30. Camilla
My first taste of freedom is a walk up and down a hallway and around a living area. And what’s sad? I’m excited about it.
My eyes dart around every room we pass, taking in every detail I can think to catalog, but I’m overwhelmed. After being locked in the same room for a week, everything feels so much bigger.
Bishop stands at my side, pretending he’s not watching every step I take to make sure I’m not going to fall. I don’t know how to tell him that if I was going to fall, I would have done it already. The first few steps were shaky, but now that we have a bit of a rhythm going, my body is feeling better than it has in days.
The bruises are finally fading, but that doesn’t mean I don’t spend every morning before my shower staring at the mess those assholes made of my body. My ribs are still black and blue, and each day I have to wear this stupid cast, the more annoyed I get. If I have to watch Bishop wrap a garbage bag around my arm one more time so I can shower, I’m probably going to lose it.
“You doing okay, love?” Bishop’s voice filters through my own thoughts, and I glance up to meet his intense gaze. “We can go back to your room if you’d like?”
I shake my head and keep walking. This is our third lap, and I am beginning to get tired. Breathing hurts when you have a bunch of broken ribs, and while I don’t want to admit it, I probably will need to take a break soon. I’m just not sure how long it will be before they let me out of my glorified prison cell.
“Cami, don’t push yourself if you’re not ready.” He reaches out and takes my elbow in a gentle grasp to stop me in my tracks.
I stare down at his hand on my skin, the warmth flowing over me at our closeness. As a rule, Bishop doesn’t touch me. Kovu, absolutely. He uses just about any excuse to have his hands on me, and I’m not ready to consider what that means. But Bishop will only touch me if necessary, and no matter which way you look at it, this isn’t.
“I’m fine,” I tell him as I try to pull out of his grasp, only to find myself pulled back against his body. Well, that didn’t go as planned.
His hard body is stifling as he holds me close, and I’m too dumbstruck to pull away. I have next to no experience with members of the opposite sex. I never had the time to date between school and learning the business, and all the boys my age weren’t enticing. Their immaturity always ground on my nerves, even when all my friends were falling head over heels for whatever dumb jock was most popular that week.
But this isn’t a teenage boy. No, that’s definitely not the word I would use to describe Bishop or any of the members of the Legion. Each one of them is more devastatingly handsome than the last, and every single one of them should scare the shit out of me. But they don’t. Even Kaos and his gruff demeanor doesn’t worry me. If anything, I get a bit of a kick out of riling him up.
Perhaps my boredom is warping my sense of self preservation.
“You don’t need to lie to me, love. If you’re tired, we can go back and sit for a while and then come out for another walk.” he offers. “Rogers mentioned you should be going for at least three of these walks per day.”
I worry my lip between my teeth, trying to decide what to do. I don’t think I can go back into that bedroom just yet. I’m not ready to be stuck in those same four walls again. It’s making me stir crazy, but the pain is beginning to get the best of me.
Bishop’s gaze is locked on my lips, his pupils dilating as he watches me nibble at my bottom lip, and my breath stutters in my lungs.
Like I said, no experience with men.
“Could we maybe sit in the living room?” I ask quietly. “I mean, if you need to go and do some work, I understand?—”
He cuts me off with a smile as his fingers grasp my chin and bring my eyes up to meet his. “I can work wherever I need to, love. Perks of being the boss.”
“I thought Crew was the boss.” I raise a brow at him.
He chuckles and wraps an arm around my shoulders as he steers us back toward the living area. “He wishes.”
His touch is oddly comforting, and I try to think back to the last time I felt at ease when someone touched me. Years probably. My father was never much for physical contact, I can’t imagine many Mafia bosses are, and Chloe always kept me at arm’s length in that regard. I don’t know that she meant to, or if it was just instinctive for her.
I never had the time for boys, only having had my first kiss on my sixteenth birthday. Jeremy had had a crush on me for a year, and I always turned down his advances until that party. I started the evening by killing a man for stealing from us, and I felt so out of control. So guilty, that when he approached me later in the night, I allowed him to kiss me. It was okay, but then I had nothing to compare it to so for all I know I had the world’s worst first kiss.
And yet, when these men touch me, my body comes to life in a way it never has before.
I shake off the unwelcome thought as I’m guided into the living room. Bishop helps me lower into an armchair in the corner, and I’m immediately engulfed in soft fabric and the mingled scent of them.
“You good, love?” His brows tug together.
“I’m fine.” I roll my eyes at the concern. It’s nice to have someone worry about me in a way outside of obligation like the staff at my father’s mansion. When I fell off my bike and skinned my knee, they were concerned because they had to be, not because they cared. And my father didn’t believe in showing weakness, so anytime I did, I would be dragged over the coals for it.
His eyes flare with something akin to heat as he crouches in front of me and grasps my chin between his fingers. At least the bruising on my face is starting to fade, even if the rest of my body shows all the proof of the beating Charles’s men gave me. “You might want to wrangle the sass, love. Our patience isn’t infinite, and you’re only going to be protected by your injuries for so long.”
My mouth pops open in surprise, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t find a response.
He chuckles. “I think I like rendering you speechless, Camilla.”
I glare at him under my thick lashes, but he looks nothing but amused as his eyes move over my face and indecision fills his eyes.
The longer I’m surrounded by these men, the more confused I am about what I’m doing here. Why haven’t they handed me over yet? And if it’s because I need to take my place as the head of the De Marco family, why haven’t they taken me to my uncle to finish recuperating?
I’m about to ask the question when Bishop shoves himself to his feet and collapses into the three-seater beside me, his phone already in his hand.
I sigh and lean my head back against the soft cushion.
I need a plan.