Chapter Two

Bishop

Christmas is a time to celebrate with family and loved ones, but it has never been that for me. Growing up with Riot, my father, meant that Christmas was just another day of the week. Even when my mother was still alive, she couldn’t get the holiday past him. Or any other holiday for that matter.

“Just another way for corporations to steal our hard-earned money,” he used to say.

So, I never got into the habit of celebrating. But being part of the Gypsy Bastards MC has forced this new ritual on my life. Storm just gave me a look when I said I wasn’t attending lunch today, and I knew if I didn’t show up there would be hell to pay.

Being there with everyone was supposed to be a fun and fulfilling experience. Instead, I was itching for the moment I would be able to escape all the happiness and presents. I stayed an hour before hauling ass out of there on my custom Harley. To return to my regular way of living instead of having to show the world what they expect to see whenever they look at me. The truth is, I am damaged, surly, and antisocial. A loner by all definitions of the word.

The only reason I patched over after my father’s death is because it’s all I know.

My first memory is a motorcycle. I don’t know how to live without or outside of a club. I wouldn’t know what the fuck to do with myself as a civilian.

The Gypsy Bastards MC is worlds removed from the Iron Disciples, and I’ve been slowly adjusting. They would rather talk shit out than kill someone to solve the problem. They negotiate with the mafia and cartels for their business rather than forcing them to concede to the club’s demands. But the greatest difference in my opinion, and the one I am most grateful for, is the way they treat women.

I’m as much of a pig as the next cut wearing, leather bound asshole, don’t get me wrong. Club ass is easy access and no holds barred, but the old ladies are off limits. Storm, Hadley, Kaiya, and Irene are treated with the respect they deserve and never have to fear their men beating or even killing them, a luxury my mother and many others were never afforded.

The same counts for children.

Hell, these rules even extend past the club. The Gypsy Bastards MC does not tolerate violence against women and children. Point. End of story. Especially not in Gypsy Falls. And some of the guys even lose their minds when it comes to animal abuse.

My inner thoughts have taken a dark turn, and I know that I will devolve into drinking and self-hate if I head home right now. Instead, I take a back road that leads me to the only bar I know is open today, Dusk Til Dawn .

Walking in, I feel my entire being relax. It’s easier to be here than with anyone from the club. I don’t have to act like I care about anyone or their kids or what is happening in their lives. I can stare at some tits and flirt with a pretty girl while enjoying a drink. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Hello, Bishop,” a blonde woman with hard plastic breasts says, pressing herself into my side as I wait for the bartender to serve me.

I nod, not really looking to get into a conversation.

“I was hoping you’d come around again,” she purrs. “I’m up next.”

I smile. I hope it looks better than it feels. When she returns the gesture, I know she didn’t see the deception. I have no clue who she is, but she clearly knows me. I watch her ass sway as she walks away. I may be able to get over the amount of plastic she pumped into her face and chest if I bend her over something. Perhaps the hood of a car. I may fuck her just to stave off the boredom.

“What can I get you, man?” the bartender asks. He’s new and I don’t know his name, not that I care to find out.

“Drambuie. On the rocks.”

It’s a disgustingly sweet drink, but it was my mother’s favorite. I tend to drink it on occasion, just to keep her memory alive.

“Fuck me,” the bartender says, sliding my drink to me as I follow his line of sight.

In the doorway stands Allegra. She’s dressed in a fitted blood red mini dress with black stilettos under a black leather jacket. She isn’t dressed overtly sexy, but it still oozes out of her. She is stunning with her dark hair, tan skin, and petite build.

“I wonder if she’s looking for a job,” he muses.

I glare at him. “If you want to keep your job, I would suggest learning to respect women. Neither the Gypsys nor Preacher will tolerate anything less.”

The man behind the counter pales as he takes me in, finally seeing my cut.

“I’m sorry, man.” He lifts his hands in the air, but I cut him off.

“This is your only warning.”

I don’t wait for him to reply. Instead, I grab my drink and make my way to where Allegra has taken a seat. This god-awful holiday is finally looking up.

“May I join you?” I ask, drawing her attention.

“Bishop. What a surprise.”

“Quite. Didn’t picture you as the type to visit strip clubs,” I say, applying my patented panty melting grin.

“You do know what I do for a living, right?” At my confused frown, she throws her head back and laughs loudly before looking at me again. “I manage the biggest brothel in the city. For the Cammareri Family.”

I knew this. Beast told me. But just looking at her has all the information I should have available fleeing from my mind.

“I know,” I say. “But running a brothel and visiting a strip club are two very different things.”

I slide into the booth even though she never replied just as the waitress returns with Allegra’s drink. Just as quickly as she appeared, she leaves.

“What brings you here on Christmas Eve?” Allegra asks.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” she replies, leaning forward and flashing me her cleavage.

“You shouldn’t say shit like that to a man like me,” I warn. “I might take you up on the offer.”

She laughs again. “I wasn’t offering to fuck you in the alley.”

“I definitely wouldn’t fuck you in the alley,” I say lowly. “You’re not the type of girl any man could fuck and forget.”