The incessant pounding on the front door rattled the hinges, causing my temper to reach new heights. I was finally getting somewhere with my guys. We were open, talking, figuring out our places… and now, some wack-a-doodle wanted to interrupt.
Fuck him and the horse he rode in on.
I rolled my eyes, grabbing the closest shirt, which happened to be Dimitri's, and yanked it over my head. "It's like people don't value their lives anymore," I muttered, stomping down the stairs and toward the front door before any of the guys could catch up.
Even Tank was a few steps behind, which I was sure was frustrating to him.
When I flung the door open, Bishop was already mid-knock, looking like death incarnate with soot on his face, blood on his boots, and that familiar demon glint in his eyes. A dozen people trailed behind him, nervously waiting at the base of the steps like he was Moses about to part the Bayou.
