Bishop: A Dark MC Romance (The Devil's Riders Book 3)
Chapter 1
Cantiville Federal Corrections, Cantiville Nevada
Bishop
“You gonna eat that?”
I looked at the disgusting pile of slop on my plate. Though it was the last fucking thing in the world that I wanted to eat, I wasn’t about to give it up. Doing so would be a mistake. Especially being where I was.
Want it or not, if I gave this asshole what was on my plate, he might think he could start helping himself to something else of mine. And I’d heard of the man’s preference for good-looking men. Not gonna happen.
Making hard eye contact with the prisoner, I shoveled a spoonful of the mystery meat into my mouth in response. Tiny, the inmate’s name which could only be described as ironic, stood. He towered over me. The fucker must have been at least six and a half feet tall. He wasn’t fat either. The neo-Nazi was a mountain of muscle that had a long list of prison yard fights under his belt. Fights that he’d won. But hell, so did I. And I wasn’t about to become someone’s bitch for anything, let alone subpar stew.
Tiny cracked his knuckles and glared down at me. “You think you’re fucking funny, pretty boy?”
Leaning back, I cocked my head to the side to consider the man’s words. This was the third time this week that he’d gotten into my face. The prick was spoiling for a fight, and nothing I said or did would convince him otherwise.
I’d managed to de-escalate the situation the previous two times. But that wasn’t going to happen today. Might as well lean into the fight then. Piss him off so bad he threw the first punch and took all the blame for the altercation.
Shit, I was actually looking forward to this. I hated the Aryans and their superiority complex. Being blond and green-eyed, they’d tried to recruit me the first day I’d come to Cantiville. What they didn’t know was I already had my own Brotherhood. And the Devil’s Riders could curb-stomp these lame motherfuckers into the ground any day of the week.
Tiny grew red-faced waiting for my response. Out of patience, he repeated himself, “I said, you think you’re fucking funny. Don’t you, pretty boy?”
Accepting the inevitable, I took another bite of the Tuesday special and chewed the knot of fat that was hidden within the thin, oily gravy.
Swallowing the gristle down, I wiped my mouth on a napkin. “Nah. I just think I’m better than you.”
Tiny’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Is that so?”
I solemnly nodded. “Yup. It is.”
Shaking his head, the neo-Nazi began to ball up his fists. “You won’t be so pretty once I’m done with you, Wilmont. Let’s see how the ladies like it when your face is all scarred up and you’re missing an eye. Something tells me you won’t be so popular after that.”
I shrugged. “You’d be doing me a favor, man. Don’t you know that chicks dig scars?”
Tiny grinned. “Well then, they’re just going to love you when I’m done with that pretty little face of yours, cunt!”
I could feel the room getting quieter now that we’d garnered the attention of the other inmates. In prison, nothing went unnoticed. These institutions were filled with men who had spent their entire lives being vigilant. Waiting for the right moment to exploit, deceive, or strike. Like wild animals, they could feel that something was about to pop off and were watching to see which of the two quarreling beasts would prove to be the strongest. And, conversely, who would be the weakest. In a place like this, pecking order counts, so I wasn’t about to come in last place.
Nonchalantly, I spooned the last remnants of the rancid stew into my mouth. “I don’t need any help from you with the ladies, Tiny. From what I hear, you don’t have much experience with them.”
That did it. Tiny took the bait just as I’d intended and threw the first punch. Exactly what I’d been waiting for. Lifting up my tray, the man pummeled down into the molded plastic. Stunned, he stumbled back a step. Not hesitating, I rabbit-punched my adversary in the kidney. The Nazi scum toppled to the ground like a poorly constructed Jenga tower. Leaping to my feet, I did what you’re conditioned not to do in elementary school and kicked the motherfucker in the nuts while he was down.
The chow hall exploded with noise and chaos then. Hoots and hollers from the other inmates filled the space as they began to egg both of us on, wanting to see blood more than their own families.
Tiny awkwardly scrambled to his feet, but the guards flooded into the room before he could follow through with any action.
Knowing the drill by now, I placed my hands behind my head, sank to my knees, and let the screaming assholes in blue cuff me as they tried to settle down the feral jungle of men surrounding us.
* * *
Bishop
The prison was immediately locked down and all the men shepherded back to their cells. My roommate, Jones, was already sitting on his bunk when the guard shoved me inside the six-by-eight we shared.
Jones swore as I climbed onto the top bunk. “Shit! I don’t know what the fuck happened today, Wilmont, but my time in the yard was cut short just as I was collecting some outstanding debts. I heard that Aryan piece of shit, Tiny, got his ass handed to him in the mess hall and they had to lock the place down. Serves him right. He’s been a boil on the ass of this institution ever since he got here.”
I grunted noncommittally and leaned against the wall.
“I wonder who worked him over?” Jones contemplated. “Might be the leader of the Mexican gang. That Juarez guy. That dude looks like he eats babies for breakfast. He’s the only one I know crazy enough to even try to step to Tiny. Oh well, it looks like dinner will be served bedside tonight.”
After a few restless hours of lockdown, one of the guards stopped by our cell.
“Hey, Wilmont,” Becker, the guard everyone referred to as “Pecker” behind his back, shouted through the bars. “The Warden wants to see you. Think he wants to talk to you about that fight in the chow hall earlier today?”
My celly let out a chuckle. “Well, that solves the mystery of who got into it with Tiny. You’re one crazy son of a bitch, Wilmont. You know that?”
Jumping down from my bunk, Becker unlocked my cell door, and I silently followed him to the Warden’s office. As we walked, the guard looked slyly back at me, an ugly sneer painted across his arrogant face.
“You really fucked up this time, pretty boy,” Becker snarked. “That’s your third fight this month. You’re definitely going to get your ass landed in the hole after your public bitch-fit with Tiny. Your little gang ain’t going to be able to save you now.”
The guard was trying to get a rise out of me. Unlike Tiny, I wasn’t dumb enough to bite. Becker had a dead-end job. And, by his sour disposition, I was guessing a small dick to go with it. The only way he could feel empowered was to fuck with the prisoners he minded. It probably got him hard. I didn’t give a shit about the why of it. He meant so little to me that I couldn’t be bothered. However, I was curious why the Warden wanted to see me. I doubted Tiny had earned a meeting with the powerful man. So why me? And why now?
“I can see why Tiny hates you,” Becker continued. “You’re one arrogant son of a bitch. Bet you think your shit don’t stink. Too bad that gorilla didn’t take you down today. No matter, I’m sure his Nazi friends will be more than happy to finish the job the second they get the chance.”
Ignoring the petty jabs, I walked stoned-faced behind my escort. When we got to Warden Mitchell’s office, he stopped just shy of the mahogany door and poked a pale finger in my face.
“You keep your hands to yourself, and your mouth shut when the Warden speaks. You got that, Wilmont? Don’t give me a reason to bash your head in. You understand?”
The grin on the man’s face told me he’d love exactly that. To use his fists and club on a shackled man. “Now why the fuck would I do that?” I ground out, my patience running thin with this petty little bitch.
Becker took a menacing step in my direction. “Don’t swear in front of the Warden either, asshole.”
The door to the Warden’s office opened then and his secretary, Sissy, stepped out. “Go right in,” she told the guard. “Warden Mitchell is waiting for you.”
Becker led me into Mitchell’s office, and we waited for the stern-faced man to look up from his paperwork. “Take a seat,” he ordered brusquely.
Lowering myself into the empty plastic chair, I patiently awaited my next instruction. After a few minutes of strained silence, the Warden finally glanced up from the document he was reading.
Mitchell blinked at the guard as if he was surprised to see him still standing in the room with us. “You can wait outside my office, Becker. I need a minute alone with Mr. Wilmont, here.”
Becker looked like he wanted to protest but thought better of it. Nodding, he closed the door behind him. But I didn’t miss the pointed look he sent me before exiting the room.
“Do you know why you’re here today, Mr. Wilmont?” the Warden cryptically asked.
I shrugged. The last thing I needed to do was provide this fuckwad with reasons as to why I should be sitting in his office like a misbehaving child. I wasn’t interested in playing twenty questions. I was interested in answers.
Mitchell looked over his wire-rimmed glasses at me. “Not much of a talker, are you, son?”
His words nearly made me snort. In my Club, the Devil’s Riders, I was known for being Mr. Social. However, since prison, I’d learned keeping to myself and quiet was the smartest course of action. Running your mouth was a surefire way to get into a fight. And, smart mouth or not, I got into enough of those already.
Leaning back in his swivel chair, the Warden studied me before giving up and answering his own question. “You’re here, Mr. Wilmont, because your attorney has finally come to terms with whatever federal government agency you pissed off.”
I smiled, realizing what he was saying. “Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me, Warden? Am I going home?”
The man frowned but nodded in the affirmative. “That’s what it looks like, Mr. Wilmont.”
Fuck yeah! Those high-priced lawyers were earning their paychecks today. “When can I leave?”
Mitchell flipped to the last page of the thick packet in his hands. “July first. The paperwork will be finalized in one month. You think you can stay out of fights until then, Mr. Wilmont?”
I smiled thinking about all the Club pussy and liquor I was going to drown myself in the minute I checked out of this stink hole. “Absolutely, Warden. Where do I sign?”
Mitchell pointed to a dotted line, and I eagerly took the pen and scrawled my name on it.