The flight attendant opened the door, but Greyson simply placed his hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down into the seat as a man boarded the plane.
“Your Excellency,” Greyson said, standing to shake the man’s hand. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”
The moment I saw the black cassock and black with purple piping sash, a chill slid down my spine. The bishop stepped onto the plane. A leather-bound book rested in one hand, while a manila folder was tucked under his arm.
A bishop. A freaking bishop?
Greyson had told me a priest would be waiting. I just hadn’t believed him. Why would I? This whole thing was madness.
“No, not at all, Greyson. I owe you, as you well know.” The bishop smiled pleasantly, like there was nothing unusual about boarding a private jet under mysterious circumstances. “I take it this lovely young lady is your bride?”
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
This couldn’t be happening.
“Yes,” Greyson said, pulling me firmly to his side. “And I’m afraid we don’t have a lot of time.”
“Of course,” the bishop said with an easy smile. “Let’s make this quick, then.”
CHAPTER 51
MADISON
“Pierce!” I ran into the study, my heart in my throat and tears burning in my eyes. “No, no, no, don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.”
I tripped over the edge of the rug, slamming onto my hands and knees. I crawled to him on raw palms, not caring about the burn of the carpet or the sound that tore out of my throat when I reached the chair.
His head hung at an awkward angle, one arm dangling loose over the armrest, fingers slack.
I pressed my hand to his jaw. Still warm. That meant nothing and everything at the same time. My fingers slid to his neck, searching beneath his ear for a pulse, but my own heartbeat drowned out everything else.
“Pierce.” His name came out splintered. I gripped the front of his shirt and pulled myself closer, my forehead dropping against his chest. I held still there, listening for the faintest beat of life.
This was the man who framed me for murder. Who locked me in a cage and called it protection. I should have walked out of this room and never looked back. With his death, I’d be free.
But my hands wouldn’t let go of his shirt.
“Please,” I whispered into the fabric. “Please don’t leave me here alone.”
What gripped me had nothing to do with prison or survival or what happened next. It was the raw, gutting truth I hadn’t been ready to face: he’d gotten so deep under my skin that losing him would make me bleed.
My fingers cramped from how hard I was holding on.
“Why would you miss me?” he asked, sitting up and cracking his neck from side to side.
“What?” I scrambled back, swiping the tears off my face with the heel of my hand. “Why were you lying like that? You weren’t moving or breathing…and that horrible woman said…I thought?—”
“You thought what, babygirl?” He stood and reached out his hand for me to take.
I ignored it and tried to rise on my own.
He was having none of it. Bending low, he wrapped his hands beneath my arms and lifted me to my feet, keeping me within the circle of his arms.
Tompkins stepped into the room. He looked at Pierce, then at me, then back at Pierce. He stood there a half second too long before he cleared his throat and said, “Forgive the interruption, sir. I thought something was amiss.”
“There is nothing wrong, Elijah.”
