55. Bishop
Irub my hand down my face as I perch on the edge of Camilla’s bed.
It’s the middle of the fucking night, and there’s nothing I want more than to curl myself around my woman and get some much-needed rest. But that’s not an option.
It’s been four days since I took Camilla out for ice cream and four days since Crew barked orders at me to make sure Davenport doesn’t know she’s alive.
Which meant while everyone else was sleeping soundly, I was following the asshole around the city, tracking every move he makes for any sign he knows.
So far, there’s been nothing. His routine is the same as it always is.
From ten to one, he’s at his strip club, and most of that time is spent sitting in his private booth in the center of the room with desperate women pawing all over him.
Between one and three, he’s doing rounds of his corners. Checking his men are where they’re meant to be and that no one else is encroaching on his territory.
And between three and six, he visits his various other businesses and clubs around the city. Every night club I have to step foot in makes my fucking skin crawl, but maybe that’s because I know there’s somewhere I would kill to be instead of following him.
I spend my days sleeping in Camilla’s bed, sometimes coaxing her to have a nap with me, and other times alone while one of the others takes her to another part of the complex.
I fucking hate it. But this is my fault, and I have to deal with the consequences of my actions.
We have our tech guy trying to retrieve information from the phone the guy Camilla killed had on him, but it’s so encrypted that even our best can’t crack it. Which is a problem.
The more time that passes where we think Davenport knows where she is but can’t confirm it, the more time he has to plot his next moves.
I called Noah the day after it happened to keep his ear to the ground and let me know if Davenport calls any meetings of the five families, but so far there’s been radio silence, and I don’t like it.
I don’t like any of it.
I shove myself up and stalk across the room to where my suit is hanging. Camilla must have brought it in for me when she crawled into bed and curled up against me an hour ago, but the others are noticeably absent.
I dress quickly and press a kiss to Camilla’s forehead, but all too soon, I’m on my way to the garage.
As soon as I slip into the soft leather seats of my Bentley, I shoot a text into the group chat and start the engine.
Bishop: On my way out. One of you needs to stay with Cami.
Kaos: Why?
Kovu: She’s been having nightmares. It seems like having one of us close keeps them at bay.
Crew: Why the fuck didn’t you tell us she’s having nightmares?
I rub my hand down my face and sigh. You’d think we’ve never been in the same fucking room as a woman the way we carry on some days.
Bishop: Because we’re the ones that normally stay with her overnight. Didn’t seem relevant.
Kaos: Anything about the princess is relevant.
Kovu: Don’t pretend to give a shit about her now just because you tasted how fucking sweet she is.
Crew: Enough.
Crew: In the future, anything about Camilla needs to be communicated. I don’t give a fuck if she just has a headache, we all need to know about it.
Bishop: *Thumbs-up emoji*
Not waiting for their responses, I peel out of the garage and toward Sally’s. A terrible name for a strip club, but it’s one of the busiest in the city, so I suppose I’m the only one who has an issue with it.
I rub my tired eyes and flick my gaze to my phone.
Four in the morning.
Fuck. Every night I do this feels longer than the last, but tonight feels especially painful.
I’m camped outside one of Davenport’s nightclubs, watching the comings and goings as drunk partygoers stumble out the front door.
How many nights am I going to do this?
It’s not like I’m getting any information. I’m no closer to finding out if Davenport knows Camilla is with us than I was when Crew gave me this ridiculous assignment, and I don’t know how many more nights I can spend in a different car so my constant presence isn’t noticed.
A man catches my eye as he moves toward Davenport’s black SUV. He doesn’t have his driver tonight, which I thought was strange initially, but he hasn’t deviated from his usual routine, so I guess it’s just the poor guy’s night off or something.
The man moves in the shadows, a black hood over his head as he approaches, never lifting his head as he goes.
“What are you doing?” I murmur to myself, picking up my gun from the seat beside me.
He makes quick work of breaking into the car, and before I realize I’m doing it, I throw open the door and close the distance between myself and the man. I don’t give a fuck about what he’s doing, but if he’s already broken in, it’s a good excuse to install a listening device.
I watch from the shadows behind a dumpster as the man rummages around in the center console before he curses and throws the door closed before stalking off.
What the fuck was that about?
I send a quick text to our tech guy, asking him to pull the security footage from the area for me to review when I return to the complex, before moving toward the car myself.
I wouldn’t normally do this kind of thing in a three-piece suit and two-thousand-dollar shoes, but when I got dressed, I didn’t think this was how my night would play out. I’ve been toying with the idea of stealing Davenport’s phone to install a listening device, but it’s too risky to get that close to him. The car is a good alternative, although not one I would have considered if it hadn’t already been broken into.
I make quick work of slipping the device into the lining beneath the passenger seat before stalking off in the opposite direction of my car.
By the time I’ve done a lap of the block, Davenport is climbing into the driver’s seat of the car with his phone in his hand.
When I finally make it back to the complex, my eyes are heavy, and I’m six coffees deep. Not that any of them did anything to ease the fatigue, but it was worth a try.
I yawn as I climb from the car and move through the heavy doors and toward Camilla’s room. I need to debrief my dad, but I need to see her first. I need the reminder of why I’m doing this. To keep her safe. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to do that.
When I open the door, I’m surprised to find Kaos wrapped around her like a boa constrictor, his body swamping hers with only her wild brown hair visible against the pillows.
Crew is asleep in the armchair I spent the first week she was here in, and a small smile tips up the corners of my lips.
Maybe my absence has been good for something.