Checkmate With Bishop: A Hellions MC Novel

by J. A. Hornbuckle

  It was after the points were scored that two sets hazel-green eyes met one another.

  “I’m out,” Bishop heard J.R. yell before his boy walked towards him, using the hem of his shirt to wipe his sweating face. And stopping before him, Bishop was surprised to see the curiosity in the youngster’s expression. “Hey, Mr. Bastian.”

  Bishop struggled to find speech. The beauty, the absolute perfection of the kid’s countenance caused a lump in his throat and Bishop swallowed in an effort to dislodge it. “Looking good out there, J.R. You like b-ball?”

  “It’s all right, I guess. Gets a guy moving at least, you know?” God. That was his grin, one that just lifted just a corner of his mouth that was plastered on J.R.’s lips. “What up?”

  “Just came to see if you and your mom would like to go to a bar-be-que.”

  J.R.’s chin dropped and he shuffled his feet before he raised his head although his eyes went just over Bishop’s shoulder. “You might want to rethink the invitation, sir. At the moment, I don’t think my mother is your number one fan.”

  Bishop took a moment to mull over that news, the unsurprising info, over. “Your mom and I have…well we’ve got some things to work out.”

  “Yeah,” J.R. breathed, reaching for the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe his face again. “I’ve overheard. And they’re all about me. So what am I supposed to call you? Dad doesn’t seem quite right but Mr. Bastian is kind of weird in light of…well, you know.”

  Bishop thought the question over since the expression on J.R.’s face was open and honest, real and true. He couldn’t imagine the toll this thing was taking on the boy. “How about Bishop? Would that work?”

  Bishop watched the kid’s shoulders shrug. “Sure.” But there wasn’t any emotion in his one word response.

  J.R. went into a crouch and begin to studiously re-tie his kicks, the large trainers he wore. A move Bishop was sure was only to give his son time, the room to think. “Can I ask you something else, sir?”

  “Always, but only if you drop the ‘sir’ shit.”

  “Why do you hate my mom so much? I mean, why’d you and your biker friends get us thrown out of the storage place and then that first hotel?”

  Bishop was so surprised by the question that he had to take a step back. “What?”

  “All you’d had to do was talk it over with her, you guys coming to some kind of agreement or something instead of making her feel like shit just for being my mom.” J.R.’s chin lifted and his face, so much like Bishop’s own, seemed almost fierce as he waited for the large man to respond. “She’s a really good person when she’s not pissed off, you know.”

  But the tall biker didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to react. “I don’t hate her, J.R.”

  The boy stood and Bishop saw his son’s head almost reached the height of Bishop’s shoulder. “It sure seems that way.”

  Bishop took a deep breath, shoving his fists into his pockets as he got an inkling of what the kid must be feeling about all the doings Bishop had put into motion. “I don’t and even though she’s got a fucking mad-on at the moment, I’m pretty convinced she doesn’t hate me either. Not really.” He turned to look behind him, his eyes going back up to the ridge of the hill where he’d seen Dory standing but it was empty. And he couldn’t find a trace of either her or Dare in the teeming mass of people that filled the flat portions of the park.

  Turning his face back to his boy, Bishop continued in an effort to explain, something he didn’t normally take the time to do in most situations. “It’s complicated between me and your mom.”

  “Because you were married before and she left?”

  “That’s probably part of it,” Bishop admitted with a shrug. “Lots of unresolved shit from when we were younger. But none of that needs to blow back on you.”

  “Shouldn’t but does.” J.R.’s jaw was firm and Bishop told himself to cool it. Their kid didn’t need to bear the brunt of what was going down.

  The young teen gave an audible sigh and raised a hand to shade his eyes. “She’s coming and, I’ve got to warn you, si…erm, I mean Bishop. She’s still sporting the mad.”

  Bishop twisted to look over his shoulder and saw J.R. was right. Dory’s face was set in lines that more than attested to her pique at having Dare dodge her heels.

  But Bishop felt he could match his Dory inch for fucking inch in being angry.

  Especially when it came to getting his way, his say, about his place in their kid’s life.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I had to admit Dare was more than pleasant when he’d met me on the trail as I’d watched Stan approach J.R. at the basketball court. But, even as nice as Dare had been in extending the offer to join both my ex-husband and my kid saying Bishop wanted to talk, still found me dragging my heels at the imperious order to join them.

  Because I should’ve been the one to offer the pre-emptive strike. It should’ve been me demanding that he join us as the first step in coming to terms with our new circumstances.

  So with my pissy attitude front and center, I stopped before Stan bracing my legs and propped my hands on my hips. “What? You couldn’t have, like, called or something first instead of sending an errand boy to get me?”

  Dare made a sound from behind as I took in the slight smile that crossed both Stan and J.R.’s faces. Something that only added fuel to the fire I had smoldering inside.

  “Didn’t know if you had your cell phone on you,” Stan said but I could tell he was lying, had always been able to tell when he played with the truth even though he hadn’t done it very often when we’d been together.

  I huffed out a breath and ran a hand over my hair as I stared at him, silently willing him to understand that he was pushing me, shoving at the limits of my patience. “So what is so freaking important that you need to see me on a national holiday? If memory serves, that’s when you were always the most needed by the club.”

  “Still am, babe,” he shot back without rancor. “Just took time out of my busy schedule to personally come to give you and our kid an invite to the club’s bar-be-que.”

  Oh yeah.

  The traditional Hellion party that marked the end of the summer much like my own party did in Casper, albeit executed in a much different fashion.

  I mentally kicked myself for not anticipating the invitation. But I had known that at some time, at some far-off place in the future, my kid was going to be on Hellion land. It was already understood even if it hadn’t been discussed.

  I’d only hoped it was to have been later.

  Much, much later.

  But it would be better if I was there, if I could be in attendance, controlling both when J.R. arrived and left. “What time do you want us there?”

  The shock on their faces at my answer was totally and completely gratifying! And at such a level that I had trouble keeping my satisfaction to myself.

  “I was thinking to take J.R. with me on the bike. You can show up around four or so.”

  Oh hell to the flat-out, freaking no!

  He wasn’t taking J.R. on his bike and to the Hellion compound all alone! “He needs a shower and to get himself presentable,” I muttered, and could feel my eyes narrowing. I didn’t know how this, the first of what were sure to be the many negotiations of how we were going to walk the skinny, thin rail of co-parenting would be completed.

  But the first point went to me as Bishop replied, “That works. Then let’s shoot for three.” He half-turned to include my boy in our conversation. “Think you can make fucking yourself ‘presentable’ by then?”

  “Absolutely, sir…erm, I mean, Bishop,” J.R. mumbled, his eyes sliding between me and his dad. Eyes that held a look of both confusion and cautiousness at all the emotions I was sure were flying around our small group. “We’ll be there by three.”

  Why did my head want to explode at the plans they’d decided between them? Something that zipped through my brain exactly ten seconds before my mind went to the clothes I’d brou
ght with me. Wondering what I had to wear to the Hellion compound for something as important as their annual family, end-of-summer blow-out.

  I could only guess that my next words were because of that quandary, my fashion dilemma as I blurted out, “Are we done here or what?”

  But Bishop knew how to handle me and the bits of sass that flashed out every now and again, both back in the day and at that particular moment.

  Dropping his voice as he took a step towards where their bikes were parked, bringing himself right up next to me, he quietly stated, “I don’t know, babe. You tell me. I seem to remember you divorcing my ass and yet…” His eyes did a slow, lengthy roam down my body. “Here you are.”

  And my heart, the body part that had taken so many hits in the last few days, recognized the man of my past may have just scored the biggest point of all with his pronouncement.

  I only wished I could’ve hated him for doing it.

  *.*.*.*.*

  “Okay, buddy,” I started, gripping the steering wheel as I maneuvered the remembered route to the Hellion compound. “Before we get there, we’ve got to talk.”

  It had been a pretty quiet hour that we’d spent getting ready. Of me trying on different combinations of tops and jeans, of which pair of heels or earrings went with each outfit while J.R. took a long, long shower. One of such length that it provided me enough time to decide on the same clothes I’d worn when my mind had settled on in trying to soften Stan up back at the Rosemont. Who cared if I’d worn that same combo while waiting for news of his condition at the hospital?

  I was on vacation, for god’s sake. No one could fault me for not having my full wardrobe at my disposal.

  Even so, I glanced down at my light blue tee, cut in a v-neck so low it almost showed my bra, displaying my girls to perfection. But there would be women at the party who would be allowing more skin to be viewed, that was for damn sure.

  And was just one of the many things I needed to warn J.R. about.

  “Okay. So talk,” my kid uttered, his chin pointed towards the passenger window and I realized I’d let more than a few seconds go by from my initial outburst.

  “The Hellions are a motorcycle club, right?” I swallowed, trying to find the right words to both inform and advise my thirteen year old about, on what may or may not happen over the course of the next few hours. “I know you like the machines but I don’t think you know about either clubs or the men that join them.”

  I heard his snort, a sound that sounded both derisive and dismissive. “And you do?”

  “Yeah J.R.,” I breathed, my fingers flexing on the steering wheel. “I honestly do.”

  “So what of them, then? Do they dance naked around a fire, calling in death threats to cops, worshiping Satan or something?” Jay-sus, the censure in my little boy-man’s voice was hard to miss.

  “No, baby,” I breathed, trying to keep my tone civil in spite of his, reminding myself it was my fault that he was confused and unaware of what might go down. “The motto of the Hellions is, ‘live free or die’. One that means that they are a law unto themselves, doing exactly what they want to do when they want to do it.”

  “And that makes them bad, right?” I felt more than saw him when he turned his face towards me.

  I swallowed deep, carefully traversing the next curve in the road as I thought how best to explain it. “Not bad, baby. Not at all. Just…uncontained. Uncontrolled, sometimes. So you might see things, experience things that might be a shock to you.”

  There was a measure of quiet and I could feel his eyes studying my face as he thought.

  “What kind of things?”

  Oh shit! He needed me to get specific? “Ah…sexy stuff. Booze and maybe some joints might be around. And then there’s the girls that tend to hang around bikers.” God! I so didn’t want to have to get into it all, about the sex and drugs which were both accompanied by the throbbing sounds of the rock and roll that were sure to be shimmering into the air that hovered over the Hellion’s acre.

  “I know about sex. And about marijuana,” my kid proclaimed proudly, forcing my shocked gaze to collide with his. “What you’re describing doesn’t sound any different than any other party I’ve been at with my friends.”

  Right.

  Sure it didn’t.

  But I knew better. Knew first hand after seeing more than one Honey giving a brother a blowjob while the man sat on a picnic table in plain view of everyone else, or of watching a girl bent over a table in the clubhouse, skirt up and panties around her knees, being taken by as many men who found her and her position of ass-to-ceiling fuckable.

  Or of the sheer amount of booze and of smoke that could mess with a Hellion’s head so much that they’d use their fists at the slightest provocation of some imagined slight even if the man they fought was their very best friend.

  Yeah.

  J.R.’s experiences might have included the childish imaginings of what he and his group considered salacious but couldn’t hold a candle to what actually went on at a Hellion party.

  No. They were nothing compared to the remembrance of me beating the shit out of Stormy, the girlfriend of my youth after I’d caught her and Stan in a lip-lock, of tongues in evidence as their mouths had collided. One that had been performed right smack-dab in front of me and the entire club during a Hellion event I couldn’t even name anymore.

  And of how I’d used her long blonde tresses to take her to ground before pining her to the driveway, using my knees to hold her arms as I punched her again and again, delighting in how that same mouth she’d used on my man, my goddamn husband, had spewed blood.

  But that had happened a long, long time ago.

  A time when I hadn’t been in control of myself or my emotions. And it was from that more adult viewpoint that I found the strength not to counter my kid’s words, not to slam Stan for all the hurt I still carried, still remembered.

  “Just be respectful,” I offered in order to reply, knowing that my words fell more than short in warning.

  “He told me to stop calling him ‘sir’,” J.R. mumbled, his voice again reflecting off the window as I turned onto the street that would see us to the Hellion driveway.

  Although my heart was still wanting to let loose from my bitch side, I pushed those feelings away. J.R. needed to make his own mind up about Stan, about the kind of man his father was. The words that finally came out of my mouth were both true and heartfelt. “I don’t have a problem with you doing what he asks.”

  And as we pulled in, following the cones that pointed back and away from where the party was already in full swing, I felt the tension my stomach increase.

  This was it.

  The time where my boy, my stalwart little man, would be exposed to the lifestyle that had so enthralled his daddy.

  And was the one that had completely and utterly shattered my marriage to a man I suspected I still hadn’t gotten over.

  Even though he pissed me off more than any person on the planet.

  *.*.*.*.*

  Bishop watched as Dory’s new model SUV carefully worked its way down the driveway, going toward the back of the yard. He excused himself from the group of men around the grill and after grabbing the pile of fabric next to him, began walking toward where she carefully parked, his heart going a mile a minute.

  It was, he knew, a momentous occasion. One which would see him formally introducing J.R. to his brothers, to the family that Bishop named as his own.

  “Hey,” J.R. said after sliding off his seat, pushing his pant legs down his long legs.

  “Hey, yourself, little man,” Bishop greeted back, unable to stop his smile at the happiness that bubbled up inside at just the view of his kid. “Dory.”

  “Stan,” she said back, but her eyes didn’t connect with his, running instead first to the tables of Honeys before sliding to the group of men by the big barrel the group had fashioned into a bar-be-que grill.

  He waited until she stood beside him, until after J.R. had closed hi
s car door before ascribing them their positions. “J.R. and I need to do the official meet and greet,” he advised. “The Honeys are already expecting you, babe.”

  There was a flare in the depths of her green orbs at his speech, one he’d anticipated as Bishop had tried to find a way to work it all out. And he realized he’d managed to get a hand up in working a power-play between them. Something that shouldn’t have been surprising in that he was on his home turf.

  “Got something for you, J.R.,” he said, handing the kid the vest he’d personally worked on that afternoon after returning from the park.

  Bishop watched as his son stared at the pile of denim before reaching out for it. At the way the kid held the vest up, staring for long moments at the back, which sported both the upper and bottom rockers that bracketed the skull in the middle of flames. The kid’s eyes, so much like his own, slammed into Bishop’s before the kid was putting on the denim, the thing that told one and all that J.R. was a part of the Missoula branch of his family and had Bishop swallowing deep. But it was the sight of the ‘Property of Bishop’ on the left breast-front that had the stinging of his eyes start.

  “Damn it, Stan,” Dory mumbled, but he didn’t even acknowledge her and whatever argument she was prepared to mount. He couldn’t, not with a heart so full of emotion. So fucking full that Bish found himself holding his breath.

  It was a moment between him and his son, one of such poignancy he almost couldn’t give it words. He reached to arrange the drape of the material over the kid’s shoulders, to smooth it along the boy’s still skinny chest. “Looks good, dude.”

  “Seriously?” The boy’s head was down as he took in the view before he twisted as if to try and see the back. “I get to wear the Hellion emblem?”

  “You’re mine, kid, and as such need to wear this whenever we’re either with the brothers or on Hellion property, dig?” Was that his voice, the deep growl overflowing with an undefined pride that filled the air between where the cars and trucks were parked? “It’s a symbol of both me and the club, one that you were born into and contains your heritage, Stanley Robert Bastian…” his breathing hitched as he gave voice to his son’s full name, only adding the remaining bit, the one that tied them together, at the very end. A name he was so proud Dory had thought to give their son. “Junior.”