Page 64

“Bishop?” I croak. Gross, I hate my morning voice. I sound like a man that’s been lost in the desert for years.
His arm is clenched around my waist, pulling me into him while his leg is over mine. So not only am I in pain and can’t move, but his heavy-ass weight is holding me down too. Surprise, surprise, he’s even possessive in his sleep.
“Bishop!” I get a little louder, trying to pry his limbs off mine.
“What?” he groans, letting me go and rubbing his eyes.
I go to move my leg and… nope, that’s not happening. “Nothing. I just… I can’t move,” I laugh, shaking my head.
He stops rubbing his eyes and looks at me, and fuck him. His ruffled hair is messy everywhere, his dark green eyes fresh, his skin pure, and his lips kissable and plump.
“I think,” I murmur, tilting my head at him. “Nope, not think—I definitely want to punch you.”
He bursts out laughing. “Well—” Lifting the blanket, he scans over my naked body. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, babe. I mean… you’re in a state right now.”
He drops the blanket, and I pick it back up and peer down at myself.
“Oh my God!” I gasp in shock and then narrow my eyes at Bishop. “Are you kidding me? I look like I’ve been beaten.”
“Hey!” He throws his hands up. “You know how I get, and I’m pretty sure I went a little easy on you.”
“Oh really?” I scold him, flicking the blanket off my body and walking toward the bathroom. “’Cause I’m pretty sure that’s my blood on your fucking lip!” I slam the door closed and then bite down on my fist, holding in my scream. My whole body throbs. My hips, my thighs…. My neck feels like there’s a massive ring still clenched around it, and my freaking nipple feels like it’s been torn off, and to make everything worse, my vagina feels fucking swollen, because oh no, he can’t just mark me in one place; he has to absolutely destroy me. Flicking on the faucet, I slowly step into the hot, steamy water, and I scream before I can stop myself. “Motherfucker!”
Nate bangs on his door, because I locked it. “Mads! What’s wrong?”
“Leave me alone,” I yell out. “Pretty sure you knew what was happening too, motherfucker,” I mutter under my breath, grabbing the soap and sliding it through my hands. Now that the initial sting is gone from stepping in, the water pounding on my bruised flesh is actually comforting.
Bang.
Bang.
“Madison!” Nate calls again through the door. I roll my eyes and flip him the bird, grabbing my towel and wrapping it around myself. “What?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m hungry. I’m going to get something to eat.”
“I’ll do it. Go back to bed!”
“Don’t—”
“Madison,” he growls.
“I want to see Daemon. Shut up and stop telling me what to do!” I go to grab my clothes when I realize I didn’t bring any in with me. Fuck.
I walk out, but Bishop is gone. Looking around my room suspiciously, I check the closet, coming up short. Staying in the closet, I wiggle into some white skinny jeans, a black top, and some sneakers before grabbing a sweater. I remember the nurse saying I can remove the Band-Aid today, so I unwrap that from my head, feeling the coolness whipping over my newly exposed skin. There’s still a couple of butterfly stitches where my wound is, so I leave it there. The wound itself doesn’t hurt anymore; it’s just the light headache that throbs in the back of brain that does. Then again, that could be from Bishop’s hair pulling the night before. Though I know that he could have been a lot rougher with the pulling than he was.
I toss the Band-Aid into the trash and grab my keys. I don’t care what either of them say; I want to see my brother. He didn’t do anything wrong. I just know he didn’t.
I was wrong about one thing, though. I definitely regret nothing about last night.
Walking into the local police station, I go straight to the front reception desk. “Hi.” The receptionist looks up at me from her typing, pushing her glasses down. She’s old, and by the looks of the scowl she’s giving me, she’s not having a good day. “I was wondering how I go about seeing my brother? He was brought in a few days ago after an incident.”
She stops me with a simple whip of her hand. “Daemon—”
“Madison?” My dad’s voice breaks through from behind me. “What are you doing here?”
I turn to face him, plastering a fake smile on my face. “Oh! Hey, Dad!”
I look back to the receptionist, where she looks at me with an eyebrow quirked, eyeing me up and down. Looking back to my dad, I walk up to him. “I was just wondering if I could see Daemon.”