Chapter Four

 

Evie stumbled after him, unable to stabilize her world that now tilted off its axis. John, or Bishop, yanked her along, almost uncaring how he treated her, and she couldn’t seem to reconcile that in her mind. Her John had always been gentle with her, had always respected her, and to see the harshness on his face now scared her.

At the top of the stairs he suddenly spun her around and kicked her legs open. She tried to turn, to maybe talk to him, but he wasn’t having any of it. He prevented her from facing him.

“Place your hands against the wall,” he barked.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He bent and patted around her ankles, running his hands up her leg to pat her jeans pockets.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He slapped against the sleeping pills she’d put there before leaving the apartment, and knew he felt them when he took a second inspection. “What is this?”

“Wait—”

He knocked her hands away and reached into her pocket, pulling out the baggie of red capsules a second later.

“What are these?” he demanded, shaking the bag in her face. “Are you dealing here?”

“No, they’re my sleeping pills,” she said, trying to grab them out of her hands. “They’re mine.”

“Why are you carrying sleeping pills around?” His eyes narrowed. “Did you purchase them here? Tell me! Mr. Groto doesn’t harbor drugs at his venues unless they’re sold by his dealers.”

“No! I didn’t purchase them here. They’re for my insomnia. Please, give them back.”

Everything was spinning out of control and Evie felt helpless. She wanted to snatch the drugs away from him, but at the same time, she couldn’t look at him because he was too much like her fantasy man.

“I don’t think so,” he said just before he took her by the arm once more and practically hauled her into the room. Several big-muscled men stood around the perimeter, and they turned as a collective when Bishop entered. No expression marred their faces, and each man seemed like a cookie cutter from the last. As she shot a quick look at Bishop, she realized even he had the same monochromatic look. Black hair, black pants, black shirt. They all blended together in a very creepy undertone of what was happening and it was enough to cause her anxiety to spike as a flash of pain rumbled through her head.

A lone man rose from the seat near the railing, catching her attention. As with Bishop, recognition dawned on her, even though she knew she’d never seen him before. However, he looked nothing like any of the others in her fantasy world. A stranger in the true sense of the word, except for the part where she shrank back from him and trembled with fear at his nearness.

“Ah,” he said, smiling. His tone might have been pleasant but it only made her want to run in the opposite direction. “The mystery girl who captured your attention, Mr. Kain.”

Bishop didn’t say anything.

“My name is Sherman Groto, m’dear. And you are?”

She didn’t want to answer him, didn’t even want to get close to him, but he took that option away when he stepped in front of her and took her chin between his fingers to tilt her head up. Their gazes locked, and she swore she saw the blackness of his soul swimming through the depths.

“What is your name?”

It was a demand she knew she couldn’t ignore.

“Evelyn,” she whispered. “Evelyn Duncan.”

Groto cocked his head as he studied her. “You look very familiar, but I don’t think we’ve ever met. Have we?”

“No.”

“These were in her pocket,” Bishop said as held out the plastic bag of red capsules he’d confiscated from her.

“Drugs?” Groto asked, piercing her with a cold stare.

Evie shook her head. “My sleeping medication. I have … I suffer from insomnia.”

He didn’t believe her. She saw it flash through his eyes before a neutral blanket wiped them clean. Her brother was right, this wasn’t a man she should have ever met. The pain in her head grew a little sharper. It had been a long time since she had a migraine and she desperately hoped this wasn’t one starting. She didn’t think Sherman Groto would appreciate her throwing up in his presence.

“Please,” she said, and she winced a little at the desperation threading her voice. “May I have them back?”

He gave a small nod of his head, so imperceptible that she almost missed it, but apparently Bishop didn’t because a heartbeat later he shoved them into her hand. Thankful, Evie stuffed them back into her front pocket.

“Why are you here, Miss Duncan?” Groto asked. He folded his arms across his chest.

“Jo—Bishop brought me here,” she replied.

He shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. Why are you at this fight?”

“I, uh, I came with a friend.”

Again, she knew he didn’t believe her. His demeanor became colder, more rigid.

“I know a lie when I hear one, Miss Duncan.”

The spot where she’d had a craniotomy throbbed and she knew it was just a matter of time before pain took over. She had to get away.

“My brother works for you,” she said, rubbing the spot that was hurting. “He likes to keep an eye on me. Please, if you don’t mind, I have a migraine starting. Sleep is the only thing that keeps them away.”

The suspicion eased from his eyes.

“And thus the reason why you have a bag filled with sleeping medication.” Groto nodded. “Very well. You can go. I’ll be in touch, Miss Duncan.”

He’d be in touch? She hoped not but daren’t ask him why he had said that. There were too many questions swimming around in her head, but the pain was settling in and she couldn’t think anymore. She was going to throw up and she’d be damned if she would upchuck in front of Sherman Groto. Turning, she rushed out to the tense atmosphere and back into the staircase. Racing down, she barely made it to a trash bin before the meager contents of her stomach emptied. The pain was in full force now, obliterating everything. Her shaking knees were ready to collapse and Chris had no way to find her. Just as she began to slink to the ground, strong hands caught her.

“Jesus,” Bishop muttered. She wanted to reassure him she would be okay, but the migraine stole her words. “Fuck!”

There was a sensation of flying, of being carried on clouds, and she wished she could enjoy being in Bishop’s arms.

“Hold on, Evelyn,” he said. “Let me get you your pills.”

Too late.

He didn’t know that of course as moments later she felt something at her lips.

“Swallow, sweetheart. Come on. That’s right. Swallow.”

She swallowed the capsule he’d placed on her tongue with a sip of warm beer that almost made her gag again. Moments later, the medicine took effect and darkness descended.

****

“Evie!”

Bishop looked up to see a young man rushing toward them, wearing the standard uniform that Groto dictated to his employees. Black pants, white button-down shirt and yellow-pocketed aprons to designate they were the cashiers. He realized this man must be the brother Evelyn had mentioned, but his protective instinct took over and scooped her up to half-shield her body with his as he waited for the man to approach.

“What the hell happened?”

Bishop looked him up and down. “Who’re you?”

“Her brother Chris.” Recognition dawned in her brother’s eyes and he took a few steps back. “What happened to her?”

“Migraine.”

“Shit. I thought those were done with.” Chris shook his head. “She hasn’t had one in a couple of months.”

“I gave her one of her pills.”

“Pills?”

Bishop shifted her weight a little so he could hold up the plastic baggie that still contained a few red capsules.

“Oh hell, throw those away.”

“What? Why?”

“They’re sleeping pills.”

Bishop nodded. “Yeah, she said that before she upchucked in the trash can. Figured sleeping was the best way to wear off the pain.”

“I guess so. Trouble is she’s addicted to those fucking things. I thought I got rid of them all but I guess I need to explore her room a little more thoroughly.” Chris sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I can take her if you want to hand her over.”

Bishop opened his mouth to order her brother back to work, but it disturbed him to realize that he didn’t want to hand her over. In his world he didn’t get attached to things or people and the emotions that this one lone girl invoked scared him on a level he didn’t want to analyze too closely. He snapped his mouth shut and stepped closer to her brother. A bit of maneuvering and she slid out of his arms to lay like a broken rag doll against her brother, seemingly dead to the world.

“Why does she get migraines?”

“About fourteen months ago she had an accident,” Chris said. “She fell and hit her head. A few hours later she had a migraine so bad she passed out and I ended up taking her to the hospital. Turns out that migraine saved her life. Doctors found she had bleeding on the brain and massive swelling, so they put her in a medically induced coma for a week. Gave her a craniotomy to relieve the pressure. She almost didn’t make it.”

Bishop’s blood ran cold at the thought. “Jesus. She’s better?”

“As you can see, she has a few issues, but yeah, for the most part she’s better. Thanks for helping her. Let me get her to the car and then I’ll be back to finish my shift.”

Chris turned to go but Bishop couldn’t watch her simply disappear from his life. “Why did you bring her here?”

Chris looked over his shoulder. “Because I had to.”

Then he turned and a moment later was lost in the crowd. Bishop hated the urge to run after them. The girl was bad news, plain and simple, and he had eliminated bad news from his life long ago. As he made his way back to Groto’s side, the starting bell rang. The boss man kept his attention on the fight below. As usual, the fight was a give-and-take attempt at domination. Iron Fist had a schedule while trying to keep Blackout in check.

“We’re getting ready to hit our ninety-second mark.”

Bishop crossed his arms over his chest and tried to concentrate on the fight, but his mind kept wandering back to the girl.

“What did you do with her?”

The question jolted Bishop and he tensed. “She left.”

Groto didn’t reply as they both watched the fight. As planned, Iron Fist took a hard right hook and down he went. Blackout seized the opportunity and jumped on top of him. The crowd roared as the newcomer began punching the downed champion. There was a moment’s hesitation as Blackout looked up at Groto, but Groto didn’t give the signal to save his fighter, and with the lack of interference, Blackout resumed. He struck over and over, until the body under him lay unmoving. The bell rang, and Blackout got off his opponent, but Iron Fist was still. The crowd waited with bated breath as the referee kneeled beside the bloody mass. It was clear Iron Fist’s chest no longer raised. When the ref motioned for the medics, gasps and cries rang out among the spectators. Groto stood, and although Bishop knew the boss man was pleased, he didn’t let his face reveal his satisfaction.

“Make sure Iron Fist has a burial,” Groto said. “I did promise him he’d have one if he died in the ring. Oh, and tomorrow, bring the girl back to me.”

The last order shocked Bishop so much that he stumbled slightly. Groto’s eyebrows shot up and Bishop realized his mistake. He’d learned long ago never to allude to any type of weakness to the powerful man.

“Yes, sir,” he murmured.

He’d obey the order but he’d be damned if he liked it.