.” I leash the aggression in my tone. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
The wariness grows in her stare as she glances from me to Bishop then back again.
“It’s okay, amore mio. I won’t be long.”
Her chest rises with a deep breath beneath the tempting red sundress before she silently slips back inside, the door closing with a barely heard click.
“She may have a pretty face, but don’t forget she’s as fucked up as you are,” Bishop mutters. “We don’t need that shit in our lives.”
A storm rages inside me. The energy batters my veins. Sneering. Demanding.
I close my eyes, reining it in, mastering the aggression.
He chuckles, the briefest breath of sound. “Look at you, trying to battle the inevitable. This is a waste—”
I lunge, grabbing his shirt in my fist. “Shut your fucking mouth.” I struggle not to lose myself to the insanity. Fight not to shove my knuckles into my best friend’s throat.
He doesn’t retaliate. He’s the only one armed, and all he does is raise his chin as if reiterating his point.
Fuck.
I retreat, releasing his shirt. “I’ll fucking tell her.” I turn my back on him before I do something I’ll regret, and start for the suite. “Check on Lorenzo. I don’t want to see your face again until he’s been looked over by his doctor.”
I reach the door and grab the key card from my jacket to swipe over the lock. I stalk into the shadowed room flickering in candlelight, the fury following me.
“What’s going on, Matthew?”
Layla’s voice increases my struggle, her trepidation creating guilt that whirlpools with my anger.
She stands in front of the sofa, her cell in her hand, the screen lighting up her face in the darkness. “What’s Lorenzo’s surname?”
Shit. She’s searching for him online?
I stalk to her, stepping around the coffee table, making her stiffen as I get within reach.
Jesus fucking Christ.
She’s questioning me again. Judging. Fearing.
Rightly so.
“What are you doing?” I slow my approach, cautiously reaching for her hand to tilt the cell screen my way.
Lorenzo Virginia Beach is typed into the search bar with a page of irrelevant results about some specialist doctor listed below.
“I want to know what’s going on.” She pulls the phone back toward her and locks the screen, the snuffed glow making her face shadowed. “I tried googling him but there are too many results in Virginia Beach.”
I nod, teeth clenched, limbs thrumming.
Her gaze weighs heavily on me. Every blink of her lashes acts like a physical blow. “There’s a lot to explain.” But the explanation doesn’t come. The truth refuses to slither from the darkest depths of my soul.
And this room isn’t helping.
With the closed curtains and the mass of flickering candlelight, it feels like I’m in Satan’s dungeon. And I’ve already spent too much time there to want to return.
I march to the window and yank back the heavy drapes, the burst of sunlight searing my eyes. Yet it’s not enough to assuage my darkness. Not the beach or the sun or the sand.
I lunge for the closest candles and snuff them out. One after another, after another, after another. The scent of smoke wafts in the air, the threat of the fire alarm merely adding to the shitstorm inside me.