Breaking The Chains (Satan's Knights Prospect Trilogy) Read online

  Powering the phone off, I set it on top of the coffee table and divert my attention to the window. A faint light creeps through the slats of the blinds, alerting me it’s the dawn of a new day. A fresh start for some, but for me, it’s just a continuation of the nightmare from last night. In a little while Connor will be up, and he’ll want to know what time his dad is coming so we can go feed the penguins and I have no idea what to say to him. Bishop is right…a promise is a promise, and in this house, we don’t break our word to each other.

  Well, we don’t break our word to Connor.

  Apparently, Bishop and I, mainly him, trample over the promises we make to ourselves and the ones we make to each other.

  I shake my head and push myself off the couch. Exhaustion overcomes me but I learned the moment I was granted guardianship; sleep is a luxury one isn’t privy too when there’s a little human they’re responsible for.

  Connor has an internal alarm clock that wakes him up at seven on the dot every morning. His little body doesn’t know I’ve been awake all night or I’m sure he’d do his best to sleep in. He’s kind like that, always looking to give me what he thinks I need. It’s like he thinks I did him a favor by taking him in and he’s desperate to repay me. My only wish for him is that he realizes he’s not a favor. He’s the balm that has healed me in so many ways.

  I didn’t know I wanted children and sometimes the lines blur for me when it comes to Connor because, in such a short time, I’ve fallen in love with him. I don’t think of him as just some kid I took in while his father got his act together. The way Bishop crawled into my heart, so did his son and that terrifies me because he’s not mine and while my mind knows that, my heart refuses to accept it.

  Perhaps that’s why finding that gun destroyed me to the point where I couldn’t listen to reason. Not that there is ever a good excuse for a man on parole who is fighting for custody of his son to ever carry an illegal weapon, but I’m usually more reasonable, or at least I like to think I am. I pride myself on giving people the benefit of the doubt. I believe everyone is innocent until proven guilty. For me, those words are not just the creed of the courtroom but the mantra of my life.

  Yet, I persecuted Bishop without giving him a chance to defend himself and I think that’s partly because I’m terrified of losing him and Connor. He doesn’t know it, but I fell in love with him. I don’t know when or how, and when I try to pinpoint an exact time I can’t because, in a million stolen moments, Bishop stole my heart.

  He also stole my sanity because on the nights when he’s here, just after he tucks Connor in and is getting ready to leave, I sit with him and I see a future with him. I see the three of us together, planning and dreaming. Living and loving.

  I see us as a family and maybe someday we’ll even add to it.

  If Bishop goes back to jail, I stand to lose him and Connor, but worse than that, his son will have to go through all that heartache again. He’ll wonder why his dad isn’t here and my biggest fear is that I won’t be there to console him, that the state will rip him from my arms and throw him back into a failing system. He deserves so much, and I know Bishop sees that. I just don’t understand why he ignores it.

  Shaking my head, I take a deep breath and start down the hallway, making my way to Connor’s bedroom. The first night he came to stay with me, I stayed up the entire time. Part of me was worried he’d wake up and be scared, another part just wanted to watch over him. Bishop isn’t the only one who made promises, I made a lot too.

  I step inside the bedroom and even though my heart is breaking, my lips still curve at the sight of the little boy nestled in his bed, hugging his Hulk toy.

  Safe and sound.

  Happy and loved.

  “A promise is a promise,” I whisper.

  -Twelve-

  Charlotte

  Past

  I don’t know whether to thank Mr. Parrish for saving my job or curse him. Schwartz revoked the figurative pink slip before boarding the elevator with the pack of bikers and I’ve been swamped since. Between locating Conner in the system and gathering the information I need for Bishop’s upcoming court date; I’ve barely processed the fact I volunteered to ride with a bunch of bikers to Connor’s aide. Technically, I have nothing to worry about. It’s not like I agreed to prospect for the Satan’s Knights or something equally ridiculous. I’m simply helping a reputable organization in their quest to bring an innocent child to safety. I don’t have to don a pair of leather pants or even throw my leg over a Harley. However, after spending the last hour mulling over every article of clothing I own, I kind of wish the leather pants was a requirement.

  Figuring it was too pretentious, I decided not to wear a suit, and a skirt was totally out of the question. Casual dresses were quickly eliminated too. That left me in a pair of jeans and a fitted Henley top that I paired with a quilted bubble vest. Not sure what to do with my wild mass of curls, I tied them back in a ponytail. I grabbed the only pair of sneakers I owned, a pair of slip-on Chucks and I headed out the door. I was about to grab an Uber when my phone rang. Schwartz’s voice boomed in my ear, revealing he would be picking me up. He asked me to confirm the address I put on my new-hire form was correct and hung up, barely giving me a chance to respond.

  Now, I’m pacing the curb, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to act in a confined space with the man who is itching to fire me. Yeah, I think I’m going to go with cursing Mr. Parrish. Although, the thought of sharing a car with Schwartz has managed to quell my nerves somehow on meeting Bishop’s son, so there’s that.

  I’m starting to realize I was all too eager to volunteer myself for all of this. I mean, really who does that? It’s one thing to fight for my job, it’s another to throw myself into a little boy’s life and demand his trust. The thing that worries me most though, is failing him. What if this all backfires and I wind up being another name on the list of people who disappointed him?

  Sure, my intentions are good, but good intentions often send you careening in the wrong direction—something my dad would tell you if he was alive today.

  That’s the problem. I’ve convinced myself Bishop reminds me of my dad. I’ve even allowed myself to believe I can relate to Connor to some degree because my dad was ripped from my arms and dragged to a cell when I needed him most. I wanted to give them the reunion I always longed for but never got.

  However, digging into Bishop’s record made me realize the man is nothing like my father. My dad sacrificed his freedom for the sake of his child, Bishop threw his away for no good reason. I mean, what makes a man consciously rob someone else’s home while actively fighting for custody of his son? Was his ego that big that he thought he wouldn’t get caught or is he just a selfish man?

  The logical guess would be greed.

  I want to believe he’s reformed, that he genuinely wants to help his son, but what happens when they’re reunited? Does he go back to his criminal ways? If he gets arrested and goes to jail again, where will that leave Connor? I know it’s premature to question any of that considering he’s still in jail now.

  Maybe it’s the exhaustion that has my mind racing.

  Perhaps it’s the nerves.

  All I know for certain is, I don’t want that little boy to be the victim of any more pain.

  Not at the hand of his abuser or his father and certainly not at mine.

  Suddenly a Range Rover with tinted black windows and two pairs of ridiculously fancy rims pulls in front of my house. I don’t have to guess who the flashy ride belongs to, but I am confused as to why Schwartz is driving. I assumed he would have the company car take us to the intervention.

  Tugging my sleeves over my hands, I reach for the handle on the passenger door. The instant I open it I’m hit with that fresh new-car scent and my bosses familiar scowl.

  “What are you wearing?” he questions as I slide into the passenger seat and secure my seatbelt. I glance at my outfit then back to him. Of course he’s wearing a suit, the man probably has few
er casual clothes in his closet than I do. Still, I don’t think it would’ve killed him to look not so…well…lawyerish.

  “I thought it would be better if I appeared approachable,” I explain. He seems to contemplate my response, clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth before looking down at his tailored slacks.

  “Armani doesn’t scream child friendly does it?”

  “I doubt Conner knows what Armani is, sir.”

  Lifting his head, he turns to me and frowns.

  “Someone should’ve told me there was a dress code for this type of thing,” he hisses before diverting his eyes. Shifting gears, he puts the SUV in drive and peels away from the curb. He’s clearly annoyed, but I don’t think his foul mood is directed to me personally. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s genuinely upset, dare I say maybe even a little nervous.

  “I don’t believe there is one,” I offer as a response. “Six-Pack says I’m supposed to bridge the gap between the club and Connor. I don’t know what that means exactly, but I thought I’d be more successful if I appeared as though I was there on my own free will rather than duty.”

  “Technically, that’s not really a lie,” he says thoughtfully. “You jumped right in, offering your time and assistance without me even reinstating your position. One might argue you’re here of your own accord. A good deed if you will.”

  If we’re being technical, he didn’t follow through with the whole firing process, therefore reinstating my position wasn’t necessary. I don’t tell him any of that, though, let’s leave the semantics to the courtroom.

  “What’s in the bag?” he asks, tipping his chin to the green gift bag sitting next to my feet. I’ve been so consumed with everything running through my mind I almost forgot I bought Connor a present.

  “It’s just a little something for Connor,” I reply, silently wondering if it’s too much.

  After I hung up with Six-Pack, I made a Target run. Considering I couldn’t find a handbook on how to get a kid to like you, it seemed like the next best idea at the time. I was going to get him some candy and maybe a board game. I didn’t know if he had any kind of allergies so that nixed the whole candy thing. On my way to the game aisle, I came across a Hulk costume and paused. I had only seen the picture of Connor attached to his case file and it appeared old so I wasn’t sure of his size, but I figured he could at least wear the mask if nothing else fit.

  “You bought the kid a gift?” Schwartz questions, raising an eyebrow.

  “It’s a stupid idea, isn’t it?” I reply, drawing my lower lip between my teeth as I stare at the bag. “I just thought it would get him to warm up to me.”

  “No, it’s very nice. You gave this a lot of thought, Charlotte.”

  Hearing him call me by the correct name forces me to snap my attention toward him.

  “You called me Charlotte.”

  “It’s your name isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but you call me Cheryl.”

  “Yeah, well, if our client can remember your name, I figured it’s only fair I do too,” he says, keeping his eyes on the road ahead of him.

  “Our client…you mean Bishop.”

  “Yeah, Parrish and I paid him a visit. He knows about the intervention and that you’re helping. I don’t have any plans to meet with him until his court date gets closer, so I gave him the number to the office. I’m sure he’s going to call for an update.” He pauses for a moment. “For once he seemed grateful…”

  I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from asking any of the questions sitting on my tongue. Questions like, how the visit went or what Bishop said that encouraged Schwartz to remember my name.

  “I can’t believe I’m even saying this and if you ever repeat it, I’ll fire you for real,” he continues, giving me a warning glance before quickly turning his attention to the street in front of him. “But I think I finally understand why Blackie and Parrish are going to such great lengths to help this guy. What happened to Connor isn’t the only tragedy here. The man truly loves his son and the sad part about it is, I’m not sure the kid even knows that. That’s the other tragedy. Every kid should feel loved.”

  Trying to hide the shock of his words, I indulge in the emotion they provoke instead. David Schwartz may be a jerk most days, but he’s got a soft spot for kids and he’s right, every kid should feel loved. A lone tear falls from the corner of my eye and I turn my head to stare out the window.

  “Can I ask you something?” I ask.

  “I suppose.”

  “Why do you think he robbed that house?”

  “Why does anyone rob a house? They need money. The guy hasn’t held a job in years. His mandated child support payments were twenty-five dollars a month.”

  I’m not sure what type of answer I was hoping for but that isn’t it. Schwartz makes a turn and my eyes go wide at the sea of chrome blocking the street. There’s got to be at least two dozen motorcycles and double the number of men huddled around them. I lift my head to see where we are and spot the saloon type bar to the left and instantly remember reading an article about Jack Parrish in the paper, stating Big Nose Kate’s was also the new clubhouse of the Satan’s Knights.

  “Jesus Christ,” Schwartz hisses as the SUV rolls to a complete stop. Parrish stands on the top step of the bar and points towards the SUV.

  “I thought the Knights couldn’t come with us,” I say as Parrish and his posse make their way for us.

  “They can’t,” he mutters, stabbing his finger against the button to lower the window as Jack approaches.

  “Davey,” Parrish greets, bending his head to fit it inside the window of the truck. “Miss Charlotte, how you doin’ sweetheart?”

  Forcing a smile, I give him a nod.

  “Hi Mr. Parrish, I didn’t think you’d be joining us…”

  “What’d I tell you people about calling me, Mr. Parrish? Just call me Parrish.”

  “Or Bulldog, you can call him that too,” says the man standing next to him wearing a pair of shades. “Who’s the ferocious little kitty, Schwartz?”

  “Ignore him, he’s crazier than the crazy guy,” Schwartz mutters under his breath. My eyes instantly move to the man’s patch and I make a mental note that he goes by the name of Riggs.

  These little name tags are very helpful when getting acquainted with a bunch of bikers.

  “We’re not riding,” Parrish explains. “Six-Pack is ready to lead you guys,” he says, tipping his chin to the pack of bikes.

  I follow his line of sight and watch as the men throw their legs over their Harley’s and rev their engines. The loud thunder of the pack rattles through the street and I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t like the sound. Sure, it’s exhilarating and all that, but every time I hear a motorcycle, I’ll associate it with the sound of freedom for Connor.

  “You nervous?” Parrish questions, staring at me.

  “No,” I say quickly, keeping my eyes on the men who have dedicated their time to help Bishop’s boy. I don’t think I’ve really had a chance to process what a big deal this is. I’ve been too wrapped up in everything else to acknowledge that I’m about to witness an act of kindness in its purest form.

  “I was talking to Davey here,” Parrish says, slapping his ring covered fingers around Schwartz’s forearm. “You ready to ride, Fancy Pants?”

  Schwartz’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel as he meets Parrish’s gaze.

  “Get out of my way, Parrish, we got a boy waiting for us,” he grinds out. Parrish grins as soon as those words leave Schwartz’s lips and he peels his hand away from him.

  “You’re ready,” he announces, slapping his hand to the roof of the SUV. “Do me proud, Davey. You too Charlotte.”

  Schwartz rolls his eyes before throwing the car into drive.

  “He realizes this is a truck and not a bike, right?” I ask once he closes the window.

  “Who the fuck knows with him,” Schwartz replies.

  Once the final bike makes a U-turn
Schwartz hits the gas and starts to follow. With every block we pass I grow more anxious, all the fears I had earlier move to the forefront of my mind and everything Parrish explained is forgotten. I was foolish to think someone could prepare for this. That I could ignore the slew of emotions that come with a mission like this.

  It takes us twenty minutes before the bikes roll to a stop in front of a two-story house. Schwartz immediately puts the car in park and we both just stare at the house for a moment. It’s not in the best area of Staten Island, but it seems well-kept. There is a gate around the front yard, the leaves are piled neatly on the grass and a lone bicycle sits haphazardly next to it. After speaking with the caseworker, I used my subscription service to check out the family. This time it listed more than previous addresses and I was able to learn Connor’s foster parents have two grown daughters which makes me wonder if the bike is Connor’s. Maybe they bought it for him to make him feel more at home or maybe it was a hand me down. Either way, I try to picture the boy in the photograph riding it up and down the block.

  Six-Pack starts for the SUV and everything seems to slow. The men in leather dismount and form a line in front of the fence. Some have bandanna’s covering their heads, others have chains around their necks and silver rings on their fingers. They stand tall and proud, every one of them ready to bring the mission of their organization to life. This is Bikers Against Child Abuse and no matter what happens tonight, I will always find a way to support their cause.

  The front door opens and a couple in their mid-forties stand on the front porch as Six-Pack nears the Range Rover.

  “That must be Mr. And Mrs. Clemins,” I whisper hoarsely.

  “For the love of God, would you stop fidgeting,” Schwartz hisses. “You’re making me nervous.”

  I tear my eyes away from the couple and note my leg is bouncing up and down. It’s something I subconsciously do when I’m anxious or scared. Realizing I’m both of those things, I place my hand over my knee and attempt to still my leg.