Page 29 of Bad Bishop

Barely, I thought sardonically.That second time she tried to stab me, I leaked enough precum to glaze a Cinnabon.

“I did.” I slung an arm over the mountain of silken pillows behind me. “Despite her constant begging. She was really asking for it.”

I was supposed to get my dick wet after the ceremony to ensure I was sated by the time I got to the suite. The Ferrante brothers had offered to pay me 50K for every month I didn’t touch their sister. All in cash. Unfortunately, the cheerleader spoke too much and sucked too little, so I cut her loose before I even unzipped. Not that it mattered. Even a good fuck wouldn’t be enough to calm down the fire Lila ignited in me whenever she tried to kill me.

Which was pretty bleeding often considering we hadn’t known each other for more than eight hours.

Smashing a vase inside her dress was a nice touch. I wasn’t sure about her cognitive abilities, but I deduced she knew exactly what happened to her and wasn’t keen on a repeat.

Rubbing the sleepiness from my eyes, I stood up and banged on the bathroom door.

“Up.” I cupped my morning wood, dying for a piss. “We need to hit the road.”

The Ferrantes’ private jet was due to leave at noon, and I still had to present the sheets, have breakfast with a bunch of Italian dimwits, and meet with the Camorra to strategize the attack on the Bratva.

The door slid open, and Lila reappeared. Even with smudged makeup and a wrinkled dress, she was still fucking gorgeous. Her looks were a problem. I made a mental note to chop that pretty hair and maybe add a scar or two to her face.

“Breakfast’s in ten. Get dressed.” I shouldered past her, tugging my sweatpants down and taking a piss.

She went about her business quietly, and other than a few death glares, didn’t show great enthusiasm to kill me this morning.

Once I was done brushing my teeth, she slipped into the bathroom and returned with her hair in a loose French braid, a fresh clean face and a pink ruffled dress. She needed to stop dressing like a toddler. Shy of her wedding dress, everything I’d seen her in looked like it was plucked straight off a Baby Gap hanger.

Avoiding my gaze, she padded toward the door quickly.

“Stop,” I ordered.

She did.

“Sit.” I pointed at the unchristened bed.

She followed my instructions, defiant anger rolling off her stiff shoulders.

I had all the good intentions and warmth of a reptile, but I still recognized she needed to know what the fuck she was doing with a knife if she planned to wave one around frequently.

I dug a Swiss knife from my pocket. Her eyes flared as I crouched in front of her.

“Quick lesson in anatomy and stabbing people, since it’s less work than teaching you how to use a gun.” I flicked the blade open on a sigh. “When you attack someone, you want to be lethaland strategic. Don’t just wave it around like you’re trying to swat a fly.” I had no idea how much of this shit actually registered. Since I wasn’t in the habit of repeating myself, she better fucking pay attention. “You go for the main blood carriers. The faster they bleed out, the slower they are to chase you. Radial and ulnar arteries.” I pointed at my wrists with the knife, making a horizontal slit motion less than an inch away. She blinked. “Jugular veins.” I pointed at my own neck. “Cubital fossa.” I poked the blade inside my elbows. “The chest seems like an appealing option, but due to the thick layers of muscle and bone, it’s hard to penetrate without proper force.”

She stared at me silently, taking it all in. She was either the stupidest creature I’d ever met or the smartest. It was also possible she was a spy. A way for the Ferrantes to harvest intel. I filed that in the back of my head.

“Now, if you want to inflict superficial wounds, go for the shoulders. Forearms. Palms.” I handed her the knife. She took it, uncertainty swimming in those Nordic eyes.

I extended my palm in her direction. “We need to sully those sheets in the next minute. Go vertical to avoid hitting the nerves. This way.” I dragged my finger along my palm.

This was a twofold exercise. One, I wanted to check her cognitive abilities by giving her a complex instruction. Two, I wanted to flush the hunger for my blood out of her system. My guess was she bottled up a healthy dose of feminine rage these past eighteen years. She had a scratch to itch.

She didn’t make a move.

“You’ve been wanting to do this since we got here.” I held her gaze. “This is your one and only chance. Next time, I’ll retaliate.”

Her nostrils flared, a flash of the Ferrante wrath flickering in her pupils. She leaned in, aiming the blade at my throat. She smelled decadent. A heady combination I’d yet to detect on human skin. Like flowers and summer and innocence andmine.

It was time to start looking for a fair-haired, dainty mistress I could pretend was her from behind.

“There you are,” I drawled, my gaze never wavering from hers as she pushed the blade against the throbbing vein in my neck. “Now be a good girl and finish the job.”

She grabbed my wrist, opened my palm, and slashed the inside of it. It was a straight, vertical line from my thumb to wrist with the precision of a pathologist.