Bishop nods. “Yeah.”
“But is this smart?” I ask, just as Hunter, Ace, Abel, Brantley, and Cash walk through.
“Yeah, Bishop, is it smart?” Brantley seethes, evil eyeing me as he passes through.
I ignore him.
“It’s the last place they would think to look,” Bishop reassures. He walks into the sitting room, which takes up most of the ground level, overlooking the forest through floor-to-ceiling windows that are shaped like a triangle, pulling in from the middle.
“How so?” I ask, following him in farther.
“Because the first place they’ll look is your place, and then the rest of the boys’. By the time they’ve finally figured it out, we will have sorted our next plan of action.
I walk to where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter. “And exactly how long is this supposed to be?”
He pauses, looking directly into my eyes. “I don’t know.”
“Come on.” He pushes off the sink, taking my hand in his. “We’ll go up to the room.”
I think about arguing with him, but figure I can still do that in the room, so I let him lead me up the stained wooden stairs.
Walking in, he puts our bags onto the bed, taking a seat beside them.
“Here’s the thing,” Bishop starts, removing his shirt. My mouth waters and my eyes skate over him slowly. He catches my perving, pauses what he was saying, and quirks his lip a little before continuing. “My dad is a part of this… firm. These people, they all work for my dad.” He tosses his shirt into the corner and then takes another seat on the bed. “They follow my dad’s lead. In everything. You can think of him as sort of a CEO, I guess.” His eyes look into mine. “Madi, my dad isn’t a good man. Not that any of us are, but he’s definitely not a good man.”
I take a seat beside Bishop on the bed, my eyes locked on the wall opposite us. “What does he want from me?”
Bishop curses, tugs on his hair in frustration, and then braces his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. “He’s—I can’t. We can’t even talk about it.”
He goes to continue, but I cut him off. I know what he’s implying, and I don’t want to make him feel like he has to tell me and then feel guilty or whatever for sharing something so big. But if I guess, then it wouldn’t be his fault. “CIA?” I whisper, finishing his previous sentence.
“What?” His head tilts in confusion.
“You know….” I insinuate.
Recognition sparks in his eyes and he smiles, almost in relief. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah.”
“Okay, but what do they want with me?” Now that I know his father works for the CIA, I feel more at ease. The Elite Kings, they’re just a bunch of rich boys out spending Mommy and Daddy’s money. They’re exactly the kind of boys I suspected they were. I’m mentally rolling my eyes at Tatum and her overdramatic rumors about them all. Typical Tatum.
Bishop leans back onto his elbows, every muscle tensing in his movement. “They think your dad is laundering money for one of the major trading companies in Las Vegas.”
Recognition slips in. My dad is always in Vegas, more often than not lately. Maybe that’s why we always moved? Maybe we weren’t moving because he couldn’t settle. Maybe we were moving, because he was running from something—or someone. It makes sense in my head, the puzzle pieces slipping together slowly.
“So now what?” I ask, looking at him over my shoulder. “Is this what you guys couldn’t tell me?”
Bishop nods reluctantly. “Yeah, babe.”
“Huh.” I look forward. “Why didn’t you just come right out and hint to me earlier?”
“Because I didn’t trust you. They—aside from Nate—still don’t trust you.”
Before I can ask him what they have to do with anything, there’s a light knock on the door.
“Fuck off,” Bishop snaps.
“Come in,” I say sweetly, both of us in unison. Way too cheesy. The door creaks open, and Tillie pops her head around it. She’s wearing one of Nate’s hoodies and is looking at me like she has thousands of things she wants to say, so I pat Bishop’s hand and look at him. “Give us a second.”
He watches Tillie closely, too closely, and she looks back, her mouth slightly open. Something passes between the two of them before Tillie swallows nervously. Bishop shoves past her. Always the asshole.
Tillie smiles sadly at him with a nod and then takes a seat where he was on the bed.
The door closes before I turn to her. “What was that about?”
“What did he tell you?” she asks, her eyes searching mine.
“About what?”
“About this… what did he tell you?”
“I can’t say. Sorry, Tillie.”
A fake smile sprawls over her face. “It’s okay. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about—”
“Tillie, it’s totally fine. Was a shock initially, but it’s totally fine. Just one thing…” I hold one finger up. “Please be careful. He’s not capable of the things you might be expecting out of him.”