surroundings. His footsteps are soft, practically imperceptible, and I don’t even hear him again until he makes his way back to my side.
He exhales silently.
“He’s gone,” he tells me. “And so are we.”
He reaches for me, and without a second thought, I take Bishop’s hand. He leads me out of the darkened avenue and into another one. Half a mile away in the cottage-crowded town, we return to the loft.
Involuntarily, I glance at the window through which I escaped as we approach. I know before Bishop even unlocks the front door that the former escape route is probably sealed.
We walk inside—me before Bishop.
And he doesn’t even turn on the lights.
He closes the door, staring at me through the dark.
“ Tell me, Dani… ” he rumbles low and without pretense. “What didn’t you understand when I said that it isn’t safe out there? That it isn’t safe for you anywhere ?”
I don’t answer his question.
I simply respond with an accusation of my own.
“You can’t keep me your prisoner.”
“ The hell I can’t,” he thunders, nearly cutting me off. “The hell I fucking can’t.”
Bishop takes a threatening step towards me, nearly making me retreat. Every part of me wants to take a step backwards… but I don’t think my legs or feet have anymore to give.
I stand my ground, not out of courage but out of sheer necessity. I explode.
“You can’t just shut me out from the world! I need to experience it. I need to remember. And if I didn’t know any better…” I pose to Bishop, “I’d think that you were trying to get in the way of that…”
I let the statement linger, anxious to see what he will say next.
He glowers.
“I’m only trying to get in the way of whoever made an attempt on your life .”
“ By not letting me live one? ”
The words come out harsher than I intended, and Bishop flinches. I think. I can barely see him.
His voice, once menacing and raspy, turns soft. Still rough, it is the most gentle I can remember him being in these past two days.
“This isn’t a game , Dani… You’re unarmed . You’re a million miles from home. And you’re totally fucking clueless. Somebody could shoot you in the middle of Times Square, and no one would be the wiser.”
“So what … You’re my only resource? I’m just supposed to rely on you while we’re out here in no man’s land?”
“ Yeah . Because we’re in this little thing called a marriage .”
I cross my arms under my breasts, feeling like a petulant child.
“Some fucking marriage, this is.”
Bishop reaches for the light, finally brightening up the space. He shoots a sadistic smile in my direction.
“ You can divorce me when this is over then . But until you get your memory back… that’s just the fucking way it is, kitten. For better… or for worse.”
His last words strike some strange little chord in me, and I give in, heading towards the kitchen without another word while Bishop practically stands guard at the door.
I rummage through several drawers while Bishop watches.
“What are you doing?” he finally asks.
“Making something to eat...”
“Refrigerator’s behind you.”
“I know.” I grab for the forks and knives.
“ Are you ?” He glowers. “Sure you’re not finding something to stab me with?”
“Thought about it. Figured it’d be easier to just kill you with my cooking.”
At last, Bishop relaxes… but he doesn’t back down.
His shoulders, tight and hunched, loosen as he eases away from the door, ambling further into the living area, and I watch them even more than I watch him.
Lion-esque in stature, they bunch and unwind as he moves, the thin cotton no barrier to the broad and beautiful muscles that lie beneath.
His back to me, he tucks something—a gun, something… else , for all I know—into the waistband of his jeans, and I wonder for the fourth time if I’m still drunk.
I can’t help checking him out.
Even when I’m angry at him like I am now, I
He exhales silently.
“He’s gone,” he tells me. “And so are we.”
He reaches for me, and without a second thought, I take Bishop’s hand. He leads me out of the darkened avenue and into another one. Half a mile away in the cottage-crowded town, we return to the loft.
Involuntarily, I glance at the window through which I escaped as we approach. I know before Bishop even unlocks the front door that the former escape route is probably sealed.
We walk inside—me before Bishop.
And he doesn’t even turn on the lights.
He closes the door, staring at me through the dark.
“ Tell me, Dani… ” he rumbles low and without pretense. “What didn’t you understand when I said that it isn’t safe out there? That it isn’t safe for you anywhere ?”
I don’t answer his question.
I simply respond with an accusation of my own.
“You can’t keep me your prisoner.”
“ The hell I can’t,” he thunders, nearly cutting me off. “The hell I fucking can’t.”
Bishop takes a threatening step towards me, nearly making me retreat. Every part of me wants to take a step backwards… but I don’t think my legs or feet have anymore to give.
I stand my ground, not out of courage but out of sheer necessity. I explode.
“You can’t just shut me out from the world! I need to experience it. I need to remember. And if I didn’t know any better…” I pose to Bishop, “I’d think that you were trying to get in the way of that…”
I let the statement linger, anxious to see what he will say next.
He glowers.
“I’m only trying to get in the way of whoever made an attempt on your life .”
“ By not letting me live one? ”
The words come out harsher than I intended, and Bishop flinches. I think. I can barely see him.
His voice, once menacing and raspy, turns soft. Still rough, it is the most gentle I can remember him being in these past two days.
“This isn’t a game , Dani… You’re unarmed . You’re a million miles from home. And you’re totally fucking clueless. Somebody could shoot you in the middle of Times Square, and no one would be the wiser.”
“So what … You’re my only resource? I’m just supposed to rely on you while we’re out here in no man’s land?”
“ Yeah . Because we’re in this little thing called a marriage .”
I cross my arms under my breasts, feeling like a petulant child.
“Some fucking marriage, this is.”
Bishop reaches for the light, finally brightening up the space. He shoots a sadistic smile in my direction.
“ You can divorce me when this is over then . But until you get your memory back… that’s just the fucking way it is, kitten. For better… or for worse.”
His last words strike some strange little chord in me, and I give in, heading towards the kitchen without another word while Bishop practically stands guard at the door.
I rummage through several drawers while Bishop watches.
“What are you doing?” he finally asks.
“Making something to eat...”
“Refrigerator’s behind you.”
“I know.” I grab for the forks and knives.
“ Are you ?” He glowers. “Sure you’re not finding something to stab me with?”
“Thought about it. Figured it’d be easier to just kill you with my cooking.”
At last, Bishop relaxes… but he doesn’t back down.
His shoulders, tight and hunched, loosen as he eases away from the door, ambling further into the living area, and I watch them even more than I watch him.
Lion-esque in stature, they bunch and unwind as he moves, the thin cotton no barrier to the broad and beautiful muscles that lie beneath.
His back to me, he tucks something—a gun, something… else , for all I know—into the waistband of his jeans, and I wonder for the fourth time if I’m still drunk.
I can’t help checking him out.
Even when I’m angry at him like I am now, I
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