Page 8 of Hexbound
Bishop held up his wrist, with a matching manacle attached to it. "You can't leave the room, despite your skills."
"You cock-broking bawd-monger! Get it off me. Now!"
Eyebrows rose throughout the room. Verity had her hands up in front of her, somewhat defensively. She lowered them, though she still felt somewhat backed into a corner, like a wild animal. She hadn't wanted this; any of it. Murphy had pushed her into the theft and there'd been little choice but to go along with it. Now that it had blown up in their faces, she wanted out.
"No," Bishop replied, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He didn't smile, but looked faintly pleased with himself.
"I'm sorry," she blurted. "I didn't want anything to do with this. I... I work on commission." Better than mentioning Murphy or the One-Eyed Crows. "This wasn't my choice."
"Choice or not, Miss Hawkins, your actions have caused a considerable amount of danger to the Order, and to the rest of London. Do you understand what this means?" the Prime asked gently. "You stole a dangerous relic that could set entire graveyards walking among the streets should a necromancer with the right skillset get his hands upon it. And that's the least of my concerns with what it might be used for. I would be within my rights to demand your head for this, and the Queen herself would see you hang."
"What's stopping you?" For something was, she realized. "That's what the Order does, doesn't it? Crush the weak? Execute those who don't fit their fancy mold? Not everyone wants to be on a leash and chain,my lord. Just because I have occult ability and don't ascribe to your practices doesn't mean you can grind me beneath your heel."
The Prime considered her. "You have a very curious idea of what it means to belong to the Order. No," the Prime mused. "No. I have a better idea. I need to know who commissioned the theft, and I need to get the Chalice back." His silver gaze pierced her right through. "You tracked the item with your powers—and don't try and pretend otherwise—and you're the only one who knows who you gave that relic to. Earn your reprieve, Miss Hawkins, and I will protect you. From the rest of the Order, from whatever you're scared of, from the men who wanted you dead."
"You want me to fetch the Chalice back?" Disbelief strained her voice. Despite the fuzziness in her head whenever she thought of the man who'd commissioned this theft—and her anger that he'd tampered with her memories in the first place—she still couldn't escape that eerie sense of danger whenever she thought of him.
It was a sensation that had stopped her from making deadly mistakes in the past. Sometimes she even wondered if it was a hint of precognition that she'd never learned to train. "Are you barmy?" Verity breathed out a humorless laugh. "I can point you in the right direction, but if this"—she gestured to her bandages—"is any indication of their intentions toward me, then thank you, but no."
The Prime crossed his arms over his chest in a gesture somewhat reminiscent of his son. "They know where you are, Miss Hawkins, and they know who you came to. What are your alternatives? Escape? To where? They obviously know who you are and what you do—that's how they came to you in the first place. Do you truly believe that they cannot find you again? Do you not have family that might be at home, who these people might go after?"
The words crawled inside her stomach. Murphy's face flashed to mind, pleasantly cheerful as he cuffed the back of her head and leaned close."Someone wants to meet you, pet, and I wants you to be nice to them. They've got a little job to do, and they're offering enough blunt to help you keep young Mercy with a roof over her head, eh?"
The threat to Mercy had forced her to meet with them.
She'd been thinking about this all wrongly.
If she didn't sort this out, Mercy might be in danger. Heat drained out of her face. Who knew what these people would do to her friends? If they couldn't find her, then maybe they'd go after the One-Eyed Crows to get their hands on her?
"Adrian will protect you," the Prime continued, though Bishop looked about as pleased with this suggestion as she felt. "And if you help get the Chalice back then I shall acquit you of all charges against the Order. Think wisely about your decision, Miss Hawkins, as the Order could be the best ally you have right now, and the only ones who might be able to stop these people before they do worse. We both have similar aims."
She knew he was manipulating her, but it all made too much sense, damn him.
Murphy would have her head if she agreed to this, but what choice did she have? Murphy might protect Mercy, but were the Crows strong enough to deal with these people? She might not be able to remember who'd commissioned the theft, but she remembered everything afterwards, including the fact that the men who'd jumped her were dangerous, and powerful sorcerers.
Verity met the Prime's eye grimly. "I'm not agreeing to anything else until we have a deal signed in blood."
"Signed in blood?" The Prime arched a brow.
He might as well have said, "how primitive." But that was how Verity had grown up, cutting deals in Seven Dials among curse workers and exiled sorcerers. Some sorcerers there could do blood magic, so an oath signed in blood was bindingly legal unless one wanted to experience the worst kind of backlash a broken oath could cause.
She tipped her chin up. "I'll work for you to find this Chalice, but in return, you clear all charges and protect me from the people who stole it."
The Prime considered her then held out his hand to Bishop for a knife. "We have a deal, Miss Hawkins."
The second thePrime had gone, Bishop turned to her. "Let's make one thing entirely clear. I don't trust you. But I will protect you, if you do your part of this deal. However, if you think for one second that I will let you hurt him in some way, then you and I will be enemies." He brushed past her, heading for the door. "Trust me, Miss Hawkins. You don't want to be my enemy."
She was used to dangerous men and threats. Her entire life seemed to be filled with them. And Adrian Bishop, for all his smoldering stares, owned some sense of morality. Not like Murphy, or Daniel Guthrie. She could use that. She just needed to get under his skin a little, and judging from their encounter the night of the theft, it wouldn't be difficult.
Bishop lived like a monk; that didn't mean that he had the same appetites as one.
"You care for your father." It surprised her a little.
Bishop paused in the doorway. "Of course I do. And you would be wise to keep that little tidbit to yourself."
"Not common knowledge?" She arched a brow. "Is he ashamed of you?"
Those sensual lips thinned. "Drake is ashamed of nothing. It was my idea to keep the connection between us quiet, so that nobody would suspect he has a Sicarii assassin on hand."
