Checkmate With Bishop: A Hellions MC Novel

by J. A. Hornbuckle

  “Do you know those kids?” she asked as her eyes remained on their son.

  “Not by name,” he admitted. “But if memory serves, there’s a lot his age on the block.”

  He watched her eyes sweep over the room before drifting into the dining area.

  “How much?” she asked, never bringing her face back to his.

  He blinked. She was considering it? “For you and J.R.? Gratis.”

  “Bullshit, Stan. I’m not living in a Hellion owned house and not paying my way. So I’ll ask you again. How much per month?”

  Christ! When the woman got her panties in a wad…

  She turned fully to him, her lips thinned until her mouth was a mere slit in her face. “We don’t take charity. Never have and never will.”

  How had he forgotten her stiff-necked pride? “It wouldn’t be charity, mama.” He cast his mind around for an excuse, a valid reason to explain why he would be paying their living expenses while she and J.R. were in Billings, however long that took. “Consider it long overdue child support.”

  The shock that his reply caused was gratifying and before she could rally, he stepped closer, coming right up in front of her, close enough to feel her body heat and again get a whiff of her sexy as shit perfume. “I know this is something new, babe. New to all three of us and we’re gonna have to find our way to get through it all without fucking pissing each other off even more than we already have. But you’ve gotta let me have a play in some of it.”

  “Or so the judge can rule in your favor regarding custody?”

  Jesus God! Is that how she saw it? That everything he could and would do to ensure both she and J.R. were safe and under the protection of the Hellions was a move to get in good with a family court judge?

  Without thinking, his hands went to her shoulders as his eyes remained on hers. “Dory, I don’t want to take him from you. You’ve gotta know that. I just want our little man in my life, need to be with him. That’s all I’m asking for.”

  “That’s not how the papers read,” and he knew she was referring to the documents she’d been served. Papers that Stephenson had filed at his request when Bishop had been full of indignant righteousness and arrogant fervor at how she’d hidden J.R. from him. But somehow, after last night and how she’d freely given herself, the stakes had changed. It wasn’t just J.R. that he needed to have in his life, but Dory too.

  There was no way he wasn’t gonna work, gonna use everything he had at hand in order to have them both!

  But he couldn’t tell her that. Not when she was riding the edge of her pissy attitude and holier-than-thou stance at all things Hellion. He dropped his hands and took a step back. “Let’s go see if you like the next house better,” he muttered, trying to keep his sigh inside.

  A sigh that held more than an border of exasperation at their situation.

  A sitch that he’d had more than a hand in creating.

  *.*.*.*.*

  For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why I was being such a bitch when Stan was offering up the flag of truce as he took J.R. and I to the two residences the Hellions owned that he thought might suit us in our time in Missoula. I knew that part of it had to do with the night before, at the sheer delight we’d shared as Stan and I had come together again and again.

  Such a wonderful night that found me deep in guilt at what we’d actually done. Not enough to have stopped though. Not after that first time.

  But all of those good feelings were in a holding pen who’s fence was made up of the court orders to stay in Montana and how Stan was suing me for custody. Of how he’d flexed the Hellion power and had me thrown out of a motel and barred me from the storage place in order to let me know in no uncertain terms who was in charge. Something I absolutely was going to fight with everything I had.

  Sure I’d been wrong to not have told him of J.R. when I’d first found out I was pregnant. The truth of it was, I’d promised myself that my son would never be involved in the Hellions, with their lack of regard for what, in the rest of the world, counted as civilized behavior. Of having my boy subjected to all the hate and abuse I’d experienced at their hands.

  No. My child wouldn’t ever feel as if he was unwanted or live with constant criticism. I needed to ensure that my baby would always be accepted, would know that he mattered, was cared for and wanted so very much.

  I’d wanted a ‘normal’ life or as much of one a single mother could live as she raised a child on her own. One filled with love even if that meant I was going to have to be both Attila the Hun and Mary Poppins as I navigated the muddy waters of child-rearing while establishing a career, becoming a business owner. Of guiding my child, teaching him, as we both grew. To my mind, I’d found adulthood only by being J.R.’s parent. Of accepting the responsibility that raising a child brings.

  I’d actually been impressed by the first house Stan’d shown us, a three-bedroom, two bath ranch-style on a good block in a good neighborhood. The fact that it was clean, had good-sized rooms and was easy to up-grade had been major pluses. But when Stan had said that we wouldn’t be paying rent, I’d balked. I didn’t need or require anything from the Hellions. Not one goddamn thing from a club that had destroyed my marriage and had almost taken my very soul.

  Although I had to admit that I didn’t have as many complaints about the club as before. No. In fact, I’d seen that under Trey’s leadership, the Hellions had flourished. Had become not only legit but was comprised of people that I not only enjoyed and would like to know better.

  Carly and Dallas seemed like level-headed women. Ryley too. Not in the least like the Honeys I’d known before.

  “Your mom and I met at that school right there,” Bishop said, slowing my SUV as we drove past the high school. He and J.R. had been talking as I’d remained silent, my face turned towards the window in an effort to find a quiet place to think.

  “Seriously? Geez, it’s so small,” J.R.’s voice came around the passenger seat, a place I’d been relegated to when Stan had silently held his hand out for the keys of my ride back at the hotel. “How many were in your graduating class?”

  “Less than two hundred,” I heard Stan answer before he made a right and went further down the block, moving once again into the residential area. “I think your mom’s was a bit more.”

  “Two-fifty.” Though it was late, I jumped into the conversation while telling myself for the nine hundred and seventy-fifth time to keep a lid on it. And as I spoke, I realized exactly where we were, the area Stan was taking us towards. I almost couldn’t help my eyes as they drifted to where he sat, relaxed behind the steering wheel. “You better not be taking us to where I think you are.”

  He didn’t even deem to answer but shot me a look. One I couldn’t fathom even though I knew the turns he was going to take by heart.

  “We are absolutely not, repeat not going to live with you, Stan,” I advised on a fierce whisper, trying to lean over the console so J.R. couldn’t hear as my ex-husband maneuvered my car through the different streets.

  The bastard gave me a one-sided grin. “Never said that was the plan, babe. Just hang tight.”

  Hang tight, my ass, I thought mutinously even as my eyes took in the changes of the neighborhood. Of how the houses had been upgraded, of the landscaping that had been done in my absence. It was, I admitted silently, really nice when in the past it had just been okay.

  I watched as he pulled into the house next to what I knew was his grandparent’s old place, the driveways separated only by a stretch of lawn and shrubs. And while I knew I was supposed to be assessing the other home, my eyes were glued to the house where Stan had grown up, the place he’d inherited after Sadie had died. It was in great condition and the yard was perfection with its carefully cropped lawn, massive native trees and the plethora of beautiful flowers that were placed in strategic groupings that allowed your eyes to wander around, to savor all their various colors.

  “Used to be the Henderson place but since they died without ki
ds, had no one to pass it on to, the club bought it.” Stan’s voice was kind of quiet as he spoke, his face turned towards the house we were parked in front of. “We’ve done some upgrades and it needs some more, but I think you might like it.”

  I couldn’t help throwing some attitude especially at the memories that were crowding in at being near to the place where I’d given Stan my virginity when Sadie had been at one of her Wednesday afternoon bridge club meetings. “And the fact that it sits next to yours isn’t a factor.”

  “Be lying if I said it didn’t.” How did I know Stan knew where my mind had gone? By his snarky, half-assed grin, that’s how!

  “You live next door, Bishop?” J.R. called as he quickly opened his car door and stepped out. “Excellent!”

  I was slower, much, much slower in exiting the car. I took in the yard which was almost but not quite as beautiful as Stan’s before turning my eyes to the house. It was, at least on the outside, nice with its white aluminum siding and dark green shutters. But I was reserving judgment, my ire raised at just the thought of living right, smack-dab next to Stan.

  I lost my ire though as soon as I stepped inside. Though it was, unlike the house before, bare of furniture, it was beautiful. The door opened into a small entryway that held a coat closet, a necessity in the snowy climates, before leading to the right into a large living room. One that held a gas fireplace that was bracketed by two stained glass windows, ones that were in addition to the massive window that was on the front wall. Moving through the empty space, I heard J.R.’s excited voice and Stan’s deep grumble as they proceeded me.

  The kitchen was more than adequate, beautifully rendered in mahogany on two walls, leaving an area for a breakfast table before it led into a formal dining area. I found myself angry I couldn’t find a flaw in either its size or the accoutrements the cooking space offered.

  But it was when I went down the long hallway that I realized I had fallen in love with a place, a property. Maybe it was because of how the bedrooms seemed to grow out of the sky-lighted lit length, of how each room in their own right claimed their space, of having their own small bathroom or because they had walk-in closets that provided privacy from sound that might pound through the walls and into the other rooms.

  The master bedroom was a dream. Huge and spacious, with his and her closets and a full bath, it hit every item I’d ever listed as the ‘perfect’ bedroom, up to and including the light sage green paint that was accented in a gloss white.

  Even as I wanted to hate it, to be able to say it was awful or even horrendous, I couldn’t.

  Because I absolutely loved it.

  I felt the heat of his body as Stan came to stand behind me. “So what do you think? Will this work for you and J.R.?”

  It was just then I got it. Understood in a way that couldn’t be missed that this wasn’t a Hellion house.

  That it was a house Stan had bought and had refurbished to fit every desire I’d confessed to having in the sleepy, long talks we’d had alone in our bed when we’d been so very young and just dreaming of our future. That he’d taken every single solitary word I’d uttered and made it a reality, into exactly what I’d always wanted.

  It was a homage to the confessions of what we’d hoped to have in our vague ‘someday’ and then some.

  A promise fulfilled of what Stan had said he’d provide for me.

  And the realization caused my knees to weaken and my heart to harden. Weaken because it was the most romantic gesture I’d ever witnessed and harden because in spite of the house, Stan was still wanted to take J.R. from me, to force us to relocate until everything was wrapped up in a tidy, neat legal bow. An outcome that was sure to hurt since one of us would lose.

  “It’s very beautiful,” I muttered through stiff lips as I took two steps away from his heat in order to view the master bath.

  “And the cool thing is no one’s lived here since its been renovated. So it’d be like you and J.R. are moving into a brand new house.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” My mind was still trying to sort through all the feelings I had running through me to the point I had no reply. There was something about the whole of our interactions that was off, like I was operating from one platform while Stan was working from another. But I didn’t know why and that not knowing was like a sharp barb in the whole of the day.

  I let my mind roam over the conversations we’d had over the course of the morning, trying to discover what bothered me about his responses. And when I thought I had a handle on the problem, I confronted him with it.

  Turning abruptly back to where he still stood in the middle of the master bedroom, I wasted no time in challenging my theory by asking him one question. “You haven’t read all the papers your attorney filed, have you?”

  His gaze had been out one of the back windows but quickly made their way to me in the bathroom doorway. “What do you mean?”

  I didn’t say a word because my question had been more than clear.

  “Like fucking read every word on every page?” I nodded and saw his cheeks take on a ruddier hue, evidence of guilt in my opinion. “Uh, not really.”

  “Is that a no?” I was so not letting him off the hook on this one.

  “No, I haven’t.” There was a note of bullshit bravado in his tone that I found ridiculous at that moment. But at least he admitted it and I’d give him props for having the balls to do so.

  Walking right back up to him while keeping my arms crossed on my chest as some sort of barrier, I held his eyes. “Before you go making offers of homes and planning out my life, maybe you should take the time and read them through.” I took a step to the side in order to move around him but he snagged my bicep to hold me in place.

  “What does that mean, babe?”

  I glanced down at his hand before bringing my eyes back to his. “Just read them, Stan. Read them all the way through and then we’ll talk.”

  Before he released me, I witnessed a quick flash in his eyes before he lowered his brows. Just a swift emotion that briefly flared.

  One I might have given a name to if it had lasted longer.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  It was still early afternoon when Bishop pulled into his own driveway, the droplets of a sudden, soft summer mountain rain beading against his helmet as he parked and then shut down his bike.

  A fucking long day that was only half over, his mind intoned on a voice that he couldn’t deny. One that had found him exhausted from all the emotions it had held as well as the bustle that had ensued.

  Or it might have been from his and Dory’s activities of the night before. Something he hadn’t really had a chance to examine in the cold light of day. There had too many other things that had occupied his mind. Mainly about Dory’s reaction, or actual lack thereof, to his offer of a house.

  One house in particular.

  The one that he’d purchased from the gains of what he’d given Silo to invest, the money Dory had put in his name as payoff. And the property that he’d had redone in order to make it into their dream home.

  He pulled off his helmet and lifted his face to the sky in order to allow the soft wetness to prickle against his skin, to fill the gaping hole her lack of reaction had caused. Because he’d imagined that point in time forever, of presenting her with the home they’d planned so many, many years before. He’d fantasized about that moment, of how she’d immediately walk into his arms, pressing herself against him, into his neck. Of how her eyes would shine with love the moment before she’d burst into tears of happiness at what he’d brought about.

  And he’d loved the thought, of the imagined feel of her against him. Reveled in that vision, if he were to admit the truth.

  But he’d been devastated when she hadn’t even recognized what he had accomplished, of all he’d done to make their dream a reality.

  Instead, she’d provoked him about the documents Stephenson had filed, demanding to know if he’d read them. Something he hadn’t done, not having either the time or the i
nclination to do so. The attorney had been recommended by Trey, had done an interview over the phone while Bishop was still in the hospital and had filed with the court that same day.

  He’d assumed that everything was in order. But Dory’s question, her stupid-assed, motherfucking one sentence interrogation seemed to point out there were issues listed in the papers that he might not be aware of, but that would goddamn be rectified just as soon as he was inside the house!

  After the first reading of the almost twenty-page document, Bishop was shocked at what was spelled out.

  So he read it again, convinced that he’d simply misunderstood the legalese, the words that Stephenson had used. The second review, though, was no different than the first and found the biker throwing the sheets down on the couch cushion next to him and covering his face with both hands.

  Christ!

  This was more than fucked up!

  More than a goddamn, simple clerical error!

  It was…a declaration of war.

  Nothing more, nothing less.

  Of him declaring war on Dory, on proving that she was an unfit parent and wasn’t worthy of being in J.R.’s life.

  Which was far and away different than what he knew to be true!

  And that she’d received those papers after being tossed out of the Rosemont, after losing her rental space and then had let him take her and J.R. to the bar-be-que, on a house tour?

  Fffuuuccckkk!

  God! What kind of man did she think he’d turned into? Some kind of bastard that had been throwing her to the wolves, into situations that would prove, hands-down, that she was some kind of fucked up mother?

  Good enough for a midnight fuck but not good enough to raise their kid?

  Bishop reached into his pocket for his cell, calling Stephenson’s office only to be told that the attorney was ‘in conference’. But that, yes, in order to obtain full-custody of a minor child, the custodial parent would be fully investigated and that all facets of said parent’s life would be uncovered. That the probe would include all financial and police records as well as a profile of how the parent lived day-to-day. It would, of course, include any and all school records of the minor and teacher interviews to ascertain if there was any history of abuse at the hands of the current guardian.