Staring at me blankly, I watch her throat as she forces a swallow. Her skin is still flushed from the orgasm, but her eyes speak of betrayal and not bliss. With jerky movements, she nervously drops the gun into my palm.
“Thatta girl,” I murmur.
“Don’t talk to me like that,” she scolds, pushing her hair away from her face. “You wanna tell me why the fuck you have a gun in your jacket pocket?” she pauses to shake her head and grabs her robe off the hook on the back of the door. Shoving her arms through the silk sleeves, she ties a knot at the waist and crosses her arms against her chest. “You promised me,” she whispers disbelievingly. “You told me you wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize your freedom.”
“And I didn’t,” I argue, but those three words fall on deaf ears.
“How could you do this…how could you do this to Connor?”
Setting the gun on top of the dresser, I clench my teeth. I’m not the same selfish guy I used to be. I put my son before everything and everyone, something I proved tonight when I walked away from one of the men who gave me back my life.
“I didn’t do anything,” I insist. “If you don’t believe me, check the clip.”
“Check the clip,” she repeats. “Forget the fact that you shouldn’t be carrying a gun period because you’ll go back to prison, you brought a fucking weapon into my home. What if the social worker comes by? Did you think about that or were you too busy breaking the law to care about your son!?”
Her words stab me in the gut, and I clench my fists in anger.
I’m not that guy.
“Charlotte, listen to me—”
“Get out.”
“You’re going to wake Connor up.”
“Then I guess you better leave,” she fires back as tears trickle from the corners of her eyes.
“You don’t mean that. If you calm down and let me explain—”
“No,” she shouts. “There’s nothing to explain other than I’m a fucking fool. God, I really thought you could change, that you were better than this. I thought you were better than him.”
Rage eats at me and I take a step closer, getting in her face.
“Stop fucking comparing me to your old man. I chose you tonight. I chose you and Connor and when your father was faced with the choice, he didn’t choose you.”
As soon as the words leave my lips, I wish to take them back because Charlotte looks at me as if I’ve just raised my hands to her and that fucking wrecks me.
“I’m sorry,” I sigh, reaching for her. “I didn’t mean that.”
She takes another step backward, putting more space between us and lifts her chin.
“Get out of my house,” she whispers, wiping her tears with the backs of her hands as she glares at me.
I hate it.
I fucking hate everything about this moment.
The words we say and the way she looks at me.
The hurt in her eyes and the dread twisting in my gut.
I hate every damn thing but more than anything, I hate the way we break.
The way we fall apart.
“Leave, Bishop, before I call the cops.”
It’s my turn to look at her as though she’s just slapped me and like her, I take a step back, pride wounded, heart broken, fury crackling through my whole being.
“Please don’t make me do it,” she cries. “I don’t want to be the person who breaks Connor’s heart so just go peacefully,” she chokes through her sobs. “I’m begging you.”
I don’t want to leave. I want to make it right. I want her to give me a chance to explain myself, to make her understand I’m done living two lives, that she and Connor are all I want. All I need. But I also want to spare my son anymore pain.
For the first time in his life, Connor feels my love. He’s found somewhere he’s comfortable, somewhere he feels safe. I don’t want him waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of me and Charlotte fighting. I don’t want him questioning what we worked so hard to build. Keeping that in mind, I pull my shirt over my head and make quick work of my zipper. I check to make sure the gun is tucked securely into the waistband of my jeans and I pick my jacket up off the floor. Closing the distance between me and Charlotte, I gently lift her chin with my thumb. I used to dream of this woman. I used to wish I was the guy who came home to her. The man who got all her days and every single night.
“This isn’t what you think it is, Charlotte. I didn’t do you wrong,” I whisper hoarsely before releasing her chin. Brushing the tears from her cheeks, I close my eyes as a sob slips past her lips.
“And right now, this is me choosing Connor.”
-Two-
Charlotte
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Isn’t that the saying? I guess being the fool was inevitable. After all, a girl’s first example of how a man is supposed to treat a woman is her father and mine fooled me into believing I mattered, that he loved me as much as he loved my sister. Bishop is right, my dad didn’t choose me, but neither did he and the proof lays in the nine-millimeter he’s carrying.
Lifting my head, I shut the faucet and stare at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are swollen, and my face is blotchy from all the crying I’ve done since I asked him to leave. For a good half hour, I sat on the floor of my bedroom, playing back the broken look in his eyes and I wondered if I did the right thing, if throwing him out without giving him a chance to explain was fair of me. I pulled myself off the floor and intuition had me peering out the window. I spotted him on the front stoop with his head in his hands and I broke down in tears again, knowing no explanation would make it right.
Before I made my way into the bathroom, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and sent him a text, asking him to leave the property. My landlady was an old woman with zero tolerance for noise. She once threatened to raise my rent because she heard me vacuuming after six o’clock at night.
I’m not going anywhere.
That was the response I got in return. Now, here I am trying to pull myself together because there is a little boy sleeping in the next room and he doesn’t need to know his father failed him again. I stood in a court of law and vowed to care for and protect him and I won’t jeopardize that for the sake of my heart.
Suddenly I hear a banging sound and it instantly drags me away from my thoughts. I hurry out of the bathroom, make my way to the living room and realize it’s Bishop’s fist pounding against the front door.
“Charlotte, please, I gave you time to cool off.”
His tone is desperate and laced with pain.
It would be so easy to open the door and ignore the facts.
So easy to pretend we’re a family.
Maybe that’s where I became the fool. I let the lines blur and instead of owning my role as a temporary guardian, I sought love and acceptance from Connor and Bishop. I inserted myself into their lives and begged them both to choose me. To make me theirs.
“Give me a chance to explain,” he begs. “For fucks sake, you got my son in there, Charlotte. You can be mad at me, but you can’t take him away from me. I fought too hard to have a place in that boy’s life. We fought too hard for me to be the dad he deserves.”
Choking on my tears, I lean my forehead against the door. My hand closes around the doorknob and I reach for the lock. Before my fingers can fiddle with the lock, his fist collides with the other side and I nearly jump out of my skin. If he keeps this up, he’s not only going to wake my grumpy landlady, but Connor too.
He smacks his palm against the door.
“Peaches…Open. The. Goddamn. Door.”
I shake my head, trying to find my voice.
“I know you’re there, I can fucking feel you,” he continues. “You’re in my bones, Charlotte. You’re part of my black soul. There’s no escaping me…you, we’re connected, we’re fucking entwined and I don’t just mean because of Connor. You’re my girl, you hear me? You. Are. My. Girl.”
“Go home,” I plead. “Just�
�go…home.”
“You won’t fucking let me.”
“I mean to your apartment,” I volley. “You’re going to wake Connor.”
“No,” he argues. “You’re going to wake Connor because you won’t fucking hear me out.”
Drawing my lip between my teeth, I glance over my shoulder and look towards the bedrooms. I don’t want to upset Connor. Bishop may be wrong about a lot of things, but he’s right about one. We fought hard for that little boy to have a relationship with his dad. I put my whole life on pause to reunite them and now I’m going to overlook all that? How do you give a man back his son and then ask him to leave him? How do you give a little boy a dad, make him believe he’s a hero, only to disappoint him in the end?
My mind flashes back to the gun and I shake my head seeking clarity.
I didn’t do this.
I’m not the one pulling them apart.
Bishop did that by choosing the Satan’s Knights over Connor.
Just like my dad chose his dying daughter over his living one.
Stepping away from the door, I hurry towards the bedroom. My thoughts are too conflicted. There is a war raging inside of me and nothing good ever comes from rash decisions. Grabbing my phone, I search through my contacts and pull up the number of the only man I can trust to help me. I quickly hit send. It starts to ring and my gaze shoots to the alarm clock on the end table. Knowing Schwartz, he is probably neck deep into breaking the heart of some poor unsuspecting bedmate. Hopefully, it’s not my cousin.
“Do you know what time it is?” he barks into the phone. The man isn’t big on greetings. Not in the light of day and surely not in the middle of the night.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know who else to call,” I reply, my voice shaking with each word.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Bishop,” I rasp.
Indecision claws at me as I debate on how much to divulge.
“For fucks sake, what did he do now?” he pauses. “Ah shit, Pete was released this morning. Does this have anything to do with that?”
Swallowing, I close my eyes. That hadn’t even crossed my mind. I was more concerned with him getting in trouble with his parole officer, I didn’t worry over him seeking revenge.
“I don’t know if he did anything, but I found a gun…I threw him out, but he won’t leave. I’m afraid he’s going to wake Connor.”
“I fucking told you not to do this, that you were in too deep, but you wouldn’t listen. Damn it, Charlotte.”
“Please, don’t make me regret calling you,” I whisper, tears falling wildly from my eyes. Silence passes through the line and for a second I think he’s hung up on me, but then he lets out an exasperated sigh.
“I’ll be right there,” he mutters. “Just lock your doors and stay inside.”
He disconnects the call and that last sentence festers. Bishop would never hurt me or Connor. That’s not why I called Schwartz. I just want someone to talk some sense into him, but what if it’s too late? What if he already acted? What if there’s blood on his hands and an APB out for him?
Oh God.
The thought of him going back to prison is crippling and shatters my heart.
“Charlotte?”
My gaze shoots towards the open door, and my eyes meet Connor’s.
Once so sad, they are now full of hopes and dreams.
“Someone’s at the door,” he says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
I quickly brush the tears away from my face and force a smile.
“It’s okay, buddy, it’s nothing to worry about.” I lay my phone back on the end table and rise from the bed. Reaching him, I take his hand and lead him back to his bedroom. I close the door, hoping to block out the sounds of his father and help him climb into bed.
“Will you tuck me in?” he asks in that sweet, trusting voice of his.
“Sure,” I croak as I pull the blanket over him, tucking it into his sides. I give him the Hulk toy and press my lips to his forehead. I wonder if he knows how much I’ve grown to love him and if I’m enough. My question is quickly answered when he peers up at me.
“Daddy said we can go to the zoo tomorrow. You think they’ll be penguins?”
Damn you, Bishop.
Damn you straight to Hell.
-Three-
Bishop
Desperate and on the verge of defeat, I slam my forehead against the front door. I don’t have to be on the other side of it to know she’s not there anymore. A sense of emptiness crept into my being, alerting me she was gone, that she had given up on me.
“Charlotte,” I call once more, but it’s weak even to my own ears.
The porch light flickers on and for a second hope fills every orifice of my body. I stare at the door, waiting for it to open, for those pretty eyes to greet me, but the window on the second-floor creaks open instead.
“You got ten seconds to get off my property before I call the cops,” the old lady threatens. Part of me wants to tell her to go fuck herself, the other part wants her to follow through with it. At least then the ache in my chest might fade. Before I can decide which way to respond, a car pulls into the driveway. For a moment I think Charlotte has beat her landlord to the chase and the cops are here to drag me away in cuffs, but there are no sirens. I turn my head and the motherfucker temporarily blinds me with his high beams. The driver kills the engine and I fight for focus.
“I’m sorry for the disturbance, Ma’am, I’ll handle it.”
“He’s been shouting out here for an hour, scared my poor cats,” she complains as the lights dim on the Range Rover and my attorney’s mug comes into view.
Fucking Schwartz.
“Again, I apologize,” he says, touching a hand to his chest. If his legal career ever tanks, he should take up acting. He’s got a gift.
Seeming to believe that the good lawyer has everything under control, Charlotte’s landlady closes the window with a clack.
“Crazy old bat,” Schwartz mutters, tearing his eyes away from the second-story window.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask once his eyes meet mine. His jaw ticks with annoyance and he shoves one hand into his pocket as he makes his way towards me.
“Charlotte called me,” he answers, stopping once he reaches the stoop. I suppose I should be relieved she called him and not the fucking cops, but all I feel is jealousy coursing through my veins. I knew this weasel wanted to get in her pants, I simply ignored it for two reasons. When I first noticed his attraction towards her, I was still in the pen. I didn’t have a shot, Peaches would only ever be mine in my dreams. The second reason I chose not to acknowledge Schwartz’s attraction for his paralegal, was my favorite of all…the girl only had eyes for me. In prison and on the streets, Charlotte only wanted me. She tried to fight it, but this thing between us took on a life of its own. Like a brush fire, it spread and spread until it consumed every inch of our beings.
Now, the flames are dying, and I refuse to believe all that’s left of us is debris.
“I see, so she calls, and you come running, looking to slide into my shoes and take my place in Charlotte’s bed. Well, your services aren’t welcome here,” I sneer. Anger flashes across his face as he hurries to climb the steps. Getting in my face, he narrows his eyes and clenches his jaw.
“You ungrateful son of a bitch,” he seethes.
“You denying it?” I dare, squaring my shoulders.
He shakes his head and stares at me with disgust.
“What the fuck are you doing, man? Look at you,” he says, jutting his chin as his gaze slices to the closed door behind me. “You could have it all,” he continues, bringing his eyes back to me. “Your son and that sweet fucking girl who is head over heels in love with you. There aren’t too many people on this planet who’d go to the lengths she did, and this is how you fucking repay her? You were given a second chance at life, at being a father to a kid who adores you and this is what you fucking do with it?”
�
��Fuck you, Schwartz. You don’t know shit!”
“I know you don’t deserve them.”
That stings, but then again, the truth usually does.
“Where is it, huh?” he questions, drawing my attention to his open palm. “Where’s the gun, Bishop?” He uses his other hand to reach inside his suit pocket and pulls out a handkerchief. He shakes it out and splays it over his open palm before lifting his gaze to mine. “Charlotte told me you’re carrying and as your lawyer, not your fucking friend, I’m advising you to hand it over.”
My lawyer, the self-proclaimed miracle worker.
For a long while I thought having Schwartz in my corner was a blessing. I believed those correctional officers when he took me on as a client and they said I stepped in shit. After all, he wound up giving me my freedom which allowed me to reconnect with my son and he brought Charlotte into my life…
Yeah, this motherfucker changed my whole fucking world.
-Four-
Bishop
Past
“Let’s go, Bishop.”
In true cunt fashion, the correctional officer swings his key ring around his index finger, emphasizing his authority. He expects me to jump at his command like all the other inmates, but I continue to lay on this stiff as fuck cot, staring at the water stains on the ceiling. All these motherfuckers with a uniform are corrupt in here, but this prick takes the cake.
They call him the ’Puppet Master’ and in case you haven’t figured out why it’s because he pulls the strings around here. There isn’t anything this motherfucker won’t do for the right price, something I learned not too long ago when he pulled out my former cellmate, a guy who went by the name Blackie and locked him in a room with members of the Sinaloa cartel. They beat the living shit out of him and left him to rot in a pool of his own fucking blood.
“You hard of hearing or something? I said let’s fucking go,” the piece of shit sneers, kicking the cot.
Breaking The Chains (Satan's Knights Prospect Trilogy) Page 2
