Page 139 of Bishop's Queen

Gasping, she couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t understand why the agony wouldn’t plateau. Ella pinched her eyes closed.

“Look at me, babe,” Bishop said, attempting again to get her attention.

Shaking, she sought his green eyes once more. Those were always her lighthouse. “Trying.”

“Jay’s here somewhere.”

A layer of panic fell over her, smothering her in disbelief. “What?”

“He was in the green room. This bracelet, whatever’s on it, he has something to do with it.”

She recoiled. “No.”

“Think. What is it?” Bishop growled over her shoulder. “Back up. Give the girl some room.”

“Jay wouldn’t… Could he?” Pain engulfed her thoughts. “I’m not allergic to anything.”

“I know, babe. This is… corrosive,” Bishop whispered. “This shit’s locked on you. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He brought his arm to his mouth. “Parker, what’s the ETA on someone to cut through metal? Med tech won’t be able to deal with this.”

Locked on her… almost like a leash, a collar. Almost like…Oh God.“I have…”

“You havewhat?” Bishop paused from the conversation happening in his earpiece. “Ella?”

She closed her eyes. “I don’t remember where…” But she couldn’t forget the slave bracelets that she had seen years ago, a continent away. She hadn’t known things like that existed—burning bracelets attached to wire, leashed so that slave laborers remained locked overnight, so they wouldn’t struggle or try to escape. The more they moved, the more the liquid would rub and seep.

Jay had been by her side.

***

“Can you move farther back please?” a woman clipped at them. “It’s been a solid two minutes. There are other places to have this problem.”

Bishop thought of a thousand ways he could explain how they weren’t going anywhere, but truth was, he wanted off backstage and out of New York City so bad that he couldn’t stand it. “You good to stand up, El?”

And if not, he could carry her.

She nodded, sweating in pain. “Yes.”

“Ten seconds until we’re live again,” a man said, walking behind stage. “Ten seconds.”

Music cued. LIVE boxes lit again.

Bishop watched famous people onstage do what they do best, walk. And—damn it!Jay strolled up to the middle of the stage.

Bishop gaped. “Holy. Fuck.”

“What’s this?” The woman next to him asked, along with about half a dozen other people, who apparently were all tuning into whatever was coming into their headsets.

Security rushed onto stage and—stopped.

“Wait. Why are they stopping?” Bishop turned to the woman, stunned.

“This is great TV,” she said, eyes wide. “Guys upstairs are going to let it go to see what this guy does. We’re on five-second delay if he does something whacked.”

“That’s Jay Graff. Heisgoing to do something whacked.”

She shrugged. “Don’t know the name.”

“FBI knows the name. Tell that to the people upstairs.”

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