Bishop by Eden Summers EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Eden Summers
- Language: English
- Genre: Organized Crime Thrillers
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
BISHOP
I’M GOING TO KILL THE WOMAN I WAS SENT TO PROTECT.
Call me psychic. Or maybe it’s intuition. Who the fuck knows? But
something inside me vibrates with a level of homicidal certainty. My palms
itch to wrap around Abri’s delicate throat as she schmoozes with the Denver
elite in this seductively lit hotel ballroom with its pompous decorations and
endless supply of expensive liquor.
I’ve called her fifty goddamn times today without answer.
I’ve left innumerable messages. Sent endless texts. Not once did she
respond.
I explained to her voicemail how I’d been sent halfway across the
country by her brothers because she—she—called them this morning
begging for someone to watch her back after her dad made changes to her
security detail.
But she seems more than fucking peachy now.
She’s charming every man in a three-piece, her shiny golden gown
dazzling, a matching sheer scarf covering the front of her neck like a
choker, the long length of material draped down her back as her temptress
smile hides whatever sinister intent she has lurking inside.
She’s the queen of this smorgasbord of upper-class snobbery. She laughs
with politicians. Rubs shoulders with those I assume are tech billionaires.
Bats her lashes at old money in expensive tailored suits.
She’s in her element, lapping up their attention without a care in the
world while I remain by the bar at the back of the ballroom, my presence
unknown to her.
For now.
The lights dim and a middle-aged guy in a tux walks onto the stage,
introduces himself as some successful asshole from who-the-fuck-cares,
and directs everyone to find their seats.
The herd of blue bloods comply, a grey-haired guy placing a hand on
the curve of Abri’s back to escort her to a table in the middle of the room
then taking the chair beside her.
The formalities drag on, the unending speeches harder to endure than a
root canal. Some slick asshole receives a gold star for donating what I
assume is his pocket change to an Ethiopian orphanage. Another gets
recognition for starting a charity with no mention that it was obviously
launched as a tax dodge.
An hour into this ego masturbation, Abri silently rises from her seat
with her gold sparkling clutch in hand and discreetly maneuvers her way
around the mass of circular tables, smiling at those who make eye contact
as she saunters to a side hall leading to the bathrooms. To isolation.I scrutinize the members of security stationed around the room, waiting
for the dogs on her detail to follow—the ones she doesn’t trust. Because
that was her issue this morning. She doesn’t have faith in the guys in charge
of her safety.
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