feeble hand.
“I know, sir. I know…”
“You can’t be here…”
“Just a second, sir. Just to catch my breath…”
And within seconds, I catch my breath, alright…
The man, never stopping, pushes aside his jacket at his hip, and I practically choke on the next one.
I don’t know much about law enforcement… but I know a gun when I see one…
I leap to my feet, startled. And as the man continues charging in my direction, I start to run again, my feet slapping against a badly paved street in sandals that are now nearly stripped bare.
“Arrête!” he yells from behind me. Stop! But I keep running.
I take strides I didn’t know I had in me—breaths I thought were tapped out. I turn a corner, trying to remember where home is.
I’d plotted all day how to get away from him, and now the only thing I can think of is how to get back .
Back to Bishop.
Eighty-something hours of knowing him, and he feels like the only safety net I have to hold onto.
I pass a familiar street. I double-back and head down it, letting the wind whip my hair as the sounds from the nearby streets drift into my overwhelmed ears.
My heart is thumping between my ears.
Between the sound of my pulse, the humid summer air rushing past me, and the tapping of my tattered soles, I feel nearly deaf.
I don’t even hear the new man who has materialized, stepping out from the doorway of some hidden alcove.
I don’t hear his impatient breaths or the clenching of his closed fist.
But I come face-to-face with them when he grabs me, planting his calloused palm upon the intersection of my neck and shoulder.
The sudden change of trajectory pushes us both into the darkened niche of another building, into a danger I’d never seen coming.
And right into the clutches of the type of man you just don’t want to piss off.
INTO THE HORNET’S NEST
DANI
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” he roars.
Or maybe whispers, I don’t know…
It’s a cross between both, really—a rasp that is softer than the hiss of a snake and somehow twice as deadly.
It rumbles as much as it sighs, and inexplicably, I can feel it everywhere, traveling down my body just as strong as the shiver that it puts into my skin.
Bishop .
Sounding angrier than I ever knew anyone could sound.
He clamps a hand over my mouth as he braces my body into the unknown nook of a stucco-sided building. Sandwiched between its immovable brick and Bishop’s massive body… I honestly cannot tell which one is harder.
He speaks low.
“Where is he?” he asks. “ Don’t… ” he almost snaps. His voice lowers further. “ Don’t try to talk. Just point… Slooowly .”
I stick my index finger out across my left shoulder, stabbing it in the direction to his right. Bishop adjusts his body, squeezing even further into me, and I have to shut my eyes to keep my senses from going into overdrive.
He smells earthy—like coffee beans dug freshly pulled from the bush. Aged wine from a forgotten cellar.
It’s faint. It’s crisp. And it’s strangely familiar.
It smells like home—a home that I am desperately trying to remember.
I still my body.
“He could be no one or he could be… someone ,” Bishop states, answering my unknown question. “And we’re gonna wait right here until we fucking find out.”
And then I feel it.
On the inside of his hip. Harder than anything I can remember feeling below the waist.
Bishop’s gun.
Tucked safely between us. Nearly pushing at the crevice of my thighs.
I don’t know whether to cry or sigh from relief.
Luckily, I don’t have either option. Bishop keeps me silent, standing in the nook with me while we wait for the man… officer… whatever to pass.
One tense minute turns into ten. And by the time I think we’re nearing on thirty, Bishop lets me go, taking a step back as he does a quick survey of the street.
First with his eyes. And then with his feet.
I lean against the nook, scarcely inhaling as Bishop checks our
“I know, sir. I know…”
“You can’t be here…”
“Just a second, sir. Just to catch my breath…”
And within seconds, I catch my breath, alright…
The man, never stopping, pushes aside his jacket at his hip, and I practically choke on the next one.
I don’t know much about law enforcement… but I know a gun when I see one…
I leap to my feet, startled. And as the man continues charging in my direction, I start to run again, my feet slapping against a badly paved street in sandals that are now nearly stripped bare.
“Arrête!” he yells from behind me. Stop! But I keep running.
I take strides I didn’t know I had in me—breaths I thought were tapped out. I turn a corner, trying to remember where home is.
I’d plotted all day how to get away from him, and now the only thing I can think of is how to get back .
Back to Bishop.
Eighty-something hours of knowing him, and he feels like the only safety net I have to hold onto.
I pass a familiar street. I double-back and head down it, letting the wind whip my hair as the sounds from the nearby streets drift into my overwhelmed ears.
My heart is thumping between my ears.
Between the sound of my pulse, the humid summer air rushing past me, and the tapping of my tattered soles, I feel nearly deaf.
I don’t even hear the new man who has materialized, stepping out from the doorway of some hidden alcove.
I don’t hear his impatient breaths or the clenching of his closed fist.
But I come face-to-face with them when he grabs me, planting his calloused palm upon the intersection of my neck and shoulder.
The sudden change of trajectory pushes us both into the darkened niche of another building, into a danger I’d never seen coming.
And right into the clutches of the type of man you just don’t want to piss off.
INTO THE HORNET’S NEST
DANI
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” he roars.
Or maybe whispers, I don’t know…
It’s a cross between both, really—a rasp that is softer than the hiss of a snake and somehow twice as deadly.
It rumbles as much as it sighs, and inexplicably, I can feel it everywhere, traveling down my body just as strong as the shiver that it puts into my skin.
Bishop .
Sounding angrier than I ever knew anyone could sound.
He clamps a hand over my mouth as he braces my body into the unknown nook of a stucco-sided building. Sandwiched between its immovable brick and Bishop’s massive body… I honestly cannot tell which one is harder.
He speaks low.
“Where is he?” he asks. “ Don’t… ” he almost snaps. His voice lowers further. “ Don’t try to talk. Just point… Slooowly .”
I stick my index finger out across my left shoulder, stabbing it in the direction to his right. Bishop adjusts his body, squeezing even further into me, and I have to shut my eyes to keep my senses from going into overdrive.
He smells earthy—like coffee beans dug freshly pulled from the bush. Aged wine from a forgotten cellar.
It’s faint. It’s crisp. And it’s strangely familiar.
It smells like home—a home that I am desperately trying to remember.
I still my body.
“He could be no one or he could be… someone ,” Bishop states, answering my unknown question. “And we’re gonna wait right here until we fucking find out.”
And then I feel it.
On the inside of his hip. Harder than anything I can remember feeling below the waist.
Bishop’s gun.
Tucked safely between us. Nearly pushing at the crevice of my thighs.
I don’t know whether to cry or sigh from relief.
Luckily, I don’t have either option. Bishop keeps me silent, standing in the nook with me while we wait for the man… officer… whatever to pass.
One tense minute turns into ten. And by the time I think we’re nearing on thirty, Bishop lets me go, taking a step back as he does a quick survey of the street.
First with his eyes. And then with his feet.
I lean against the nook, scarcely inhaling as Bishop checks our
Similar Books
