Chapter Thirteen

SHAY

"It's seven in the morning." The low rumble of Bishop's voice from behind me was something I'd been expecting, though hoping to avoid for a couple of hours yet. "Are you baking?"

I'd commandeered his kitchen the moment the sun rose. It was a beautiful sight after spending the whole damn night lying in Calli's childhood bed, staring at the ceiling.

After riding the wave of adrenaline all the previous day, I'd fully expected that the moment my body was horizontal, I would be asleep.

But I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong.

Because while my body was desperate to get the sleep it needed, my mind straight-out refused to shut down.

"I am. Chocolate cake, to be exact. Because after the shit show that was yesterday, I think I deserve it," I answered, cracking a couple of eggs into the bowl before running through the list of ingredients in my mind, checking that I had everything.

It was a recipe my mom used to make when I was upset, and we always made it together, so I knew it like the back of my hand.

"That mean you aren't going to share?"

I turned, expecting to give him some sassy retort, but the words soon caught in my throat.

He stood in the archway to the kitchen, shirtless, wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants that sat low on his hips. I noted the tattoos that completely covered his arms didn't extend onto his shoulders and chest—a detail I'd missed the first time we'd met and found ourselves in a similar predicament. The rest of his skin was left clean, and while I wasn't quite sure why, I appreciated the unobstructed view of his perfectly carved abs and pecs.

Everything about Bishop screamed masculinity.

And the feminist in me was appalled that I found that specific trait so damn attractive. Thankfully, with Bishop, there was so much more than muscles and some chest hair, and I was quite capable of appreciating the strength I saw in his body and knowing it was reflected in his mind.

He spoke with the intelligence of an old soul. He was a leader and protector, and he never asked for anything in return.

His right eyebrow arched questioningly. "Guess that's a no."

I shook my head several times, trying to find my wits again before finally forcing a smile. "I'll share if you take me to the apartment today so I can see it."

"A judge might call that extortion."

"Bribery at best."

He chuckled lightly and reached up, scrubbing his hand through his messy hair, accentuating the gentle V that dipped beneath the waist of his pants from his abdomen. I could have stood and stared forever, but the gun he held at his side quickly broke my focus.

"You always bring a gun to breakfast?"

He looked down at the weapon, shaking his head. "It's usually only Calli who does stupid shit in my house at stupid hours of the morning, and since I knew it wasn't her, I grabbed it." He placed the gun on the small kitchen table and pulled out a seat, falling into it. There was a dining room in the next room, but it was like it didn't even exist. Bishop and the boys always used this small circular table in the center of the large kitchen.

I'd seen twelve men squeeze in around this thing rather than moving to the dining room next door, where they'd have twice the space.

But something about this kitchen made this part of the house feel like home for them.

"Sorry I woke you," I told him, turning away again and continuing to mix the batter. "I held out as long as possible before I got up."

I hurried to pour the cake batter into a tin and slide it into the oven, stepping back and letting out a satisfied sigh.

The baking had been the distraction I needed. It kept my hands and mind busy.

It kept the toxic thoughts at bay.

"I don't think taking you around there to see the damage is really going to help you get through this," Bishop announced, forcing me to turn and face him. "I heard you tell Calli how you had been struggling to sleep, and I know you don't think I missed the way Calli's bed creaks every time someone rolls over in it. I made it that way."

My mouth dropped open, and I choked on a horrified laugh. "You're not serious. Is that why you put me in Calli's room instead of the spare room?"

While Bishop said he had sorted the problem at hand, we'd decided the previous day that it would be safer for me to stay with him for a little while until they could be sure things had calmed down, and we could be sure it was done. Staying here at his place instead of the clubhouse was the compromise because, while I adored the boys, living with a dozen single men and a handful of club girls just seemed like it might be a bit awkward for all parties.

I'd stayed at Bishop's before when Calli and I used to visit, plus we were there almost every weekend, so it had become kind of like a second home anyway. This time, though, Bishop insisted I might be more comfortable in Calli's room than in the guest room, which he insisted was ‘dusty and fucking disgusting.'

"It's one of the reasons I put you in there," he admitted with a shrug. "Short of sleeping in the fucking bed with you, I wanted to make sure I knew where you were during the night. You can take that however the hell you like, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm fucking tired from waking up every half hour last night to you rolling over or rustling around, so I can only imagine how exhausted you must be."

I wanted to be angry and tell him I didn't appreciate him keeping tabs on me, but it wasn't anger that reared its head first.

It was relief.

And a little annoyance at how damn right he was.

Thirty-seven hours—give or take the few minutes I'd slept in the car when Bishop brought me here to his place from the clubhouse or the hour I'd passed out at the kitchen table while he cooked us dinner last night—that's how long I'd been awake at this point.

Bishop thought I'd had a restless sleep last night, but the truth was, I hadn't had any at all.

My eyes burned.

My body ached.

Someone had tried to kill me. I was suddenly sixteen again, afraid to close my eyes and wake up to my father standing over me with his knife raised or listening to whispers in the shadows, spending the whole night staring into the darkness, and waiting for someone to leap out and attack me.

That was how it had all begun before. Those were the worst moments of my life, and I already felt them building again.

The need.

The craving for those little pills that had almost destroyed me.

Most days, I lived my life without even thinking about them. And then there were days where they consumed every waking thought.

They'll take the edge off.

They'll help me sleep.

Just a couple.

That's all I need.

It won't hurt.

"Shay."

I sucked in a sharp breath, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay and bring reality back into vision. "Yeah. Sorry. You want some coffee?"

Bishop raised an eyebrow, and I held my breath as I waited for him to call me out, mentally preparing my excuses and reasons for my shaking hands and jumpy thoughts—the first on the list being that I was fucking shot at the day before.

"Yeah…" he finally answered, though he dragged it out, making it clear my diversion attempts didn't completely fool him. "Like I said, I think it's best if we skip a field trip to hell today and wait until the walls of your apartment no longer have bullet holes."

"Okay, yeah," I answered quickly, busying myself with the coffee pot before marching back across the kitchen to the refrigerator for creamer.

He grabbed my wrist as I tried to pass back the other way, jerking me to a hard stop in front of him. "You know you're safe, right?" he said quietly, tugging at me a little harder so I would turn to face him. "They won't fucking touch you again, I made sure of it."

I glanced down, suddenly obsessed with how his hand seemed to dwarf mine.

That masculine thing again.

"Thanks." A sigh of relief wove through my laughter, the air in the room suddenly becoming lighter, easier to breathe, at least for now.

"I've gotta head to the clubhouse in a couple of hours for church, but if you want, you can stay here and get some rest," Bishop announced a moment later, my hand slipping from his grasp as he stepped around me and reached for the coffee pot.

"I'll come with you to the clubhouse if that's okay. Maybe catch a nap there while you're busy."

"Of course."

Surely, in a clubhouse full of Exiled Eight MC members, I could shut my eyes for a few minutes, knowing I was safe. I needed to take every opportunity I could because I got the feeling fear had no intention of releasing its tight hold on my mind just yet, and I was fully aware of the consequences that could come if I didn't navigate it carefully.

I guess that was one thing. I might feel those same emotions sixteen-year-old me let consume her, but I wasn't that girl anymore.

I was stronger. I was smarter. I'd fought it once already.

And I knew I had it in me to do it again. I just needed to dig deep and find it.

"When your cake's done, we'll make a run to the hospital, then head to the clubhouse."

I was sure I'd told him the hospital had given me a week of leave to recover—not ideal since I'd promised Ali I'd help him out with some cash this week. "But I'm not worki—"

"You need those ribs checked." He poured the almost-black liquid into a cup and leaned back against the counter, a smug grin on his face as he took a sip. "You can try to fight me on this, but you won't win."

I pursed my lips and scrunched up my nose. "Fine."

Usually, I wouldn't have a problem arguing with him about something so small, but I was exhausted, and there were only so many things I could fight at once—the most important was my mind.