It’s who we are, the Bishop bastards.

“Brielle!”

I whip around to find Micah at the curb, Valine in the front seat and Jonah in the back. He smiles, nodding his head at me. “Come on, girl!”

“Brielle?” Bass draws into the line. I’d almost forgotten he was still on it.

There’s so much commotion surrounding him now I can hardly hear him through it anyway.

“I have to go,” I repeat. “My friends are waiting for me.”

“That’s... that’s good, B. Have fun, but be careful. Some weird shit’s going down, so let me know if anything feels off, okay?” There’s a hint of uncertainty in his tone now, and for some reason it brings the moisture back to my eyes.

“I will... wait.” I plug my left ear to hear him better. “Ciara said.” I pause. Shit, okay. I lie. “She said she’s been seeing a car parked around lately. Did you happen to send someone to, you know, watch me?”

“No,” he rushes out. “I haven’t. I told you the Brayshaws might send someone your way. Just, stay away. Stick to the plan.”

My mouth opens, but I quickly close it, and squeeze my eyes shut. “Yeah, brother. I’ll stick to the plan.”

It takes effort to hang up the line, but I do, and make my way over to Micah.

He pushes the door open before I’ve even reached it, and grins wide. “We’re off tonight, Mac gave the okay for Valine to crash the Wolves Den with us.”

“The warehouses?”

He nods. “Yup.”

My phone beeps, and I look to the screen to find a text from my brother.

Bass: I love you, B. I’ll bring you home soon.

I’m already here, brother... where the hell are you?

I take a deep breath, turn off my phone, and shove it into my backpack.

“So, what’s up, girl? You in?”

Am I in? Down to party on a weekday?

School’s out in nine days for summer, so screw it.

I hop in the car.

Four hours, two and a half-tempted third shots later, I’m feelin’ good, dancing and enjoying the heavy scent of bad decisions and teenage foreplay.

Valine smirks, pulling her cup to her lips and whispers, “Incoming.”

Micah and Jonah slip up and start dancing around us. Jonah closer to me, Micah her.

I’ve never really danced in front of anyone before, mainly in my bedroom or while cleaning, but this is addicting. Freeing.

I let my body lead, maybe the alcohol a bit, too, and it feels good.

I’m not out waiting for time to pass because I’m forced to be, I don’t have to wonder about what mess awaits me when I get home. I’m here, enjoying the now, and all because I chose to be.

To be here tonight.

To live in this town.

To work for this family.

To fall for one of its members?

Well, that was accidental.

Jonah’s hands reach for me, but Micah comes between us before they can land, laughing as he shoves Jonah toward Valine.

“Partner switch?” I raise a brow.

He winks, comes in closer and lifts his arms, they case me in, but don’t hold on and I keep tempo with him, swaying and air grinding as he does. “More like ensuring his arms don’t get ripped from their sockets.”

I laugh and do a little twirl.

Micah follows my lead, pretending to dip me without actually touching me, effectively playing along.

“You’re pretty good at that,” I tease.

He grins. “What if I told you I used to practice the waltz when I was younger ‘cause I thought that was how junior high dances would be?”

A laugh bubbles out of me. “I bet you were terribly upset when you got there and realized it was straight street dancing.”

He chuckles, but it smooths out. “You never came to any of the dances at the high school.”

I shrug. “I don’t people well.”

“Look at you, girl, you people just fine.”

“It’s the difference in where I was and where I belonged.” I shake my head. I give a playful eye roll so I don’t sound so stagey. “Besides, nobody talked to me, not that I made it easy or gave any effort either.”

“I talked to you,” Micah points out. “I’ve always talked to you.”

“You were in at least two of my classes every year, my writing partner in English for two. You kind of had to.”

He nods, but there’s something else in his eyes, an emotion I can’t quite read. He lifts a shoulder. “I’d have talked to you even if I wasn’t,” he admits. “In your classes, I mean.”

I could easily point out how he didn’t, but I don’t see a point. It is what it is, and it’s done with.

A smile finds my lips. “I’m glad we—”

“There you go, little Bishop.” The words spoke somewhere in the distance are a heady growl, a sheer leading comment of what’s to come.

Micah jumps three steps back as we turn to look at the guy who’s just walked in.

Dressed in black from head to toe, Royce slips farther in with slow motion-like movement.

His jeans, expensive and perfectly fit, lay against his black high-tops and he wears a crisp dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to rest on the curve of his elbow, tattoos gleaming in the low light. The white of his eyes are near nonexistent as he creeps closer with the aura of a snake.

His approach is silent.

“Smile wide at the fucker.” His lips curl in what’s meant to be a grin but is far, far from it. “Get closer, let him see what my cock did to that filthy little mouth of yours.”

My stomach hollows out and I can’t even force myself to look at Micah. Guilt colors my neck red, and it has nothing to do with being here, but everything to do with the little after-dark personal moment of ours.

“What are you doing?”

“Me?” He slides forward with a nasty chuckle, now hovering over me, caging me in—a wild animal and its prey.

The ruler and the stray.

The vein in his jaw tics angrily. “What are you playin’ at, Brielle?”

He glares through dark, tethered lashes, but the longer I look into them, the more I see.

The anger, it’s for everyone else, but the fear, it’s for me.

Or more, because of me... and invisible to all but me.

My eyes quickly flick over his body again, his nice clothes, freshly showered hair.

He was ready to celebrate, and not with just anyone.

With me.

So I ignore his foul words and mucky glower and make my way to him.

He doesn’t fight me, but it’s easy to see his instincts tell him to, so those he does battle on the inside, I’m sure of it. But not for long.

I wrap my arms around his middle and he glares down his nose at me, his body shaking slightly, rage rearing its way out, but he can’t hide the long exhale—I feel it against my chest.

I lift my chin, then slowly tip my head, exposing my neck as if offering it as a meal to a starved vampire.

His eyes fall to the angry mark he darkened up last night and his chest rumbles against mine.

“They see,” I whisper, reminding him of what he asked of me last night.

To show them, them being everyone.

Slowly, his muscles loosen. “They see, but do they know who put it there?”