Lust Hard (Savage Saints MC Book 2)

by Hazel Parker

  I had hoped that such a statement would comfort Splitter and make clear my previous remark had been professional, but somehow, it seemed like everything I said was making things weirder by the second. What is going on with me right now? Lord, if you’re listening, I could use some guidance to set myself straight. This divorce must be hitting me harder than I thought.

  “Don’t you worry, I’ve got a few button-downs that I can work with,” he said.

  I remembered then that he didn’t have a suit. Hopefully, if he actually did have to go to court and we couldn’t figure something out, I could rent him a suit or, worst case, buy him one. I knew that probably wasn’t the best move, but given that I was about to buy him breakfast, what was a suit?

  When we got to the shop, Brothers Bagels, I asked him if he wanted anything specific. He asked for three sausage, egg, and cheese sandwiches. I asked him if he also wanted to buy the store, which just got a weak laugh. I took my cue and headed inside.

  I’m not sure which part of the whole ordeal was the most bizarre, but the fact that I kept looking back at him to make sure he was OK was… weird. I told myself it was to see if he was going to throw up in my car, but I had seen plenty of people who had imbibed too much alcohol. Splitter might have gotten a decent volume in last night, but he was not in a position where he might defile my car.

  Still, I knew that I needed help with how I was acting around Splitter. I was not just blurring the lines of personal and professional; I was acting like I was into him. Which was stupid; we were from two separate worlds; I had just gotten divorced; he was facing a murder rap charge; I was religious, pious, and a goody-two-shoes; he was… not…

  And yet, and yet… and yet! For all of the thoughts that came to mind about why it wouldn’t make any sense… they all faded whenever I looked at him.

  You need to be very cautious, Amber. If you feel that way about him and cannot control it, fine, but you need to control when you see him and how often.

  “Ma’am?”

  I had to shake myself from my stupor when I realized I had just left the bagel maker out to dry. I apologized profusely, ordered four sandwiches—I sincerely could not remember how many he had requested, which never happened; I didn’t let my emotions make me forget details like that—and paid with my credit card. I took the sandwiches out to him, and it was like he was sober instantly.

  “My God, you got four?” he said.

  “I actually forgot how many you wanted,” I said. “I got in my head about… well, about some other cases, and I just figured I’d order a lot. You can always refrigerate a couple.”

  I suppose if you called my divorce a case and that my divorce was affecting the things that I was thinking in the store, what I said was the truth.

  It was an awfully big stretch of the truth, however.

  “Yeah, thank you so much,” he said. “And, Amber, seriously, thank you.”

  I just laughed to deflect the feelings bubbling within me.

  “I just am doing my job,” I said. “I wanted to feed you so you’d feel better so we can have our meeting.”

  “No, I mean, thank you for being you,” Splitter said. “So many people judge us before they even get to know us. I suppose if you’re not used to the indulgent, hedonistic lifestyle, you look at us and think we’re a bunch of arrogant assholes and shitheads—sorry—and that we’re just animals. Very, very, very few people actually take the time to get to know us without making judgments. The fact that you are, I’ve said it before and I will say it again, damnit. You’re a saint, and the good kind!”

  Splitter getting emotional when he said that was making me feel warm and with even more butterflies inside. I smiled as much as I ever had around a client. It was beginning to feel uncomfortably comfortable being around him.

  “Well, if I ever judged my clients for what their lifestyle is like, I don’t know that I’d be a very good lawyer!” I said with a laugh, partially meant to again deflect what I was feeling inside. “I do not think I would ever party as you guys do, but I try and understand it.”

  “And what do you understand about it?” he said with a sly smile.

  Damnit, Splitter.

  Oh my goodness… going to have to confess to that one Sunday.

  “I… I will do my best,” I said. “I think that you guys like to have fun. I think that from what I know, you can take on some stressful and intense work outside of the shop. And I think that it’s only appropriate to let off some steam after the fact.”

  Splitter took a bite, pondered what I had said, and shrugged.

  “It’s more a philosophy, really,” he said. “The founder, Jane’s father—”

  That surprised me. She seemed so… well, out of place there as well. She was wearing normal, white-collar clothes. Maybe her father wanted her out and picked someone else to take over when he retired.

  “He always said that we had a duty to the world. That we could live the life we wanted, not the life others wanted us to live, but in return, we had to protect the right of others to live their lives. That meant when others popped up who wanted to run drugs or guns, who used unethical means to get what they wanted but were smart enough to get around the law… we had to step up.”

  Although the words showed me Splitter had intelligence to him that I think he undersold, especially around the club, it did center me back to why we were here.

  “Well, speaking of getting around the law,” I said. “Remember what I told you about our first rule, Splitter. You have to tell me everything that happened. And so, in that regard, I need to know what happened at the warehouse that blew up that night. I am trusting you to tell me the whole truth. If you weren’t there, I’ll believe you. But if you did commit murder and blew up that building, I need to know.”

  Splitter finished his bite of his sandwich, swallowed, and sighed.

  “I suppose you’re about to be in the MC world now in full,” he said. “Alright. Here’s how it went down from my perspective.”

  I reminded myself that no matter what Splitter said, he was a good man who just fought for what he believed in. It was almost like listening to a soldier who had killed enemy combatants; from one perspective, it was murder, but from another, it was just a day in the line of duty.

  “The warehouse that we tackled was a stronghold of our rivals, the Devil’s Mercenaries.”

  “Quite a name,” I said, but then I told myself to stay quiet so he could lay it all out.

  “For sure. In any case, when we first got there, we took out some of their members. We killed them, although it was not me who killed them at first.”

  I decided I didn’t need to know who, exactly, had killed said enemies.

  “Well… OK, I did not kill the first guy, but I did kill two Mercs who were guarding the actual warehouse, not the chain link fence. It’s just…”

  He struggled for a justification to explain what he did. I just told him to keep going. I still could not believe I was seeing this less through an objective lens and more through the lens of him being a soldier, but here we were.

  “I did grab some explosives from our trucks and helped put them in position all over the warehouse while my teammates provided cover against the incoming enemy. I did not shoot anyone while I placed the bombs. But then, yeah, we escaped. I got hit, but I was fine. I’ll show you the wound sometime if you want.”

  “Maybe some other time,” I said, realizing that that left the door open… again. “And then what?”

  “We had their AK-47s and some other ammo back at our warehouse, and that was that. I remember Trace saying something about how the whole thing felt really easy, but… it got done. Maybe my arrest had something to do with it, you know? Like how we pulled it off so easily. Maybe they were hoping the police would get involved. But yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

  Pretty much it. The man killed two people, stole weapons, and blew up an entire warehouse… and that’s pretty much it.

  It really is a different world we live i
n.

  “I have to be honest right now, though, Amber; what I just told you was supposed to remain between club members. I know you said you promised you would not reveal anything, and I believe you… but it’s serious. We can’t be fooling around.”

  “I know,” I said. “I have too many secrets to be fooling around as well. I just need to process everything and think about it.”

  I sat in silence. The Devil’s Mercenaries that he mentioned… I did not want to even think of how true the name was. If it led to Splitter acting like this…

  “Well, let me ask you this, Amber,” he said.

  “Yeah?”

  He cleared his throat, placed his hands on his lap, and sighed, looking at the roof of the car.

  “Do you honestly believe there is any scenario in which I don’t go to prison?”

  Chapter 5: Splitter

  I had felt quite confident with Amber Reynolds by my side before we’d left for the bagel shop. Hungover, oh, hell yes. But confident about the case? Also hell yes.

  But hearing myself confess that I had murdered two people, that I had helped plant those charges, that I had helped steal guns and ammo… well, shit, things were beginning to look a lot less confident.

  And then I’d have to go to prison, and there was no way that even someone as good as Amber would be able to get me anything less than two life sentences. Which meant I would never be free again, which meant that I would never be a vice president of the Saints again, which meant that I would have failed Trace…

  Fuck!

  “OK, so you’ve told me a lot, but I appreciate it,” Amber said. “I appreciate that you’ve told me the truth, even if it will be a secret to everyone else who was not on that mission. I recognize that what you told me was very tough, and it does help me to know what we’re facing.”

  “But…”

  “No buts yet,” she said with a reassuring smile. “Look, the evidence we have right now is pretty circumstantial. You had mentioned earlier, I think, that you suspect the DA is trying to make an example of you to all the other club members. I think, based on what they have, there is truth to that. However, the state also does not bring charges if they don’t think they can win the case. So they have something that they think can make them win.”

  “I kept the gun I used,” I said. “And there wouldn’t be any fingerprints. We all wore masks at night… what could they have?”

  My mind was racing as the worst case scenario began to play out. Amber was doing her best to keep me calm, but the combination of the hangover, the confession, and everything else was conspiring to make me even more emotional than usual. No Saint so far had ever gone to prison for more than a few months for what they had done; I hated the idea that I would be the one to fall, the one to let down everyone in the club.

  What the fuck would that make me? A goddamn loser.

  “Most likely, they don’t have any hard evidence per se,” Amber said. “If they did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I’d be telling you why you need to take a plea deal if you didn’t want to spend the rest of your life in jail. Instead, I think what they’re going to do is try to break you and try to get Trace in cross-examination.”

  That, actually, made me feel relief. We’d practically made a living out of lying through our teeth on the stand, and all of us would have our shit and our stories together before we ever said a word.

  “Splitter, you cannot underestimate what this might mean. We have to be absolutely, one hundred percent on top of our game. Because if not, they will make you crack.”

  “I’m not going to fucking crack!”

  I actually began to feel my eyes well. Whatever good feelings had come had vanished when Amber questioned my ability not to crack. If she was questioning it, surely, there must have been a reason that she did so. Maybe she saw something that I was just blind to. Maybe, in comparison to clients who had cracked on the witness stand before, I was weak.

  Fuck!

  And then I felt her hand gently squeeze my arm.

  “Splitter, it’s OK,” she said.

  I looked into her eyes, and I swore… for just a split second, I swore I thought we were going to kiss. She was leaning forward, our eyes were locked, and I felt for just that brief window that she was moving forward as well.

  The butterflies in my stomach were kicked up to mach fifty, and all of my fucking worries were vanishing at the thought that I might actually kiss the most attractive woman I had ever seen in my life.

  But then she squeezed my arm and leaned back. I wouldn’t say it ruined the moment, but it did remind me why I was here. If I made a move on her, I would get rejected, and I would possibly lose her as my lawyer, which surely would result in the worst case scenario.

  In short, I had to ignore the urges. I had to ignore that split second of erotic and romantic tension. And I had to ignore everything that was not related to my case.

  Still…

  “Listen, everyone whom I have dealt with has struggled and feared what would happen when cross-examination began,” she said. “It’s extraordinarily stressful, and the opposing lawyers are under no requirement to be polite. In fact, many of them are deliberately brash and rude in an attempt to get someone like you to crack. But it’s like anything else. If we practice enough, there’s a very good chance we will survive, and we’ll get you either completely free or facing only a couple of minor charges.”

  I nodded as I struggled to contain all of the emotions flowing through me at that moment.

  “Is everything OK, Splitter?”

  It felt like the perfect time to confess how I was feeling. I don’t think she was asking the question to see if everything was OK with the club. She was asking it to see how I felt, and while such a move was incredibly empathic, I think she sensed how I felt about her.

  But did she feel the same way? My gut said… my gut actually said yes.

  But my gut also said that Amber was a strong woman who could recognize her own faults and weaknesses, and that if I kissed her, she would realize what she had done—no matter how much she may have enjoyed it—and choose to step back. I could not allow myself to confess this, at least not with everything still ongoing.

  “I’m nervous as hell,” I said, still leaving the door open for me to confess my feelings for her. “I’m scared that I’m going to go to prison. I can’t ever admit that around the Saints. If they ask me if I’m scared, I make some comment about fu… roughing up the guards in prison. I make some remark about blowing shit up, sorry. But only Trace knows how volatile I am.”

  I sighed, looking out the window on the other side. I didn’t want to face Amber as I admitted to my weaknesses. It’s just not what a Saint did. To do so would mark weakness, and while weakness might have been seen as acceptable vulnerability in some circles, in the circle of the Saints as a whole, it was nothing more than a chance to pick on someone.

  What I had said was true. Trace was the only person whom I could be fully honest about my emotional valleys and peaks around. The rest, I just am a hard ass motherfucker.

  “I just want this all to go away, most especially based on what you are saying about the state not having a ton of direct evidence. If not, and they don’t like to prosecute cases they can’t win, it seems like they’re desperate. Which, I get it, we ruffle some feathers and shit, sorry. But… I mean, come on! You know! It’s just…”

  To my surprise, a tear streaked down my face. Now I was really glad that I wasn’t facing Amber. I would have to make sure that I got my face clean before I saw her, lest she think me some sort of weak, pathetic excuse for a man.

  “Hey, Splitter,” she said. “It’s alright. We all deal with these thoughts. We all have things we’re afraid of. Even me.”

  I waited for her to elaborate, but she did not. I suspected that there was something she wasn’t telling me about, something that she was going through… I kind of wanted to know, just because of how I felt about her, but I could not make the argument that it was
in favor of helping the case. That argument just was not valid.

  And if it was, well, Amber would have said something specific about it by now. It wasn’t my business, at least not on a professional level.

  If things became personal, though…

  “For right now, though, we just need to focus on what we can control, OK? I know it’s hard. You’re telling me a lot of things that I need to know but are also very personal. If I’m being honest, I have never had a client whom I felt as close to personally as you. But… we have to remain professional, OK?”

  Was that just the equivalent of the “I like you, but we have to remain friends” conversation? It sure seemed like it.

  But then… why would she still be looking at me as she is right now?

  “I agree,” I said, still not facing her. I did wipe my face with my hands, though, so it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out I was feeling emotional to some degree. “This is a nice little bond we have.”

  From my vantage point, I could see Amber in the reflection of the window, and I could see her smiling in a way that suggested she didn’t think I could see her. When I turned, having finally felt enough faith that she wouldn’t judge me as a crybaby, the smile became more professional, but I knew the truth.

  We were both lying to ourselves a little bit about how much we liked each other, but that was OK. It was part of the dance, anyway.

  Wow, didn’t think I would be this calm and rational about something like this!

  “Do you need anything else from me?” I said, hoping to preempt her questioning my facial expression.

  “No, not at the moment,” she said, very softly, as if she felt like words were interrupting something special between us. “I will message you for our next meeting. We’ll need to practice cross-examination. And understand this, Splitter: they will try to rattle you. So when we do our cross-examining, I will try to rattle you. But you have to keep calm. Even just looking guilty can be as bad as having evidence of guilt. Understood?”