“Have I upset you? If you want, you can see the photo.”
“Nah, it’s fine. I don’t need to see it. You and I got to know each other outside of the stomach.”
She frowned. He was acting weird.
“Here we are,” he said, pulling up outside of a converted barn, given the signpost declaring it a bar.
“It’s busy,” she said. “Did we come here a lot?”
“No. You’ve never been here. I think we need to stop looking into the past and start focusing on your future.”
“I like that.”
“Me too. Everyone wants you to remember, and you will. All in good time, but for now, let’s go and have some dancing and fun.”
She climbed out of the car and Bishop took her hand, practically running toward the door. Pain shot through her foot, but she ignored it, following him.
There were so many people. None of whom she recognized, and her heart started to race. She pushed all her feelings to one side and forced a smile to her lips, trying to be happy with Bishop. It was the first time since she’d been back that he actually looked happy. His smile was infectious.
He pulled her onto the dance floor and grabbed her hips. Where she was a little unsure of how to hold and touch him, he took over and led the dance. He put her hands around his neck.
“Hold on to me. I’ll show you how it’s done.”
She laughed as she danced her around the barn. If they bumped into couples, she’d apologize along with Bishop. They would ask her how she was doing. Bishop would remind them she had amnesia and they’d back off.
After an hour, she was way too thirsty. “I need a drink,” she said.
Taking off to the bar, she found a spot and waved her hand at the barman.
He nodded at her but she had to stand around and wait. Perspiration dotted her brow.
The music seemed to fade around her as her mind wandered. She was still in the same room, only now it was different.
“All of these people, they want one thing. You’re kidding yourself if you don’t see the lust in their eyes, burning for each other. It doesn’t make them monsters, Robin. It makes them people. Fucking, taking, begging for it. It’s not wrong to want it. It’s not wrong to want me, and I know you do. You don’t think I feel a difference within you?”
She came out of the memory, shaking, feeling sick.
The barman was in front of her, but she shook her head, needing fresh air. Without another word, she left the bar, stumbling outside. She bent forward, heaving, throwing up all that she’d eaten that day.
“Are you okay?” Bishop asked, coming toward her.
She didn’t get a chance to ask as she vomited again.
Her entire body was cold. The memory, it didn’t seem bad but there was something about it that twisted her entire body up. “I want to go home.”
“You’re going to need something to eat.”
She shook her head. “No, I really need to go home. I need to rest.” She saw stars before her eyes.
“For fuck’s sake, Robin, you’ve been a little sick!”
“Why don’t you listen to her and take her the fuck home?”
His voice.
Preacher’s.
Robin lifted her head.
Preacher and Bear, as well as Grave and Frost were a few feet away from them. She noticed people walked away, heading back into the bar.
“What the fuck is the problem now? You don’t want her having fun?”
“I want her to have whatever it is she needs and if she wants to go home, take her fucking home,” Preacher said. “Do you want to go home?”
Before she had time to answer, Bishop stepped in front of her.
“I’m her husband. Why don’t you answer to me?” Bishop asked.
“You think you’re big and tough because you’re standing in front of her? Do you really think you’re safe?” Preacher asked.
The threat was there, lurking beneath the surface.
Maybe if she hadn’t been throwing up her guts, she would’ve been afraid, but as it was, she was throwing up everything, and well, Bishop wouldn’t listen. She needed to get home.
“I know I am. I know what you’re capable of and I know what you won’t do.”
Before she knew what was happening, she heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and when she looked, Preacher and Bishop were punching each other.
She didn’t know what to do, but she stepped between them. As she did, Bishop threw another punch, landing one right against her jaw, after which she fell in a heap on the ground.
“Ow,” she said, hand to her face, trying to focus. Her vision went a little blurry from the impact.
“Fuck, shit. I didn’t mean to hit you.”
“You shouldn’t have been fighting,” she said. “I want to go home. It’s not up for discussion, nor does it need to be some kind of fighting contest.”