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

  “This is out of my comfort zone,” Schwartz reveals with a hiss as Six-Pack knocks on the window. Ignoring the interruption, his grip tightens around the steering wheel. “I’ve never had a kid’s future riding on me.”

  Swallowing, I try to find the words. We’ve all be thrown into this situation and I’m not sure there is a right or wrong way to feel. Just the way I don’t want to be responsible for causing Connor any more pain, neither does Schwartz. His outburst doesn’t make him a bad guy, it makes him human.

  “What if I can’t get him off? What happens to the boy? I’ve been questioning everything lately, and that’s not my style. I’ve got dozens of cases that need my attention and yet I’m totally consumed by this one. For fuck’s sake, I’m teaming up with a bunch of bikers and sending my paralegal into God knows what.”

  “It’s going to be fine,” I assure him. “Let’s get through this and then we’ll figure out the rest.”

  Six-Pack knocks again and this time Schwartz drags in a deep breath before opening his door. He glances over his shoulder at me.

  “You ready?”

  “Yes,” I say softly.

  “Let’s go.”

  I grab the gift bag and climb out of the truck. Rounding the front, I join Schwartz and Six-Pack at the curb.

  “Charlotte,” Six-Pack calls and I quickly lift my gaze to him. Unlike me and my boss, the biker appears cool, calm and collected.

  “Tell me again,” I begin, closing my eyes as I take a deep breath. “What do I do?” The question comes as a whisper and I look to him for guidance.

  “Just be yourself,” he replies, voice calm and his eyes steady. “Introduce yourself to Connor and let him know you’re friends with his dad. Make sure he knows we’re here to keep him safe. If all goes well, and he’s receptive, we’ll come in and take it from there.”

  Taking a deep breath, I nod and glance quickly at Schwartz. Staring at me intently he shoves his hands inside his pockets and leans close.

  “He’s six,” he whispers against my ear. “His favorite color is green, and he loves the hulk. You got this.”

  I don’t know what it is about those words, but they bring tears to my eyes and an unexpected sense of assurance. However, my conflicted emotions quickly take a backseat as Six-Pack opens the gate and leads me down the walkway, to the house. Schwartz trails right behind, along with the rest of the club, but as soon we reach the steps, he walks around us and is the first to greet the Clemins. Everyone is quiet as he introduces himself as Connor’s father’s attorney. He then motions to Six-Pack and finally, me. I force a smile when really all I want to do is throw up. Mrs. Clemins smiles warmly, and I instantly breathe a sigh of relief. Not for me, but for Connor and Bishop, you see, you can tell a lot about a person by their smile. The woman doesn’t fake it. She smiles from her heart. She’s a woman of good intentions and that’s what Connor needs right now.

  “Connor is expecting visitors,” she reveals. “However, I must warn you. He’s very shy and maybe it’s because of the situation, but he’s not very forthcoming.”

  She leads us into the house, to a small living room where a little boy sits on the floor. He’s been a name, a child in a photograph, Bishop’s son, a case and sadly the victim. But here and now, he’s real. He’s an innocent boy made of flesh and bone, coloring on the floor of a home that isn’t his, surrounded by strangers. My breath catches. He doesn’t even have to lift his head for my heart to skip a beat.

  Everyone pours into the room, but Connor doesn’t acknowledge anyone’s presence. He just sits there with his green crayon and colors, completely ignoring us.

  “Connor?” Mrs. Clemins calls.

  Again, no response. I take another step closer and I glance at the sheet of paper he’s coloring and realize he’s drawn a bunch of snowflakes. I mentally add snowflakes to his list of likes as Mrs. Clemins comes to stand next to me, focusing solely on Connor.

  “Connor, can you put the crayons down for a minute? There are some people who came to meet you.”

  He drops the crayon and slowly lifts his chin. When his eyes come into view, I hold back a gasp.

  He’s got his father’s eyes.

  Beautifully blue and tragically tormented.

  So sad.

  His gaze wanders to the men behind me and he inches backward.

  Schwartz looks to me, raising an eyebrow, but I freeze at the fear and heartbreak conveyed in the boy’s ocean blue eyes. Clearing his throat, Schwartz steps forward and crouches before him, offering Connor a smile.

  “Hi Connor, my name is David and the pretty girl behind me is Charlotte. We’re friends of your dad.”

  Connor’s blue eyes spark to life at the mention of his father and his gaze shoots between me and Schwartz. Under his scrutiny, my fingers close around the handle of the gift bag and I remember its contents. I would never have bought the costume if Bishop hadn’t mentioned Connor was a fan of the Hulk. That piece of truth hits me hard and I suddenly figure a way to proceed.

  “That’s right,” I say hoarsely as I follow Schwartz and kneel before Connor. “It’s nice to meet you, Connor. Your dad has told us so much about you.”

  He doesn’t say a word, so I gently lay the present in front of him.

  “Your dad asked me to give that to you,” I murmur softly, feeling the weight of Schwartz’s stare.

  If we weren’t in front of Connor, I’m sure he’d have a few choice words for the lie I’ve just told but given the situation he doesn’t. I remain focused on Connor, watching as he sheepishly toys with the handle of the gift bag. It makes me wonder if he’s ever experienced a Christmas like I have as a child. Did he tear through the wrapping paper with glee and discover the magic of Santa Claus?

  God, I hope so.

  “Aren’t you curious to see what’s inside?” I ask.

  Ever so slowly, he lifts his gaze to mine and my heart splinters inside my chest when I spot the tears welling in his eyes. Swallowing, I scramble to find a way to comfort him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” I whisper, covering his hand with mine. It’s a knee-jerk reaction and I regret it instantly, fearing I’ve invaded his personal space. To my surprise, he doesn’t flinch, though. He doesn’t push me away either, he simply looks at my hand and sniffles.

  “Connor?” I call.

  His gaze snaps back to mine and his lower lip quivers as he fights to hold back the tears.

  “Where is he?”

  I pause for a beat, unsure how to respond. I don’t know if he’s aware his father is in jail and if he isn’t, I don’t feel comfortable being the one who reveals that truth to him. I also don’t want to lie to the boy. I mean, after all, I’m here to gain his trust. I turn to Schwartz for some guidance, but he doesn’t look at me. He keeps his jaw set and his eyes pinned to the furthest wall in the room.

  “I’m going to leave you two to talk,” my boss mutters, diverting his attention to his shoes. “I’ll be over there with…uh…Six-Pack.”

  I go to object, but he’s up in a flash.

  “Well?” Connor questions, wiping his cheeks with his chubby hands. “He told me everything was going to be okay,” he cries.

  I didn’t plan for tears.

  Why didn’t I plan for tears?

  “He got a job, he said it! I heard him and he said he was going to get a lawyer but then I didn’t see him anymore. They took me away from Uncle Pete’s house and now I’m here,” he sobs, angrily pushing the gift bag towards me. “I don’t want this. I want my dad.”

  I repeat those words over in my head, trying to make sense of them. There was no employer on file, so this job was either a lie he made up to his son or a fairly new development. Let’s go with the latter and add the promise of a new lawyer. What if Bishop robbed that house to retain legal counsel? What if he was really trying to get his son back? What if the home invasion was a desperate attempt to help Connor? If that’s true, Bishop may be more like my father than I figured.

  Snapping out of my
trance-like state, I meet Connor’s angry gaze.

  “Your dad wants to be with you so badly and I swear to you, he’s doing everything in his power to make sure that happens.” I pause, taking a breath. “I know it’s a lot for you to understand but we’re all trying—me, David and all those men behind me are here because we’re trying to help your dad get back to you.”

  He lifts his eyes to look over my shoulder.

  “They look scary.”

  I shake my head, wiping my own tears from my cheeks

  “Oh, baby, I promise you they’re not.”

  “Are they friends with my dad too?”

  “Yes,” I reply with a nod.

  Six-Pack takes that as his cue to introduce himself to Connor and I watch in awe as the big badass biker gets down on the floor next to the boy. He smiles at him and with an ease I didn’t imagine possible, he strikes up a conversation, telling him about his Harley and how he started riding. Connor doesn’t say much, but he listens. Six-Pack goes on to point out every patch on his leather vest and takes his time explaining what each one means. Once he’s finished identifying the ones on the front of the kutte, he shrugs it off his shoulders and turns it around, pointing to the large center patch.

  “Can you read what that says?” Six-Pack asks him.

  The room goes completely silent as Connor lowers his finger to the kutte and sounds out each word.

  Bick..”

  “Bikers,” Six-Pack corrects.

  “Agg…”

  “Against.”

  “Child,” Connor reads easily.

  “That’s good,” Six-Pack praises. “How about that last word?”

  Connor bites his lip as he stares at that last word. He starts to sound it out and this time Six-Pack doesn’t jump to help him. He lets him get it all on his own and when he finally does, he lifts his eyes to Six-Pack.

  If I live to be a hundred, I’m sure I will never forget this moment.

  “Bikers Against Child Abuse,” Conner whispers.

  “That’s right, son,” Six-Pack replies in a gentle tone. “Charlotte told you we’re friends of your dad and while that’s correct, we also came here to ask if you’d like to be part of our club?”

  The vice president appears next to Six-Pack, a man by the name of Easy and in his hands, he holds a tiny leather vest similar to his own and a teddy bear.

  “Do I get a motorcycle too?”

  Six-Pack laughs.

  “How’s about you get a driver’s license first, then we’ll work on getting you a Harley.”

  The little boy’s eyes widen, and I swear there’s a smile playing on his lips. As the rest of the club files into the room to join Six-Pack and Easy, I excuse myself. Mostly to give them time to get acquainted, partly to cry. I turn my back to the living room and let the tears stream down my cheeks. Schwartz comes to stand next to me and I lift my head. He shoves his hands into his pockets and stares at me for a moment.

  “Take the day tomorrow,” he says hoarsely.

  “Why?”

  “We all need a mental health day every once and a while,” he replies, glancing over my shoulder at Connor and the club. “And since I can’t take one, I’m giving it to you,” he adds, diverting his eyes to me again. “You did good, Charlotte. You did real good.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” I argue, wiping my eyes before turning around to look at Connor.

  Except witness something beautiful.

  Something as simple as a sliver of happiness on a sad boy’s face.

  “You call yourself a miracle worker,” I continue, keeping my focus on the scene in front of me. Six-Pack fits the vest to Connor, and he tousles the boy’s wavy hair. “You need to do whatever it takes to get that boy back with his father.”

  “I’m going to,” Schwartz swears hoarsely. The tone of his voice causes me to turn my head slightly. With his hands in his pockets, he stares at Connor. “Every kid deserves to know they’re loved, Charlotte. Especially that boy right there.”

  -Thirteen-

  Bishop

  Past

  “You’re becoming quite popular these days,” Foley comments as he leads me into the visitor’s room. I don’t have a chance to reply because as soon as I step inside the room, I spot Charlotte sitting at a table. She doesn’t see me at first which gives me a minute to drink her in. Her wild hair is pushed away from her face and piled high on top of her head in a messy bun. I let my gaze wander lower and to my surprise her glasses aren’t perched on her nose. Silently, I will her to lift her head so I can look into those pretty hazel eyes, but she doesn’t oblige.

  Like a magnet, she pulls me in, and I leave Foley at the door as I make my way towards her. The closer I get, the more I take. Her glasses aren’t the only thing missing. She’s not wearing one of those stiff suits. In fact, she’s dressed casually. Another surprise and as I stare at her tits, I decide it’s a welcome one. Betty Boop’s mug never looked so inviting as it does stretched across Charlotte’s double d’s.

  With an ass to die for and a rack made for sinning, Schwartz’s paralegal might just be my undoing.

  She lifts her head and I regretfully tear my eyes away from her tits. Caught red-handed, I watch as she tugs at the thin cotton threads clinging to her chest. Her cheeks flame a pretty shade of red too and I feel all the blood rush south. I don’t apologize or pretend that I wasn’t looking. She’s fueling every dark desire and when the lights go down low, it’s her flushed face I’ll picture.

  She’s everything I thought I stopped wanting.

  Everything I can never have.

  Still, I like to torture myself and Charlotte here, doesn’t seem to mind screwing with me either.

  A toxic combination and yet, oh so fucking fitting.

  Pulling out the chair, I drop my ass against the metal and lean my elbows on the table. I don’t know why she’s here and for a split second I don’t care. That’s right call me a selfish cunt, I won’t argue. But all I want…all I need is one fucking second. In that brief pause I let myself imagine she’s here just for me, that she sees more than a fucking inmate number. More than a beat down criminal who destroys everything he touches. For just one fucking second, I pretend I’m a man sitting in front a beautiful woman, hoping he’s enough. A man who wants to be more than what he’s allowed himself to be.

  “Peaches,” I murmur. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

  Something flashes in those eyes of hers and they turn a deeper shade of green as she stares at me. They’re fascinating and make the fantasy of her sweeter. A man can die happy staring into those eyes while he’s buried deep inside her body. It’s the closest to Heaven, I’ll ever get and I’m okay with that.

  “You robbed the house to pay for an attorney, didn’t you?” she asks, her words a broken whisper.

  All I wanted was a second…I guess that’s what I got.

  “Answer me, Bishop,” she pleads.

  I’ve never had a problem admitting my crimes. In fact, there used to be a time when I ran around the streets bragging about every fucking thing I did. I thought the crime validated the man but sitting here, knowing what I know now, the crime breaks the man. It’s a hard pill to swallow and not easy to admit. I bide my time, avoiding the question as I lift my short sleeve and tear my eyes away from Charlotte. My fingers subconsciously trace the snowflakes inked there and I recall how proud I felt sitting in that chair as the needle poked my skin. It’s amazing how badly things went downhill from there.

  Suddenly her hand covers mine and she pushes it away. My gaze slices to her pretty face, but she pays me no mind, too focused on the tattoo. I close my eyes as her fingers gently repeat the motion of mine, racing every angle and every line my son cut.

  “No touching,” a guard passing by grunts.

  My eyes shoot open at the sound of his voice and I wait for Charlotte to pull her hand away, but she doesn’t. Disobeying the order, she continues to trace the snowflakes until she’s gone over every line. Her eyes finally meet mine
and this time, she drops her. Her movements quick and jerky, like she’s been burned.

  “He drew these didn’t he?”

  One question strips me of every defense and I suddenly feel raw and on display. I shake my head, unable to find my voice.

  “Don’t lie to me, Bishop.”

  “He didn’t draw them,” I grind out, roughly lowering my sleeve. “He cut them out of construction paper with Shay during one of my supervised visits.”

  “He was drawing snowflakes yesterday,” she replies softly and that forces my eyes back to hers.

  “You saw Connor?” I already know the answer and my gut clenches.

  Instead of wondering how Charlotte’s cunt might feel squeezing my dick, I should’ve been concerned about the meeting. I should’ve fucking called the office to speak with her first thing after I opened my fucking eyes. That’s what happens when you’re a selfish prick. Nothing matters but you and yours. It’s how I got in this fucking mess and it’s probably how I’ll fucking die.

  “The intervention was yesterday,” she informs. “Schwartz doesn’t know I’m here. He told me to take the day off because…well ...it was a lot. Yesterday was a lot.”

  I drop my head into my hands hoping to hide the shame, but it doesn’t quell the guilt. That shit rips me apart.

  “He looks like you,” she whispers. “His eyes—”

  “Stop,” I demand, cutting her off. “I…”

  “Tell me why you robbed the house, Bishop,” she presses.

  Pretty and pushy.

  Another toxic combination for me.

  Dropping my hands, I peer back at her.

  “You saw him, yeah? You looked into his eyes, right? Then you know why I fucking robbed the house, Peaches,” I sneer, clenching my jaw. I expect her to cower with fear, to morph into that scared little bird she was the day I first laid eyes on her, but she remains completely unaffected by my antics. She slides her hand across the table and pulls it back to reveal a photograph. I stare at the piece of paper for a moment.