Page 95 of Bad Bishop

Tierney ran up the bill and I handed the cashier my husband’s black Centurion. The two Irish soldiers and Camorra chaperone assigned to Tierney grabbed the bags and carried them back to my sister-in-law’s Range Rover. We drove back to Hunts Point and decided to stop at the Italian deli for a snack.

The sun hung high above the buildings, and though it wasn’t particularly warm, it was no longer arctic, so we settled at a round table outside. I ordered a latte and a plum tart, and Tierney made do with unsweetened black coffee. She looked like a supermodel, wafer-thin and feline in features. Even in black leather pants, a nondescript jacket, and oversized sunglasses, she turned every head on the street.

The nice guy who usually manned the register was our waiter. He came over to set up our utensils, his eyes on me the entire time. Tierney watched the scene in amusement as I flushed pink.He wasn’t necessarily my type—I didn’t evenhavea type—but I’d never had an admirer. And, yes—the fact that his existence pissed Tiernan off wasn’t exactly unwelcome right now.

“This is good, thank you,” Tierney told him after he finished setting up our table. When he left, she shook her head with a smile. “He’s got it bad for you, sis.”

“He’s just being nice.”

“Sure. And Tiernan is just being supportive of the U.S. Arms Sales and Defense Trade.” She snorted. “A true patriot.”

“I’m going to the restroom,” I announced, standing up.

“All right. Holler if you need anything.”

I walked into the shop and took the narrow aisle toward the restroom, slipping inside and doing my business. After washing and drying my hands, I cracked open the door and stepped outside. Nice Guy was standing on the other end, in a small, darkened corridor that led to the shop’s stockroom.

I smiled politely, trying to sidestep him. He blocked my way, shoving his body between me and the path.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted, putting a hand on his chest.

I stared up at him. Unease prickled the back of my neck, and I became short of breath. I shook my head, pointing at my ring finger, and tried to sneak away from him again.

He moved quicker, this time placing his big hands on my shoulders.

Panic flared inside me.

“Come on, now. I see the way you look at me. The attraction is definitely two-sided.” He winked. “And that prick can’t satisfy you, I can tell.”

I had no idea what he was talking about. I only had eyes for my husband. Even if I did look at him before, which I didn’t, I now clearly wanted to run for the hills and beyond.

I stared at him angrily, my fists clenching next to my body.

“Word on the street is you can’t speak.” He grinned, putting his hand on my cheek, crowding me so my back slammed against the restroom’s door. “That’s why he married you. Because you can’t fight back. Well, how about we make this our little secret?” He leaned down, grabbing a handful of my ass.

My gun. My gun was in my bag outside. I cursed myself for not taking it with me. I pushed at him with a roar, but before I could put my hands on his chest, he was yanked back with force.

Tierney was holding him by the hair, the edges of his scalp burning pink, murder in her eyes. She looked so much like her twin brother in that moment, I whimpered.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Tierney barked. “Assaulting a pregnant woman.”

She slapped him hard.

He snarled, rubbing at his cheek. “She was asking for it, walking around with her tiny little pink babydoll dresses three times a week. Prancing around without buying shit.”

“Oh, God.” Tierney shook her head, looking aghast. “You’re insane.”

“I didn’t even touch her!”

“He touched my ass,” I tattled.

Tierney screwed her fingers into her eye sockets. “Shit. Tiernan is going to have a field day. Enjoy your last few hours on earth, scumbag.” She shooed the guy, who scrambled, ran to the register, grabbed his messenger bag, and fled.

“Jesus Christ.” She put a hand on my shoulder. “You all right?”

I nodded, even though I had no idea if that was true.

Tiernan was right—I was never to move around without my gun again. Next time, I was taking my bag with me.