His eyes harden to that icy blue I so rarely see. “Would you believe me if I said no?”
Oh, God…
I shake my head. He steps closer, but I raise the screwdriver in front of me, pointing it directly at his chest.
“Don’t.”
It may not be my weapon of choice, but I know exactly where to shove this to do the most damage, to immobilize him or even kill him. And I won’t hesitate to do it if he takes one more step.
“Bishop, please.” He keeps his hands up. “Give me a minute to explain.”
I circle to the other side of the tiny room, trying to make my way to the door without him intercepting me, but we both know he could easily. The space is tight, and he’s taller and has a much longer reach than me.
Only a handful of feet separate us—and stand between me and escape.
Keeping the screwdriver raised, I inch toward the door, my bare feet cold on the old concrete. But it barely registers.
My entire body is numb.
Gage lets me move toward the door, and as soon as I’m close enough, I dash out of it and into the main garage, but I never give him my back because I know he’ll take that advantage and use it against me.
That’s apparently where his expertise lies.
“Bishop, I need you to listen to me.” He lets me get halfway across the garage before he steps out from that side room. “Things aren’t always what they appear.”
My hand trembles as I hold the screwdriver out toward him. “What did you do in the Rangers? What was your specialty?”
He flinches again. “Explosives. But I didn’t lie to you. I’m also a mechanic?—”
“Fuck you! You didn’t lie to me?” My voice echoes around the room, bouncing off all the metal. “How long have you been here, in New Orleans?”
His throat works a thick swallow. “A while.”
“Because of us?”
His jaw hardens again and he nods.
Fuck…
I’m so fucking stupid…
Bile climbs the back of my throat, and I fight the urge to gag because that would leave me open to an attack.
No weaknesses.
Don’t let him see it.
I’ve always known that any weakness can be exploited—in the ring, on the mat, or in life.
I just never realized I’d be dumb enough to allow it to happen to me.
Run.
You have to run.
I back away from him on shaking legs, all the way to the door that leads outside, that leads to freedom, that gets me far away from him.
“Bishop, don’t go. Let me explain.” His voice wavers, his gaze swimming with uncertainty and fear. He watches me grab the knob. “You don’t even have goddamn shoes on?—”
