Page 16 of Dreadful

Her tongue swipes along her bottom lip and her gaze bounces all over my face. “Are you going to help me?”

My thumb slides underneath her chin, tilting her face up as I step closer. A handful of inches separate our mouths now. “Do you need me to help you?”

“Need?” A tiny shake of her head. “No.”

Steam from the shower curls between us, warm and thick, and I become very aware of the specific distance between her mouth and mine. My next breath comes out slower than the last one.

“Alright, Bells.” I drag my teeth along my bottom lip, curbing the rising need to claim her lips as mine. “Do you want me to help you?”

Do you want me? The question flits around the space behind my ribs, trapped by the constraints I’ve carefully placed.

Before she can answer, a knock echoes from my bedroom door. I don’t move. Just trace the pad of my thumb along her bottom lip as the knocking comes again, harder this time.

“Are you going to get that?” Her gaze flicks toward the sound, but her body stays angled toward mine.

“Yell for me if you need me, okay?” My voice is low, rough. I’m memorizing the way the steam clings to her skin, darkening the baby hairs at her temples into delicate curls, how her lashes bead with moisture like she’s holding back tears.

Leaving the bathroom is harder than it should be. I pull the door shut behind me and cross the room.

Bishop is already on the other side of mine—and whatever he’s been doing since the garage, it hasn’t cooled him down any.

I lean against the frame. “Need something, brother?”

He doesn’t answer. Just moves past me into the room, stopping a few feet in, his gaze cutting straight to the bathroom wall like he can see through it. The sound of the shower fills the silence between us.

“You let her shower?”

I run my tongue along the back of my front teeth and stare back at him. He watched Gabe put Saniderm on her in the garage, and he’s not an idiot. If he didn’t pound on my door, I could be in that shower with her right now. Helping. “Is that what you needed?”

My brother’s gaze cuts to me, the quiet one where he waits for you to spill all your secrets. But that shit stopped working on me years ago. When I don’t offer anything, he spits out, “Did she tell you anything else about tonight?”

“Nah, we haven’t done much talking.” I let a smirk spread wide, knowing he’s gonna jump to his own conclusion.

A muscle twitches along his jaw. “I thought you at least would see reason. Apparently none of my brothers can think past a pretty face.”

“Hm.” I tilt my head. “So you think she’s pretty too?”

“This shit is serious, Cruz. I thought I could count on you to help me protect the family,” he says, slowly shaking his head.

The family. The word lands like a fishhook in my chest, pulling up things I’d rather leave buried. Coco’s voice echoes in my head, “The only people in this world you can count on are in this room.”

How many times has she given us some variation of that speech?

And why is Bishop standing here preaching the same sermon she used to give? Why did he come back to the very thing he ran from?

A cold, familiar bitterness rises in my throat—the taste of every promise Coco ever broke. But the habit of charming neutrality is older than my anger. My face goes smooth, a practiced slow curve of my mouth.

“You’re wasting your time in here then. Talk to Rafe.”

Bishop glances away. “He’s light on the details.”

“And Lola? What’s she saying?” Curiosity pricks along my scalp, a soft demand to find out what happened tonight.

“Nothing. So I need her”—he nods toward the bathroom—“to give me more. Or convince Rafe to. We’re not prepared to go against two MCs, Cruz.”

I nod a few times. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He exhales and crosses the room, pausing in the doorway. “You seen Ma’s new boyfriend around here before?”