We all know there will be consequences for that, and I only had one job: to keep them safe and ensure something like this didn’t happen.
“Fuck!”
I smash my fist against the wall, hard enough to make my knuckles sting.
“If you do that again, you’re going to end up breaking it.” Astrid’s voice cuts through my fog of self-loathing as she steps up beside me and leans her shoulder on the wall, her blond hair cascading over her collarbone. Hawke-blue eyes assess me, searching my face intently. “Seriously. Hitting something this hard isn’t the best idea.”
“Yeah, well”—I shake out my hand, the sting reminding me all too vividly of my failures and the pain the Hawkes have suffered because of them—“I can’t exactly head to the gym now, can I?”
Her gaze narrows on me. “Look, we’re all upset, Bishop?—”
“Upset?” I raise a brow at her. “I crossed upset and went way beyond it a long time ago. I didn’t keep them safe, Astrid, I fucked up…”
And I can’t even voice the potential consequences of that.
She releases a long sigh. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“Believe what?”
Astrid’s features soften even more, her concern written across her face and the way she watches me. She’s always been the most empathetic of all of us, and while that quality is typically a good one to have, when I just want to be left alone and wallow in my guilt, it can be grating. “That it’s your sole responsibility to keep everyone safe?”
“I mean…yes.” I throw out my open hands toward the room. “That’s literally my job.”
She snorts and shakes her head. “No. It isn’t. You’re one of many people who handle security for us. And technically, Saint is in charge of running it. You’re just his second in command. If something did happen to Jack and Allegra, if someone managed to slip something into their food or their drinks, or whatever else could’ve caused this, that doesn’t mean it happened on your watch and that it was your fault.”
I clench my fists and that ache flares in my knuckles, but I don’t mind it. In some strange, masochistic way, I crave it. I need the reminder so I never fail again. “Yes, it does, because if I wasn’t there personally, I should have been.”
Her blond brows fly up. “And what? You’re going to taste-test every single thing every one of us eats or drinks for the rest of our lives?”
Well, when she puts it that way, it sounds fucking stupid, doesn’t it?
I shake my head, pinching the bridge of my nose in a futile attempt to alleviate the pounding that has moved from my temples to behind my eyes. “I don’t know.” A long sigh falls from my lips, filled with all the frustration that’s coiled inside me with no way to release it. “I just can’t believe we’re here again…”
It’s been one mistake on my part after another.
First, Jack was taken, then the bombing of the Grind, the shooting at the reopening, and the sniper attack on the penthouse that almost killed Atlas and Astrid…
Everyone has suffered, either directly or by watching those we love bleed and lose things sacred to them.
Each of us is scarred in some way.
The woman in front of me certainly hasn’t been the same since the shooting. She tries to hide it behind an easy smile or by spending every waking moment she has tutoring our employees or helping anywhere she can at the clubs, the Grind, or elsewhere, but I see it for what it really is—a defense mechanism.
Because she doesn’t want to be alone.
She’s afraid to be…
And there’s only one reason for that—me.
I release the bridge of my nose and open my eyes again to find Astrid watching me carefully. “You’ve suffered as much as anyone.”
Her lips press into a thin line, her jaw hardening. Something dark crosses her typically warm gaze. It’s fleeting, but it’s there. And it isn’t the first time I’ve seen it since she was shot and almost died. She continues to fight whatever demons are chasing her and refuses to let any of us help, which is why I thought she of all people would understand. “I know.”
“Then how can you be so calm about this? What if?—”
She steps forward and grabs my wrists, squeezing them gently. “Don’t think about worst-case scenarios. You’ll drive yourself crazy.” Inclining her head toward the room, she locks her gaze with mine. “They’re going to be okay. Nora and Pope have run every test under the sun to figure out what’s wrong. So, take a breath, all right? And stop hitting walls.”
Deep down, I know she’s right—that panicking or allowing my distress to show will only make things worse.
