Her body is so taut, her shoulders so rigid in front of me, that I cringe on her behalf because that can’t feel good. I’m still achy from getting thrown against the goddamn SUV during the explosion, and she got it far worse than I did.
Being tense won’t do anything to help her recovery, but I’m not sure Bishop is capable of relaxing without being forced to.
She reaches the door and moves to the side to give me room to unlock it. I snag the key, twist it open, and let her enter first. Her eyes immediately drift to the stairs that lead up to my apartment, but before she can even think about trying to ascend them, I let the bags slide to the floor.
The thumping sound makes her turn back, but by then, it’s too late.
I slide my arms around her and lift her up as gently as I can before she can object.
“Hey!” She smacks my shoulder. “What the hell are you doing?”
Stalking across the shop past my bikes, I glance down at her. “Carrying you up the stairs.”
“I’m perfectly capable of walking.”
“I know you are, but it doesn’t mean you have to.”
Doing those stairs herself would likely cause her discomfort she doesn’t need to suffer, plus this gives me an excuse to get my hands on her.
A selfish act on my part.
With her this close, her jasmine scent wraps around me, and she lets out a long sigh, crossing her arms over her chest. But she doesn’t fight me or my old on her. Probably because it would hurt too much.
That thought weighs heavy on my chest as I start up the stairs.
Bishop raises a brow. “Are you going to treat me like an invalid the entire time I’m here?”
“Are you going to treat me like I’m an asshole the whole time you’re here?”
“You are an asshole.”
I can’t help but grin at her despite the fact that she clearly meant that as an insult. “That is true, but not about this. I’m right. And everyone in the family knows it. So just accept the fact that you’re going to be here for a couple of weeks. That I’m going to take care of you. And that you’re not going to be allowed to work.”
All the reasons she’s so damn angry with me.
I reach the top of the steps, and she shoves against my chest until I set her down on her feet.
She quickly backs away, annoyance written all over her hard features.
Almost immediately, she starts pacing the small space, just like she did the last time she was here—only she didn’t hate me then. She wanted to be here. But she had the same nervous energy, the same frustration, only now it’s directed partially at me.
Even though I do love restraining her, being her jailer is a completely different animal and not something I would have ever suggested if there were any other way. But the family needs to know she isn’t going anywhere and no one can find her.
That means she stays put and I remain the bad guy.
It’s okay.
I can handle being the bad guy, but it doesn’t mean I don’t hate seeing her restless and so filled with anxiety over being kept out of the loop regarding what’s happening with the investigation. But her obsessive tendencies would mean she would never heal the way she needs to.
She reaches up and releases the band that’s holding her braids up in a bun at the back of her head, letting them spill down over her shoulders as she paces. “I can’t do this, Gage.”
I lean against the brick wall, crossing my arms over my chest to keep myself from reaching for her the way I want to. “Do what?”
“Do nothing. For days, for weeks.” She throws her hands up. “God, even the last two days have been hell being cooped up in the hospital. And all of you keeping what you’ve learned from me is only making it worse.”
Which we are all very well aware of.
But if she knew what we found out over the last few days, there’s no way I could keep her here. There’s no way I could keep her contained. And I refuse to allow her to hurt herself.
