Page 96 of Intolerable Bishop

“He won’t be able to come up with that kind of money by next week on a taxi driver’s salary,” I said as we reached the closed office door.

With an utterly deadpan stare, Myles shrugged. “I know.”

Lifting his knuckles, he knocked on the hardwood, and a muffled “Come in” was the response. Lawrence sat behind his desk in a black silk robe with the Collier crest on the breast. A cigar was smoldering in an ashtray, and he had two fingers of bourbon—based on the bottle on the desk—in his glass.

Lawrence didn’t bother to look up at us until Myles pulled the plastic bag from his pocket and dropped it on the desk. Lawrence looked at the bloody finger and then ever so slowly raised his eyes to ours.

“I assume this means you don’t have my money,” he asked as if it were Myles who owed him.

“Naw, he doesn’t have it.”

Lawrence picked up his cigar and pointed to the severed finger. “This is why I like you, Myles. You always go the extra mile right away. What did you tell Mr. Joshua Smith?”

“I gave him until next week. But it’s unlikely he’ll have it by then. Do you want me to kill him or cut something else off when he doesn’t hand the money over?”

Lawrence took a drag on the cigar and blew the smoke out in a long stream. “For every ten thousand he’s short, cut something else off. More fingers or toes. Maybe his ear. Get creative. If he doesn’t have any money, then kill him and steal anything of value from the house that I can sell.”

Myles nodded.

Lawrence’s stare locked with mine, and it felt like being trapped in a tractor beam of darkness. “Did Mr. O’Brien here do a good job?”

I could see Myles out of the corner of my eye. He looked at me, but I kept my eyes firmly on Lawrence.

“Aye, he did. He listened well.”

“Very good. I’d like all of you to have a hands-on understanding of the inner workings of this business. You are the next generation to take over, after all. Must be willing to get your hands dirty for the cause.” I smirked but bit back the sarcastic remark that was on the tip of my tongue. “Do you have something to say, Theo,” Lawrence asked.

“No, Mr. Collier. I don’t,” I said, finally breaking the staring contest and instead looking at my reflection in the windows behind the desk.

“Very well. Good job, Myles. You’re dismissed.” We turned to leave but stopped as Lawrence called Myles’s name. “Take that thing with you and give it to one of the guards on the way out for disposal. Oh, and Myles…don’t forget your birthday is coming up. We are all very excited to see if you pass your initiation.”

Myles’s face darkened, but he nodded, snatched the baggie from Lawrence’s desk, and marched out. I closed the door behind me and wanted to go roll around in a bath of holy water. There was something supremely evil about Lawrence. He got worse with each passing year, or maybe it got easier to recognize. Either way, he looked at Myles like a steak dinner he was getting ready to carve up. Whatever they had planned wasn’t good. Fuck.

AUGUST 8 – MONDAY 3:33 PM

Ren

When we started this project, I wasn’t sure if we were going to pull it off. As I watched Theo apply the fourth clear coat to the Shelby, excitement flowed like a river through me. He’d been here every day working on it, and as soon as I finished morning training with Nash, I would join. Sometimes Blake helped or went on food and supply runs, but it was a team effort. Even Liam stopped by for a couple of days and worked on replacing the seats that had finally arrived. Liam and I stared at one another and didn’t say much other than the odd comment perfectly timed to when Theo left the room. I felt like I was in a boxing ring, sitting in my corner and sizing up my opponent. Neither of us wanted to give away what we were thinking or feeling.

I didn’t press Theo for answers. He’d made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere, and that was all I needed to know for now. As long as Liam didn’t start pulling shady shit, we would be fine…I hoped.

“Hey, what’s going on in here?”

I whipped around at the sound of Myles’s voice. “You can’t be in here. What are you doing here?” I jogged to the door, but it was too late. He could see through the clear sheets we’d strung up—like we were in an episode of Dexter—as our painting booth.

Myles looked at me like I’d lost my mind, and my heart sank. Sighing, I stepped out of his way. “You weren’t supposed to be here until your birthday. I had this whole thing planned to give you your gift, and we’d have dinner, and Blake said he’d look after Lip. I thought we could catch up on some alone time.”

His eyes locked with mine, and he cupped my face. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to looking into his amber eyes filled with so much love. He dropped his lips to mine and kissed me softly.

“Yer incredible, Snowflake. Ya didn’t have to do anything for my birthday.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, I did.” Grabbing his hand, I walked him over just as Theo turned the sprayer off and cracked the plastic to slip out.

“Hey brotha,” Myles greeted as Theo stripped out of the white hazmat suit. The two of them bumped knuckles.

“I hope you like it. I put on an extra coat just for you,” Theo said, and Myles touched the clear plastic, smoothing it out to look inside the booth.

“Where did ya get a Shelby?”