Page 46 of Intolerable Bishop

“If you lay a hand on me again, I’m sending these photos to every Don I can think of and then selling them on the dark web. I’m pretty certain this would fuck with your plans to marry Vicky and any other alliances you have planned.” I grabbed his face, not caring what he decided to do to get back at me. “Don’t. Ever. Touch. Me. Again. I will ruin you.”

“And you….” I pointed at the woman who gave birth to me. She didn’t deserve the title of mother. “Don’t come near me, don’t speak to me, don’t show up at the house even if he invites you. Nothing. Stay gone forever this time. You’re not my mother. You’re nothing more than a walking incubator. I’m actually disappointed he didn’t kill you. That would be a far better memory than this.” I shook my head.

I gave him and my mother one last look, then walked out of the bedroom, down the stairs, out the front door, and marched to my truck. By the time I got in and started the vehicle, my hands were shaking with rage and the knowledge that whatever I’d thought of my father, my mother, had always been just as bad. Anyone who could leave behind their child with a man like Lawrence was a monster of a different breed. The truck peeled out of the hiding spot as I stepped on the gas.

With a yell that could wake the dead, I slammed my hands on the steering wheel.

“What the fuck?” I yelled over and over again.

JUNE 4 – SUNDAY 3:25 AM

Liam

What the fuck? Leaping from bed, I grabbed my gun off the nightstand and ran for the front door. My parents had gone on a Mediterranean cruise and taken Sienna with them, so at least the insane pounding wasn’t going to wake anyone but the dead.

Jogging down the stairs, I noticed the person outside casting a long shadow through the decorative glass onto the marble floor. The doorbell began to ring in rapid succession like it had short-circuited. I peeked through the material at the side of the door and put the gun down.

“Jesus fuck. What are you trying to do, get yourself killed,” I bitched at Nash as I opened the door. He stumbled in, his eyes bloodshot. “Are you drunk?”

“Not enough. What do you have to drink,” Nash asked, his voice slurring as he headed for the lounge. My parents loved having large parties and insisted on having a whole room dedicated to making them look like the best hosts anywhere.

“Come on in,” I grumbled and slammed the door closed before following along behind him as he pushed open the double doors like he was making a grand entrance at a ball. “What the fuck is going on,” I asked as Nash wandered around the room.

“I need alcohol, lots and lots and lots of it,” he answered.

I’d never seen Nash like this. A couple of drinks at a party, sure, but stumbling drunk, never. He wholeheartedly believed that he needed to stick to his regiment as closely as possible to make an Olympic team. From what he ate and drank to his training schedule and his belief about any habit like drugs and smoking. It was to the point of obsession. He also never drove intoxicated, but he clearly was now.

“Dude, I’ll get you something to drink, but follow me.”

“I can’t fucking believe it,” he said.

I figured I wasn’t going to get a straight answer until I got him what he wanted. Leading him into my game room, I pointed to the couch while I went on the hunt. I didn’t have much stashed in here, but I grabbed the partial bottle of tequila and held it up.

“Do you want a shot?”

“Naw, gimme the fucking bottle,” he said, staring straight ahead.

“Alright, you’re officially weirding me out. What’s going on,” I asked, handing him the bottle and flopping down in the chair across from him. He spun off the top with his thumb, and I watched in fascination and horror as he chugged the remaining four inches like it was water. I cocked an eyebrow at him as he held the bottle over his tongue to get every last drop.

Nash held up the empty. “I’m out. I need more.”

“No. I’m not in the mood to take you to the hospital to have your stomach pumped. How about you tell me what the fuck is going on, and don’t you dare puke on my floor.”

He growled at me but slumped back and held the bottle to his chest. “Do you have any acid?”

“What? No. Why do you want acid?”

“So you can burn my eyes out of my head,” he roared before tossing the empty bottle at me.

Catching it out of the air, I stood and wandered over to the minibar once more. “Okay, here’s the deal. I’ll make you a drink, but only if you start talking.”

“Fine, but once you hear this, you can’t un-hear it. My mother is back in town,” he said, and my hand stilled as I poured two fingers of vodka into a tall glass.

“When did she get back?”

I topped off the vodka with water, a splash of ginger ale, a squeeze of lemon, and a few ice cubes to slow him down before walking back to Nash and holding out the glass.

“What the hell is that?”