Spades: Motorcycle Club Romance (Savage Saints MC Book 5)

by Hazel Parker

  “OK, maybe with a little bit of a bribe.”

  I chuckled, leading Richard to join me. It was cute how easily the conversation flowed; I could play off of him, and he could play off of me. It wasn’t hard to come up with anything to say, because it was all instinctive. It was rare for me to have a conversation like that.

  “How much?”

  “Hmm?”

  “How much of a bribe would it take?”

  “Oh, see, I wasn’t thinking monetarily.”

  My skin began to flush, and it wasn’t because of the heat. Thankfully, a couple moments later, I saw Antonio pulling up.

  “What were you thinking?” I said as I got in the car and collapsed into the limo’s seats, relieved and overjoyed to have temperatures in the double digits.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  It was a tease of a question, and the way Richard phrased it seemed to suggest that he had kept something bottled up. I began to think some… really, some naughty thoughts. A biker like him could be very bold and very aggressive; even if bikers weren’t actually like that, it was certainly the vibe I got. I expected him to open up with a line about how he was thinking about cooling off and removing each other’s clothing, getting more comfortable in the heat, getting comfortable being in heat, or any other variation of such a phrase.

  Instead…

  “I was thinking you could get in if you promised me a date,” he said. “Because the truth is, Natasha, there is something drawing me to you that goes beyond just the casual, beautiful aspects of you. Don’t get me wrong. You have a beautiful smile and a wonderful body that I’m sure draws the eyes of every man who looks upon you. But there’s something more about you—maybe it was the way you stood by your father, maybe it’s whatever gave you the audacity to come to The Red Door. But whatever it was, it has me curious.”

  He took a gulp of water, which gave me a chance to catch my breath. I hadn’t realized that I’d been holding it in this whole time, as if breathing would cause an interruption in my ability to listen.

  “See, the thing about you, Natasha, is that you’re still something of a mystery to me,” he said. “If I were being very honest, we have only met twice, and both encounters were for, what, less than two minutes? Maybe even less than one. There is no way I can form an objective opinion and get a proper sense for who you are in such time. But I’ve seen enough that I want to see more.”

  “You’re very sweet, Richard,” I said. “I want to get to know you better, too. It’s funny; my father wants me to marry someone like him. Very businesslike, very focused on money and prestige… it would be cool, I guess, but I’m not interested in that kind of thing. I don’t want a broke, homeless man, don’t get me wrong, but I want a bold personality, one who isn’t afraid to take charge of things. You say that me paying the money I did to get to The Red Door says something, but so did how you approached me in there.”

  “Yeah, well, just be glad it happened without your father noticing.”

  “Oh my God, can you imagine?” I said, horrified at the feeling.

  That was pretty much the worst-case scenario. Yes, I was an adult, but given that my father was CEO of the company and I was under his supervision, he exercised a lot more control over me than a typical father of a twenty-six-year-old would. I supposed I could say it was a credit to him that aside from trying to push me to marry a man of his choice, he didn’t interfere much in my life, but the pursuit of marriage for him was something that seemed to take up an awful lot of my social calendar.

  “I don’t know your father well, but I would imagine he is not a man to be trifled with.”

  “Uh, no,” I said with a nervous laugh. “I just try not to ask questions.”

  I gulped as a tense silence came over the room. It wasn’t anything ridiculous—it wasn’t like my father killed people. My father was not some evil mastermind who dispatched his political enemies behind closed doors.

  But drive his competitors to ruin in business? Fire employees who had so much as whispered bad things about them? Publicly berated employees he didn’t like into resigning?

  Those were all things I had witnessed him doing. Igor Sokolov generally played within the rules of the law, but he wasn’t afraid to push said rules to the limit.

  “So let me ask you something then, Natasha,” Richard said.

  Just something about the way he says my name… my goodness, it makes me feel so warm and fuzzy inside.

  “What compels you? If your father is this man, what drives you to talk to me?”

  “Freedom,” I said.

  Even though I knew Antonio kept his mouth shut about everyone and everything, I still checked to make sure the window was rolled up.

  “I’m not going to lie to you; my father is worth billions of dollars. He gives me more than enough money. I could just walk away from work right now, have no inheritance, and never have to worry about anything.”

  “How do I get your lifestyle?”

  We both had a much-needed laugh to break the slight tension forming.

  “But freedom is something that… I kind of have it, but I don’t. And I guess that if I say I kind of have it, then I don’t really have it. I just want the freedom to do what I want without fear of drawing my father’s disapproval. Doesn’t mean that I’m going to go to some public dinner and, I don’t know, start flashing everyone. But, yeah.”

  “I get it,” Richard said.

  I couldn’t believe that not only had we had such a heavy conversation, but I felt good doing it. I couldn’t say none of my previous suitors had asked what drove me, but most hadn’t earned the trust for me to be that honest—nor, for that matter, had I had the privacy to do so. I almost told myself to bite my tongue; it wasn’t going to do much good for me to spill everything out.

  “So what about you?” I said. “What drives you?”

  “Hah, that’s too easy of an answer,” he said. “I’m always pushing to make things happen. I’m kind of an odd one. I have, well, I had an older brother who’s much, much older than me. It always felt like I was trying to live up to the standard that Paul set, and so for pretty much my entire life, I’ve been in ‘prove it’ mode, and I can’t shake it.”

  Wasn’t it interesting how we both had very opposing viewpoints on such matters? I had never felt any desire to prove anything; I just wanted to live my life as I did. Richard, though, seemed like the kind of guy who was so driven he might burn out one day. Ironically, that made him pretty similar to many of the men my father set me up with, but…

  Then Richard continued, and I realized I had spoken too soon.

  “I’m trying like hell, though,” he said. “This ‘prove it’ mentality has worked to get me this far, but I’m ready to step back. I’m ready to be content with who and what I have.”

  Despite being back in the limo, I was surprised to notice I was still sweating, almost like the conversation was making me perspire with anticipation and excitement. It was so nice to see someone as vulnerable and loose as Richard. My father…

  …Would never approve of this. Granted, it was far too early to say if this would actually develop into anything; heaven knows I got plenty excited about plenty of potential dates at Harvard, only to have it never go anywhere or end rather badly. I couldn’t yet say if I would fall for him more.

  It was fair to say, though, that I did at least want the chance to see if there was anything else. If we went out and there was nothing to be had, then at least we could say that we tried. And if there was, I could figure it out then.

  “Anyways, I would imagine that you have things to do,” Richard said. “Do you have to go back to work?”

  “Eventually, yes, but I’m a Sokolov; I can do what I want,” I said with a chuckle. “Wow, that sounded arrogant. I try not to be that girl, but—”

  “You’re fine, I invoke presidential privilege all the time,” Richard said with a laugh that made me think he didn’t actually do that. “In any case, though, I don’t want
to keep you from doing more valuable things with your day than just talking with some random guy.”

  “Oh, stop,” I said, but before I could compliment him, he’d picked right back up.

  “I will make this quick, then. Today is Friday. I know this is short notice, but I would like to take you out on the Strip tomorrow evening. I will take you to dinner at Prime Steakhouse at the Bellagio, with a nice surprise to follow, followed then by some time at the fountains. After that, the Strip is our oyster. What say you, Natasha Sokolov?”

  I loved how he said my name with a romantic tone. He didn’t feel like he had to speak a certain way because of his status. He didn’t feel trapped by the people around him. It was precisely the fact that he was something of an outsider that made him so attractive—a person comfortable with being an outsider at that.

  And, really, more than anything, I am just so happy to have a date in front of the fountains of the Bellagio. It got old having people offer their private jet or a trip to Los Angeles. People could never understand that sometimes, I just wanted something simple and sweet.

  “I say that I would be delighted to take you up on that offer,” I said. “I believe my father and mother will be entertaining guests, but the guests are more like friends than business partners, so I will get out of it. They might give me some grief, but they’ll understand.”

  “You’re sure?” Richard said. “I don’t mind rescheduling. Any day except Tuesday or Wednesday—”

  “No, no, Richard, I definitely want to see you,” I said, words that I worried might have sounded too clingy. Too late now. You crossed that bridge as soon as you said it.

  “Perfect then,” he said. “I will make the arrangements. I will let you go then, Natasha. You have a lovely day.”

  “I will, thanks.”

  Because of talking to you.

  He hung up seconds later, and I placed my phone in my lap. I looked at the time; it was not even yet noon. The phone call felt like it had lasted the entire afternoon, and yet it had actually only been about ten minutes. That bode very well for our date; normally, it felt like time flew by too quickly. But today, seeing time go by almost impossibly slowly made me think that one evening with Richard could feel like a lifetime with him.

  “Antonio,” I said.

  “Yes?” he said, rolling down the window.

  “Why don’t we head back to my place for a bit,” I said. “I think I need a nap and some quiet time to calm my nerves.”

  “Heading back to your place.”

  Of course, on the drive over and once I got back to my house, even seeing the familiar couch, feeling the cool air, and knowing that I didn’t have to worry if Richard would call me didn’t do any good. I knew there were a lot of factors contributing to why I was excited for this date that went beyond Richard, the person: his status, my status, my father’s feelings, the date itself…

  But it all came back to who Richard was.

  I couldn’t have possibly felt more excited. I just hoped Richard felt the same way, and that nothing came up between now and then that would prevent us from going out.

  Chapter 7: Richard

  Hell yeah!

  Whenever I had my eyes set on a woman, I rarely failed to seduce her. Being a biker had had some hellish years of struggling through poverty and having to balance between indulging in vices and abstaining from them but having gotten to this point was a wonderful feeling.

  But with Natasha… it wasn’t just a feeling of conquest, a feeling of having proven something. It might have sounded childish, but a big appeal to me before with some of the women I slept with were the high fives or the playful, jealous teasing I got from guys like Dom, Pork, and Barber. I knew that was shallow and lame, but like I told Natasha, I couldn’t just flip off the “prove it” switch in the office.

  I wanted to keep her a secret. I wasn’t saying that because Dom had a crush on her; Dom had game and he was smoother than even me, but Dom also had a way of turning off some women by coming on too strong. It seemed like everyone either fell in love with Dom upon his first words or immediately pegged him as a narcissistic player who wouldn’t call the next day. Neither were really wrong. No, I wanted to keep it a secret because I was afraid of jinxing it or putting too much pressure on myself.

  How crazy was that? Here I was, acting like a high schooler, afraid to reveal that I was going out with Natasha Sokolov.

  Stop thinking about her too much, or you’re going to be a goddamn pussy-whipped boy when you get to the club. And you haven’t even kissed her, let alone slept with her. At least earn you being chained down, you pussy!

  I didn’t have anything else to do for the day until I needed to get to The Red Door, so I spent the next couple of hours flipping through lame TV shows on TNT and TBS. It was a little blasé, but for all of the craziness of the past few days, it was kind of welcomed, honestly. Plus, having moments like this had a way of refueling my batteries. It was in the moments of feeling like I needed to do something more that I actually got the motivation to do well.

  I drove out to the Red Door just before four in the afternoon, trying to beat the rush hour traffic eager to get home from their crap jobs. Granted, Las Vegas didn’t have a rush hour like most cities; a city like Las Vegas that had twenty-four-hour casinos and not a lot of “real” jobs meant that rush hour traffic was more or less a fluid thing than a timed thing. That didn’t mean there weren’t definitive traffic spikes, though.

  I got to the club about twenty minutes later, parking my bike in the rear. I saw two other bikes there, which I recognized as Barber’s and Mama’s. I tried to wipe the smile from my face, telling myself a happy biker was a suspicious biker, and entered the code on the door to let myself in.

  There, in the back, inside Barber’s studio, Mama was getting her hair cut.

  “What the hell are you doing here so early?” Mama said. “Shouldn’t you be balls deep in that Russian chick or something?”

  Well, if I had managed to avoid suspicion with my serious face before, my laugh completely gave me away.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, putting my hand over my mouth to avoid her seeing my smile.

  “I’d call bullshit on you, but even you know you’re full of it,” Mama said as she rolled her eyes. “Hell, I deal with these nincompoops every day, and the three of them have less bullshit than you do right now.”

  “Hey, remember who’s got the scissors right now,” Barber said.

  “You think I’m afraid of a big man with some scissors?” Mama said. “Do you know the kind of shit I’ve seen? Boy, you’re cute thinking you intimidate me.”

  “OK, fine,” Barber said, throwing a smirk my way. “I’ll just cut your hair too short instead.”

  “Oh, hell, no!”

  Barber let out a short laugh as he stepped back to avoid messing up Mama’s hair. I found myself strangely detaching and appreciating even more what this club had given me; it was like being in Natasha’s presence hadn’t just made me a happier and more excited person with her; it had made me happier in general. I didn’t just walk in and banter with the club; I loved that I had four other people that I considered extremely close friends and that I could shoot the shit with.

  Only Mama had the privilege of knowing my deepest secrets, but I would have gladly said more right now in front of Barber.

  “Anyways, enough talk from Scissors behind us,” Mama said. “By the way, that’s your new nickname, Brett. You’re Scissors, not Barber.”

  “OK then, Girl.”

  “Are you fucking calling me Girl?”

  “OK, enough,” I said, putting my hands up to try and keep the peace. “Barber is still Barber, and Mama is still Mama; can we agree on that?”

  Barber and Mama both nodded, although Mama added a good natured “this is bullshit.” I was glad that I had known Mama as long as I had; she could grate on people who didn’t understand her sarcasm and didn’t realize that she was one of the most caring and loving
individuals that I had ever known. She had just been through so much shit in her life that she was a little hardened in comparison to most.

  “Now then, how are we doing for capacity tonight? I know Walker’s not here yet, but—”

  POW! POW POW POW POW POW!

  I flinched as I heard gunfire outside. Immediately, Barber dropped his scissors and went for his AK-47 while I went to my room and got my M4. Mama rose out of her chair, her hair about three-quarters done, and grabbed two pistols.

  We headed for the bar, moved aside one of the shelves, and removed the false wall, giving us firing options.

  Unfortunately, as soon as I looked out, all I could see was a Degenerate Sinner driving off with a group of his fellow assholes, the angle making it impossible for me to see how many of them had actually driven by.

  The good news was that, thanks to some smart insight from Mama, we had made the place bulletproof within the last two years. Even that false wall was made of bulletproof material; the only way for someone to kill someone in this building was to either bomb it with something powerful enough to get through the material, or for someone to actually come inside. We kept that a secret from guests, for obvious reasons—most of them just assumed having us on site gave them the safety and security they needed.

  The bad news was that the message was obvious. This is just the beginning. They’re going to hit us again if we don’t retaliate. For whatever reason, they’ve decided to make our lives hell all of a sudden.

  “We need to schedule an emergency meeting right now,” I said.

  Whatever giddiness, whatever excitement I was feeling before—that had vanished. I’d let myself feel that later. This wasn’t the time for sentimental, happy feelings.

  “Barber, I want you to reach out to Dom and Pork right now and tell them to get their asses over here. I don’t care if they’re in the middle of someone or something. You get them over right now, hear me?”

  “You got it,” he said.

  “Mama, just… hang tight for a second, OK?”

  “Really, you think I’m going to just sit here with my hair half done and think, OK, that’s fine? Bullshit, Richard, bull-fucking-shit. I’m sitting here at this spot and firing the second I see someone with a Degenerate Sinners cut on. I don’t care if it’s a fucking tourist. Tourists suck anyways.”