“I’ll call our mortuary to come and collect him. There’s a process that needs to happen since he was a King. There are—rituals—” Bishop chokes on his words. “Fuck!” he roars, spinning around and breathing heavily, his shoulders rising and falling. “This isn’t your fault, B,” Brantley says. “The little shit is always quick to save the people he loves. He never thinks before he does anything, much less that.”
