DECEIT (B723) - Hazel Grace (the reader ebook .txt) 📗

takes steps to get inside of the house. A gorgeous home at that in the middle of nowhere. “Come join us. We have plenty of food.”

I hold up a hand. “I’m good, thanks. I have some appointments I have to hit.”

More lies. 

I’m not about to have family time with a woman whom I’ve never met with a million, and one questions about who I am and how long Bishop and I have worked together.

Let’s not leave out our little secret that no one knows about. That I made sure was buried so deep in the ground, not a soul would find it.

Something that Bishop was and still is super pissed about, I guess.

Scarlett nods understandably and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. Damn, those are fucking perfect too. “Fair enough. I hope I get to see you again then?”

“That’d be nice.” This time I give her a grin that’s not so rehearsed before she turns on her heel and lets Kyson hold the door from slamming in my face.

He scowls at me. “What are you doing?”

Well, that escalated quickly. 

I’d rather take the door in my face than the expression that Kyson just threw at me.

“With what?” I ask, automatically on the defense.

My God, I get interrogated more than anyone on this team.

“You just got back, so what could you possibly—” Bishop shows up at the entryway again, making Kyson move so he can walk out and give my eyes time to appreciate his body.

I sigh, keeping my emotions in check because what good are they?

Dressed in dark blue jeans and a black shirt that hugs his chest, Bishop stands in front of me, blocking off my view of Kyson and all the air that demands to fill up my lungs.

He controls everything—a conversation, an interrogation, my breathing pattern, and the fact that my body wants to yield or flee at any given moment.

“What kind of appointments?” he asks, his tone dropping another octave as he peers down at me.

I notice now that his and his sister’s eyes match. I’m surprised I didn’t put two and two together earlier since I stare at his any chance I get.

Which means I can’t miss the black and blue underneath them.

“What happened to your eye?” I ask through my own set of knitted brows.

“I was having a conversation.”

“With what, a tree? A rock?”

“Marty and Mills, same thing.” I roll my eyes and avert them to the mint green siding of his home. “Now, where did you say you were going?”

I shrug because what I’m doing and how much junk food I’m going to consume in my hotel room is none of Bishop’s business. I have a whole season of Grace and Frankie to watch on Netflix. “Just a few errands.”

His expression flashes as though some sort of recognition hits him. “Ah, yes, the boyfriend.”

“The what?”

“The boy you told Marty about.”

I inwardly scoff. Boy? 

First of all, I don’t date boys. 

In fact, I barely date at all because I can’t. I’m not able to release myself from Bishop’s grasp. When I mention divorce, he steers the conversation off of it. When I attempt to talk about us, he glares at me like it’s a topic I’m never allowed to discuss.

Did I mention he’s a dumbass?

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I further state, not that I owe him any sort of explanation.

“Fuck buddy then.” I flick my gaze back to him, meeting his challenge for me to lie or change the subject.

I mean…

“Is that what I can call him now? I didn’t know if we had to be friends for a certain amount of time or if I could just give him the one-night stand status.” Bishop takes a menacing step in my direction, but he won’t do anything that stupid.

Our second family is feet away from us. One rise of my voice, and Kyson will be coming out here quicker than Bishop can finish his sentence.

He’s like my little pitbull, cuddly on the inside and ferocious on the outside. They might be best friends, grew up together, but Kyson would never allow Bishop to try and seize me by the throat to rattle some truths off my lips.

“Are we allowed to fuck other people now?” His question is offsetting because when we broke up, he was quick to move on.

“According to you, we are.”

“We broke up, Emmy.”

“So, I guess the answer to that is yes, Kace.” His features soften a tad, and if I would’ve blinked, I would have missed it.

I never call him Kace, not anymore.

We all call him Bishop and move on. I treat him or try to, like everyone else.

It was upon his request that I use his first name. But when he splintered my heart into a few pieces, I gave him back his status of just being part of B723.

Nothing more.

Now, if I could get my heart to understand, I’d be all set.

“Well, since you’re cheating on me, Ems, the least you could do is eat with me.”

I slit my eyes. “When do you care about my eating habits or where I’m going?”

“Since you shoved your nose into my business and said you were going to help me.”

“I did, and I’m still waiting on you to agree to drive to the Hamptons with me.”

Bishop rolls his eyes. The other day, I discovered that this Willy Wonka character is a prestigious rich prick that lives in the Brentwood subdivision. He pretty much employs people in the slums to make him wealthy. I highly doubt he lifts a finger for anything but to ask a maid to grab him something.

“And I kindly said no,” he rebuffs. “And that’s all I’m going to say about it. I’m good with not experiencing the other side of that life.”

“Well—” I bravely take a step closer, watching his body tense at my proximity. “—that’s a shame, Bish.”

“Why?”

“Because Willy Wonka is throwing a very large party this weekend, and I got us an in.”

“You’re telling me that a lowly drug dealer—”

“He’s far from lowly. He’s thirty-two, owns a yacht, a few really nice