Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Bishop studies me, and then slowly but surely, his grin tilts up to a full clown smile, displaying his pearly white teeth and dimples. But his eyes? Yeah, his eyes aren’t smiling. They are dark, shaded with hate, and planted by anger. It’s in this very moment I realize that maybe I’m wrong. My face slowly falls, which only makes Nate start grinning.
“Aw, that’s cute, kitten.” He brings his hand up to my dress, over my breasts, and flicks his knife open before slowly cutting down my front. Now my tight strapless dress has a jagged cut down the front, my bright yellow lace bra on full display, but thankfully, because it’s tight, it doesn’t fall off me.
“What the fuck?” I yell at him. “I answered your question. That wasn’t part of the rules!”
Bishop smiles. “I make the rules.”
“Has anyone else spoken to you about us?” he questions.
“What?” Now I’m just over it, sick of the games and the underlying bullshit they seem to put me through. This is the second time they’ve done some fucked up cat-and-mouse game with me, and each passing minute, my patience runs thinner. “No one has said anything! I don’t know who the fuck you are, what the fuck you stand for—or don’t—and I don’t care! Now…” I slice my glare to Bishop. “Let. Me. Go!”
He pauses, studying me closely. “And if I don’t fucking believe you?”
“Then your lie detector is shit.” I stand my ground from my precarious position.
Nate throws me a wink and then walks off toward Hunter and Brantley, who are standing beside a thick tree. Bishop hasn’t moved, his hands still gripping around my thighs tightly. “You fuck him?”
I scowl. “What?”
“You heard me. Answer the question,” he growls, pressing into me again.
“Hang on a second. You guys stalk me, chase me through a forest, scare the shit out of me, tie me up, and cut my fucking dress, and now you’re asking if I fucked Nate, like you give a shit?”
“I didn’t say I give a shit.” Bishop smirks. He drops his lips to my ear, his hand running down the side of my ribs. He squeezes roughly, a little too roughly. Rough enough to leave a bruise. “I just need to know if I won the bet or not,” he seethes through a harsh whisper. I tilt my head back, forcing the tears back. Of course. Of course this is a fucking game to these boys. I’m such a fucking idiot.
“You lost!” Nate laughs, walking back toward us. He comes up beside us, tilting his head at me, before he says harshly, “She didn’t open her gap for me.”
“Fuck you, Nate. Fuck both of you.”
Bishop lets me go instantly and I fall to the ground with a humph, the dirt and leaves grabbing onto my thighs and ass. Bishop leans down and cuts the cable ties in the middle, freeing my wrists. I stretch them out, looking up at him.
“I hate you,” I snarl.
He grins. “And I still wanna fuck you, so we’ll figure something out.”
I snap my mouth shut, getting to my feet. He follows, standing an inch away from me. “There is no way in hell you are ever touching me again.” I glare.
He steps forward, backing me against the trunk. “Nice. Now, try again, but this time”—his hands slam up against the tree, caging me in—“say it like you mean it.” Then he bends down, pulling my lower lip into his mouth.
I fight a groan at how it feels to have his mouth on me again, and I can’t help it. I fucking hate myself for being this easy for him, but he doesn’t have to know how well my body responds to him.
He smirks against my mouth, slowly pulling back until my lip pops from his. He licks my chin leisurely. “Wanna lie to me again?”
“I hate you,” I repeat.
“Yeah, I know, but we fuck so well together.”
“Bishop!” Cash hollers from behind us. “Give the girl your fucking hoodie so we can get back to camp.”
Bishop grins, zipping his hoodie down, exposing his white shirt that glows in the moonlight. He tosses it at me and I catch it, slipping my arms into the warmth and fighting the urge to sniff the collar where his sweet, woodsy cologne is strongest. Planted right between clean soap and pure masculinity.
Scowling at him, Nate walks up to us, taking my hand, but I pull back. “Get fucked. I’m not following you anywhere.”
Nate shrugs. “Fine by me.”
Asshole.
Bishop chuckles, but I turn, making my way to God knows where in the forest. “Oh, and I need my gun back!” I yell out over my shoulder.
“Where are you going, kitty?” Nate asks as they all follow me.
“Well, to the camp, of course.”
“And how do you know it’s this way?” Bishop asks, his voice closer behind me.