Page 155 of Blackout-

Twenty bucks says it was Sunny.

I watch as he unbuttons his double-breasted suit and takes a seat, setting his leather briefcase on the table between us. His gaze rakes over me and he lifts an eyebrow.

“You look human.”

“Aren’t you just full of compliments,” I counter.

“Sometimes,” he retorts, opening his briefcase. He pulls a few documents out and sets them on the table before leaning back. “I’m not sure if it was you or that pain in my ass father-in-law of yours who requested it, but I got the goods on your cellmate.”

With everything going on between me and Lacey, I forgot about Bishop and his boy.

“What did you find?”

“Well, for starters, his name is Gabe Bishop in case you were wondering. As far as the kid, child services have taken him out of the uncle’s home. He got arrested and made bail. His next scheduled hearing is in four weeks, that’s when the kid will testify against him. This Bishop character doesn’t have a shot in hell of getting released in time for the hearing and even if he did, CPS isn’t letting him near that kid.”

“He’s his father,” I argue.

“Yeah, and? He doesn’t even have a decent lawyer. He’s got a public defender who doesn’t give a flying fuck if he sees his kid or not.”

I don’t know why I can’t shake this guy or his problems. Lord knows I have enough of my own that I’m dealing with. But I was there. I saw a father fall to pieces because he couldn’t protect his son. I watched him cry for that boy. That can’t be forgotten. Especially when I’m on the cusp of becoming a father.

I don’t know if this rehab shit is making me soft or if I’m finally realizing its high time, I pay it forward for all the second chances I’ve been granted.

“How much?” I ask.

“Come again?”

“How much for you to take his case.”

“I’m a criminal attorney. I don’t play in family court.”

“You’re a fucking attorney. Period,” I growl.

“I didn’t come here to take on a charity case, Blackie. If you’re done wasting my time, I’d like to get on with the visit.”

Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on the table and narrow my eyes.

“You came here as my attorney. My very well paid attorney. Now, I’m telling you I want you to take Bishop’s case and while you’re at it, I want you to pull a fucking rabbit out of your hat and get that kid out of CPS’s hands.”

“Okay, let’s say I agree and by some fucking miracle I get the kid out of CPS, what do you propose I do with him then? You do realize he probably needs all sorts of fucking therapy, don’t you?”

“He needs to feel safe,” I snarl.

“He’s safe where he is.”

“Says you.”

“Says the system,” he volleys.

“A system that’s failed how many children?”

“I see what’s happening here, you got yourself straight and now you want to fix the world. Well, quit the motorcycle gang and become a monk then because you don’t have a future at being a foster parent.”

“Who said anything about being a foster parent?”

“The only way that kid gets out of CPS is if he has a foster family who is willing to take him in and meets the credentials. You do not qualifyMr. Rehab,” he snaps, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I’m entertaining this.” He draws out a sigh and slaps his palm against the table. “Look, Jack mentioned some biker thing.”

“B.A.C.A.”

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