Breaking The Chains (Satan's Knights Prospect Trilogy)

by Janine Infante Bosco

  “With the help of Schwartz’s girl, we were able to reach out to his social worker,” Parrish continues.

  I lift an eyebrow at that and turn my attention to Schwartz, watching as he grimaces. Isn’t there some sort of attorney-client agreement that bans him from spilling my business at the dinner table?

  “Would you stop calling her that,” Schwartz mutters.

  Deciding it’s really no big deal who knows the mess I am, I focus on what’s really important.

  “They got in touch with Shay?” I ask, shutting down their sparring match before it takes flight. Schwartz tears his gaze away from Parrish and shakes his head.

  “No, since he’s been placed in foster care his case has been transferred to a new social worker,” he says, pausing to glance at his leather portfolio. He flips through the pages and lifts his eyes to me when he finds the information he was searching for. “Sam Gold is the new caseworker.”

  “Six-Pack,” Parrish begins. “He’s the president of the charter. He reached out to this Gold guy and arranged for the charter to stage a level-one intervention with Connor.”

  I thought hiring the lawyer was beyond generous, but this…well, there aren’t words for this. If I live a thousand lives, I’ll never be able to repay these men. Finding my voice, I look back at Parrish.

  “What is that?” I question hoarsely.

  Leaning back against the chair, he fixes me with a stare.

  “A level-one intervention is when the entire club rides to where the child is living. In this case, they’ll be going to the foster home. With the help of the caseworker, Six-Pack has been able to speak with the foster parents. He explained their mission, and the family was eager to help which is a good sign. Once they arrive, they’ll introduce themselves to your boy. They’ll give him a kutte, a teddy bear and a road name too. The goal is to make him feel like he’s part of the club and not alone, that he knows there is a badass army behind him that will bust through locked doors to make sure he’s safes.”

  I picture a group of faceless men riding to my son's rescue. I imagine the expression on his face when he hears the roar of the motorcycles and the wonderment in his eyes as they stand before him, promising to protect him. I swear to Christ the image brings tears to my eyes, and it takes everything in me not to break down in front of Parrish and Schwartz.

  Not trusting my emotions, I clear my throat and glance down at my hands.

  “Will you be there with them?” I rasp.

  “No,” Parrish grunts. “Members of the club are the only ones who can ride. They’re thoroughly investigated and fingerprinted, anyone with a record can’t be part of their organization or they’ll get shut down. Davey will be riding with them.”

  I lift my eyes and look at my lawyer, trying to envision him on a motorcycle with his designer suit and fancy loafers. If I wasn’t so emotionally fucked, I might laugh at the thought.

  “Charlotte is going too,” Parrish adds.

  At the mention of the pretty paralegal, my chin lifts and I glance between the two men.

  “I’m firing her when this shit is over,” Schwartz grunts.

  “You’d be spiting yourself if you did,” Parrish comments. “The girl came through yesterday even after you treated her like a dick.”

  I realize then that Parrish was referring to Charlotte earlier when he mentioned Schwartz’s girl and for some reason my jaw ticks angrily.

  “I treated her like an incompetent employee,” Schwartz defends through gritted teeth. “When one of your men go rogue, you shoot them. I hand them their walking papers. Same shit,” he continues to argue.

  “Your loss,” Parrish tells him. “So, she’s a little awkward. She got the job done, and she’s not bad on the eyes either,” he adds with a wink. “A win for you Davey.”

  I agree with him, Charlotte is definitely not bad on the eyes.

  That said, I’m feeling a little possessive over her and I don’t like the idea of Schwartz setting his sights on her. In my sick fucking mind, I claimed her the second I wrapped my hand around my dick and came all over my stomach. I know how ridiculous that sounds considering I’ve spent a total of forty-five minutes with her, but I couldn’t help myself. A vision of the mousy brunette flashed before my eyes and I recalled the sensation I felt on my fingertips as I pulled the Betty Boop pen from her hair. That, and the sound of her calling my name was all the ammunition I needed to fuel my desires.

  Maybe Parrish isn’t the only one suffering from insanity.

  “I don’t hire on the basis of scenery,” Schwartz says as he busies himself by packing up his briefcase. “She does have a killer ass, though,” he mutters under his breath.

  Oh, look, me and Schwartz agree on something too.

  “Why is she going with you?” I grind out, fully aware I’m acting like an envious douchebag. Luckily, Schwartz doesn’t notice the anger rolling off me. Jack does, though, and he coughs to hide his grin before clearing his throat to answer my question.

  “Six-Pack feels having a woman present is more effective. In his experience, he says it helps bridge the gap between the child and the club. Let’s be serious, the boy has been through a lot. The second he sees fifteen bikers roll up to the house, he might be fearful. Charlotte will assure Connor they’re the good guys. The fucking real superheroes no one writes books about. I take it you met her?”

  This time he doesn’t hide the smirk on his lips, and I mutter a curse in response.

  “Oh, he met her alright,” Schwartz replies. “What a mess that was.”

  Knowing this is headed down a path I’m not willing to take, I suddenly find myself desperate to push any thought of Charlotte aside. I look back at Parrish and steer the conversation back to the situation at hand.

  “What happens after the level one intervention?” I question.

  Parrish shrugs as he glances at Schwartz.

  “When is the kid’s court date?” he asks.

  “Right now, it’s on the calendar for two weeks from Friday, but that could always change,” Schwartz replies. I do the math, swallowing hard when I realize that’s a week after his birthday. Another milestone I’ll miss.

  “That’s a week after his birthday,” I say.

  It’s funny how I never forgot the day my kid was born, yet I never witnessed him blow a single candle on a cake.

  Regrets, man, they’ll fucking swallow you whole.

  “Ideally, they’ll want to arrange for Connor to be around the club a few times before the hearing. In the past, they’ve been known to take the kids to school or invite the families to cookouts and parties. I’ll mention the birthday to Six-Pack. It might make the kid warm up to them if there’s cake and ice cream.” He pauses for a second, seeming to contemplate his own suggestion before snapping his fingers and leaning forward. “Does he have a fear of clowns or anything like that?”

  Is this guy really planning a birthday party for my kid? At this rate, Connor will have a stocking on his mantle before I’m out.

  “Not that I know of,” I answer finally.

  “Wolf’s got a guy… he does the face painting shit and some artsy balloon crap all the kids seem to love. I’ll give him a call.”

  “Okay, before this guy starts breaking out party hats, I think we should get a move on. I have a few things I need to tie up at the office,” Schwartz says, pushing back his chair. His eyes find mine and he raises an eyebrow. “Any other questions?”

  “Just one.”

  “Well, have at it,” he replies.

  “If Pete is convicted what happens to Connor? Does he automatically go back to this foster family?”

  He studies me for a moment

  “Why don’t we worry about that when we cross that bridge? For now, we got the bikers going to see Connor. Your parole hearing isn’t for another couple of months, I’m going to file a motion for a sentence modification and see if we can get in front of a judge sooner rather than later. You just sit tight and let everyone else around you do their job.�
�

  He reaches into his suit pocket and produces a business card, but Parrish quickly snatches it from his hand. Grabbing a pen, he turns the card over and scribbles down his number, handing it back to me. I take the card between my fingers and stare at the numbers on it.

  “That’s my cell,” Parrish informs.

  Clearing his throat, Schwartz shakes his head.

  “Call the office if you think of anything that will help either case.”

  “Can I call to ask how things went with Connor?”

  Schwartz smooths a hand over his tie and give me a nod.

  “Yeah, of course. If I’m in court Cheryl or my secretary will fill you in.”

  I lift my head.

  “Charlotte.”

  “What?”

  “Her name is Charlotte.”

  He looks at me skeptically and I ignore Parrish’s grin.

  “Right,” Schwartz says slowly. “Charlotte. Well, if that’s all—”

  I cut him off with a shake of my head.

  “Tell my son I love him, will you?”

  It’s a simple request and yet the greatest one of all.

  -Ten-

  Bishop

  Present

  Toeing the kickstand, I glance back at the house and I’m suddenly transcended back in time, to the days of supervised visits and gut-wrenching goodbyes. Back then Connor and I didn’t have the relationship we do now, and still, it felt like I was leaving a piece of me behind when I walked out the door. Now, as I peel away from the curb in front of Charlotte’s house, it feels like I’m leaving my whole fucking heart.

  I don’t know what’s worse, having nothing or having everything. When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose. You don’t know what you’re missing and it’s easy to tell yourself you don’t want it. But when you got everything, man, you feel full; you feel like you’re living for the first time and when that shit slips through your fingers; it hurts.

  It fucking kills.

  About now, the old me would take these two wheels to the nearest drug dealer and empty his pockets for a high. Coke, crack, molly, whatever—anything to dull the ache. But that guy doesn’t exist anymore. He’s dead and has been reborn as someone’s father. The hundred bucks in my pocket is better spent on three admission tickets to the zoo than on smack.

  So instead of numbing the pain, I’m wallowing in it, trying to decide where to go, wanting to whip a U-turn and sleep outside Charlotte’s house because at least then I’m close to home.

  What does that say about me?

  I honestly don’t know. I think I’m at the crossroads of my life, trying to find the balance between the man I’ve become and the one I used to be, all the while trying to repay my debt to the men who helped me. The thing is, I don’t know if I can be what they want and still be the man Charlotte and Conner deserve.

  Look at Blackie.

  He couldn’t be both. I heard him say so with my own two ears and if we’re being real I don’t think any of the Satan’s Knights have figured out a balance. They live and breathe this shit. Riding isn’t just their livelihood, it’s their whole life and sometimes their families gotta take a backseat to the mayhem. I’m not saying they don’t love their women and children. That shit is fucking obvious, but they bleed chaos and corruption and sometimes that trickles into their homes.

  It’s no way to live and yet for them, it’s the only way.

  Accepting their help has backed me into a corner, and now I feel like they expect the same from me. It’s why I agreed to prospect on the down low. That, and well, they painted a pretty fucking sweet picture, gave me two apartments, one that would appease the parole board and one for me to worship the reaper. They filled my hand with cash and told me there was plenty more where that came from and that was just the start. They kept giving and giving and ever the greedy bastard, I kept taking.

  Living two lives can be exhausting especially when neither of them fills you as much as the third life that’s just a stone’s throw from your reach. It can also be confusing on nights like this when you don’t know where to go.

  With my mind racing and the wind at my back, I let my wheels decide for me and to no surprise, I wind up at Big Nose Kate’s. It seems fitting. After playing with the Devil, it’s only fair you end up sleeping in his lair.

  I pull my bike all the way into the back of the lot and park behind the bar. Over the last few months, I’ve snuck in and out of this place like a fucking bandit and have the routine down to a science. I enter through the kitchen and make my way through the bar, to the staircase leading to the two apartments. One is occupied by another prospect, Bash, and his girl the head bartender of this joint, Lydia. The other used to belong to a guy named Needles. It was vacant when I got out of jail and fully furnished. Jack suggested I take it, that it would make it easier for me to meet with the club, I wouldn’t have to worry about getting caught by my parole officer. I’m not sure of his logic there, but it hasn’t failed yet.

  I pause in front of Bash’s door and debate on knocking. His bike was outside, but he was driving a cage tonight and if they went through with everything, he still wouldn’t be home. Not willing to chance it and wake Lydia, I turn to my apartment and fit the key into the lock. I push open the door and flick on the lights.

  The first time I stepped foot in here, I had a grin on my face. I thought there was no higher honor than having Jack Parrish vouch for me.

  Now, I just feel nothing.

  I kick the door closed, deal with the locks and shrug my jacket off. Throwing it on the back of the couch I take a seat and make quick work of the laces on my boots. I kick them off and settle back against the cushions. A vision of Charlotte’s hazel eyes torments me, and I swipe a hand over my face, trying to keep the memories of her at bay. She looked so fucking hurt earlier, so goddamn betrayed—every trace of ecstasy gone in the same amount of time it takes for a bullet to end a life. If she would have only given me a chance to explain, then maybe I could’ve told her I didn’t want vengeance anymore, that all I want is her and my son.

  I want the fucking family I dreamed of every night I laid behind bars.

  Lifting my hips, I reach into my back pocket and pull out my phone—another gift from Parrish. I bring up Charlotte’s number and compose a text. Schwartz claims I only break promises to Charlotte, well, he’s fucking wrong. I didn’t just promise Connor I’d take him to the zoo; I promised the both of them.

  It was right after Connor decided he was going to sell hot cocoa outside Charlotte’s house in the dead of winter. Neither of us had the heart to tell him, he probably wouldn’t make any money or that he’d freeze out there. Instead, we each bought a cup of Swiss Miss from him. Later that night, I asked him why he wanted to sell hot cocoa and he told me he wanted to save money so he could take Charlotte out on a date.

  I thought that was the most adorable thing I ever heard and then it dawned on me that my kid had a crush on my girl. But that wasn’t the case. He told me he felt bad for her and that he thought she was lonely. He noticed all the good she had done for me and him and thought she deserved to have someone do good for her. It was a proud moment for me even though I knew I had nothing to do with his kind ways. Then his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree and he asked how come I didn’t take Charlotte on a date.

  She walked into the living room then and judging by the blush on her cheeks, I knew she had overheard most, if not all, of the conversation.

  “What are you two conspiring about in here?” she asked, taking a seat on the couch next to Connor.

  Nudging me with his elbow, Connor leaned into me and dared me to do it.

  “I’ll give you back the two dollars you paid for the hot cocoa if you take her to the zoo,” he said, trying his hardest to whisper. It didn’t work, though, and Charlotte’s cheeks turned crimson.

  “Why the zoo?” I asked him.

  “Because she’s dying to feed the penguins,” he replied.

  “Connor, I can hear you,” Charlotte m
urmured softly.

  “Rats,” my boy muttered. I held back a chuckle and looked at Charlotte.

  “Penguins, huh?”

  She shrugged her shoulders, peering at me over those ridiculous glasses she sometimes wore when her eyes were too dry from her contacts. I marveled over how someone could look completely adorable and utterly fuckable at the same time.

  “What can I say, I got a thing for webbed feet and things that’s waddle.”

  Connor burst out laughing and the sound caught me off guard. It was the first time I heard him full belly laugh, and it was the most beautiful sound I ever heard.

  “The Central Park Zoo has a penguin exhibit,” he said when he sobered up. “We looked it up on the internet.”

  I turned my attention back to Charlotte.

  “What do you say, Peaches, will you let me take you to see the penguins?”

  “Say yes,” Connor cheered.

  She worried her lower lip between her teeth and glanced from me to Connor. I didn’t have to ask her what she was thinking, she had expressed her concerns for us getting involved every time I got too close and I respected her for keeping Connor’s best interests at the forefront of her mind. But I was still a man and I wanted her to say yes.

  “Under one condition.”

  “Name it,” I said.

  “Connor comes too,” she replied, looking back at my little boy. “I can’t go see the penguins without my favorite little person.”

  “Then it’s set. The three of us are going to see the penguins,” I said.

  Connor grinned and looked up at me.

  “Promise?”

  “Yeah, Bishop, do you promise?”

  “I promise.”

  -Eleven-

  Charlotte

  Bishop: A promise is a promise.

  The text becomes blurry as my eyes fill with tears. I don’t know why I looked at it again. It took me two hours to find the courage to finally open the text, and I burst into tears as soon as I read it. Why I thought it wouldn’t have the same effect the second time around, I’m not so sure.