Blow Me Away (Seven Tribesmen Motorcycle Club Book 3) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Evelyn Glass
slapped over her mouth, her eyes wide and apologetic. Bishop's gaze flared with heat, as they darkened like an angry storm. The ache in his jaw tripled. Around them, the squeal of power tools sang through the air, and the tick of the clock boomed between them, as if counting down to an explosion.
Stella breathed in and out through her nose. Her shock still danced at the corners of her thoughts. She hadn't had an outburst like that since she was a teenager. When her heart stilled to a reasonable rate, she lowered her hand. Her voice quivered as she spoke, “Arthur, I'm sorry, I didn't me‒–”
“Get out.” He didn't want to hear her words. He didn't want her apology. Bishop clung to the words that Stella snarled in a fit of anger, lassoing the indignation that flared from her words.
Stella gasped and said, “I'm sor–!”
“Now!” roared Bishop, slamming his hands on his desk as he rocketed to his feet. One of the pops fell over, and dark soda fizzed down the side of his desk. Both of their gazes flicked to the fallen drink. Bishop swallowed, reigning in the conflagration he used to keep the distance between himself and Stella. Without taking his gaze off the soda, he grunted, “I have nothing left to say to you, Agent Holmes.”
Another beat of silence hung in the air, hollow and cold. A car engine roared somewhere in the garage, and the clock continued to tick loudly, marking their meeting's minutes. After a breath of hesitance, Stella shuffled away from the desk. She paused before opening the door and turned to cast one glance back. Bishop still refused to look at her, keeping his gaze determinedly on the spilled beverage.
Guilt stabbed her through the chest, knowing her words had been completely uncalled for. He didn't want to hear her apology though. However, a small part of Stella decried allowing him to rush to his death. The Seven Tribesmen didn't deserve a bloodbath ending. Stella swallowed heavily, settling on a vague warning. “Be careful, Bishop. This might be bigger than the 7T can handle.”
By the time Bishop registered her words and his eyes darted to the door, she was gone and the doorway was left wide open. He stared at the empty space for a breath, his brain churning the last half hour over and over.
Delilah had given up the name of the snort-pushing gang. Perhaps Coyote should pay Firecrotch another visit. Or maybe Qwerty could get his hands on a copy of the statement. His guts pinched with premonition. He was certain the Devil Spikes were the proxy, with the Grave Demons being the main contact. That made the 7T's retribution a little more complicated.
Why would Stella warn him though? She had to know he'd use the information for his own means.
He shook the curious thought from his head. Now, he had something to clean up. Snatching the napkins, Bishop hissed against the pain in his leg and crouched down. As he sopped up the fizzing soda, Stella's warning continued to echo through his head.
CHAPTER FIVE
Days passed since Stella stormed out of Bishop's Auto. Bishop idled about the garage during his mornings, catching up on work and running his business. In the evenings, he and the 7T would go to their clubhouse on the edge of town and hash out game plans. The nights would end early for Bishop, and he would trudge into one of the clubhouse's spare rooms.
He hadn't slept in his own bed since Stella left. Something churned in his stomach at the thought. The idea of her residual scent all over the place was both a comfort and a frustration. He ached to go back, but adamantly refused.
It felt as if all the days melted together into one giant lump of worries and inexplicable loneliness. Agitation constantly dotted his thoughts, especially when Stella would randomly traipse through his head. It happened far more than he would like to admit, as
Stella breathed in and out through her nose. Her shock still danced at the corners of her thoughts. She hadn't had an outburst like that since she was a teenager. When her heart stilled to a reasonable rate, she lowered her hand. Her voice quivered as she spoke, “Arthur, I'm sorry, I didn't me‒–”
“Get out.” He didn't want to hear her words. He didn't want her apology. Bishop clung to the words that Stella snarled in a fit of anger, lassoing the indignation that flared from her words.
Stella gasped and said, “I'm sor–!”
“Now!” roared Bishop, slamming his hands on his desk as he rocketed to his feet. One of the pops fell over, and dark soda fizzed down the side of his desk. Both of their gazes flicked to the fallen drink. Bishop swallowed, reigning in the conflagration he used to keep the distance between himself and Stella. Without taking his gaze off the soda, he grunted, “I have nothing left to say to you, Agent Holmes.”
Another beat of silence hung in the air, hollow and cold. A car engine roared somewhere in the garage, and the clock continued to tick loudly, marking their meeting's minutes. After a breath of hesitance, Stella shuffled away from the desk. She paused before opening the door and turned to cast one glance back. Bishop still refused to look at her, keeping his gaze determinedly on the spilled beverage.
Guilt stabbed her through the chest, knowing her words had been completely uncalled for. He didn't want to hear her apology though. However, a small part of Stella decried allowing him to rush to his death. The Seven Tribesmen didn't deserve a bloodbath ending. Stella swallowed heavily, settling on a vague warning. “Be careful, Bishop. This might be bigger than the 7T can handle.”
By the time Bishop registered her words and his eyes darted to the door, she was gone and the doorway was left wide open. He stared at the empty space for a breath, his brain churning the last half hour over and over.
Delilah had given up the name of the snort-pushing gang. Perhaps Coyote should pay Firecrotch another visit. Or maybe Qwerty could get his hands on a copy of the statement. His guts pinched with premonition. He was certain the Devil Spikes were the proxy, with the Grave Demons being the main contact. That made the 7T's retribution a little more complicated.
Why would Stella warn him though? She had to know he'd use the information for his own means.
He shook the curious thought from his head. Now, he had something to clean up. Snatching the napkins, Bishop hissed against the pain in his leg and crouched down. As he sopped up the fizzing soda, Stella's warning continued to echo through his head.
CHAPTER FIVE
Days passed since Stella stormed out of Bishop's Auto. Bishop idled about the garage during his mornings, catching up on work and running his business. In the evenings, he and the 7T would go to their clubhouse on the edge of town and hash out game plans. The nights would end early for Bishop, and he would trudge into one of the clubhouse's spare rooms.
He hadn't slept in his own bed since Stella left. Something churned in his stomach at the thought. The idea of her residual scent all over the place was both a comfort and a frustration. He ached to go back, but adamantly refused.
It felt as if all the days melted together into one giant lump of worries and inexplicable loneliness. Agitation constantly dotted his thoughts, especially when Stella would randomly traipse through his head. It happened far more than he would like to admit, as
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