Savage Saints MC: MC Romance Collection

by Hazel Parker

  “I promise! Just go get me some water please, OK?”

  Marcel smiled, winked at me, and then headed in. The feeling that I was making a mistake was getting heavier by the second; now, not only was I somewhere that alcohol temptation was going to spike significantly, but I was bothering Marcel. Maybe we just weren’t meant to be. Maybe, had we met when I was on Wall Street or sober for much longer, this could have worked, but the timing wouldn’t allow it. There was too much—

  Marcel came back with a solo cup, smiling. I looked down. It was clear. I smelled it. It didn’t smell like vodka. I took a sip, trusting him.

  It was clean. I was good.

  “You do have water here,” I said with a laugh.

  “You might be the only one drinking it tonight,” Marcel warned with a laugh. “But yes, we do have water.”

  “Show me what else you have.”

  Marcel proceeded to give me the two-minute tour of what I already knew was there. I knew how small the space was, and I could guess at what different things were. He pointed out different people to me. He showed me that the bartender was a man named Niner; his brother, Jack, went by Biggie; he had an uncle that he just called Uncle—a man I immediately saw as something of a creeper to women—and then, finally, there was Fitz, a man wearing glasses who looked like he had wandered in by mistake.

  And then, Marcel pointed out, were a bunch of people that Niner and Biggie knew, new recruits for the club that he didn’t know but that he hoped would evolve into full-fledged members. Going by a relative scale, it was pretty clear that even though Marcel had been drinking, he was the soberest one in the room.

  “It’s because I’m the president,” he said when I asked him about it.

  “President?”

  “Yeah, the club has officers. President, VP, treasurer, secretary, sergeant-at-arms, which you can think of as like club bouncer and marketer rolled into one. I’m the president. I’m the one that started this idea.”

  “That would make sense since you started the meeting couple weeks ago, wouldn’t it,” I said, feeling slightly silly that I didn’t pick up on it.

  “Well, I didn’t tell you, and that’s my fault. I should have done a better job of communicating that to you.”

  You’re very sweet. But you’re very wrong. The only person who has failed at communicating things has been me.

  “In any case…”

  Just then, he and I saw the same thing—what looked like two guys shoving and arguing over something, perhaps a lady near them.

  “Sorry, one second,” Marcel said as he hurried over to the two men on the brink of brawling. I watched as he took control of the situation, grabbing the aggressor by the arm and getting both of them to talk. I watched—

  “Well, aren’t you something, darling.”

  I turned to see the man Marcel had called Uncle staring at me, a creepy smile across his face. I already disliked him, and he’d said one line to me. Actually, I had disliked him from the second that I first saw him, but it was especially pronounced now that he was actually speaking to me.

  “You must be Marcel’s little squeeze,” he said, walking over. “I’m his uncle, Reggie Stone, but you can just call me Uncle.”

  “I’ll go with Reggie, thanks,” I said, folding my arms and stepping back.

  “You sure? Everyone else calls me Uncle. I suppose I could let you call me Daddy if you prefer.”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  Uncle just chuckled, as if he’d heard these rejections before and wasn’t bothered by them. That was a huge disappointment. I didn’t need Marcel to try and break up two fights tonight, especially when the second involved his uncle and his date.

  “How about a shot?” he said. “Something to lift that scowl of yours into a smile. Hmm? What say you?”

  “I’m good, thanks,” I said, unsure why I even thanked him for the offering.

  “Surely, my dear, you misspoke.”

  “I’m not—”

  “You came to a Savage Saints party. You didn’t come here to be a prude, did you? The church is two streets down. If you’re looking for that party, I’m afraid the only thing you will find here are a bunch of demons.”

  You have no idea how true that is right now.

  “Come on,” he said, trying to grab my wrist.

  “No, let go,” I said, pulling back.

  “You’re really going to pass up the chance at free alcohol?” he said. “I have stuff that’s better than the shit you serve at the restaurant you wait at.”

  “I don’t particularly care what they serve at my restaurant,” I said.

  “You sure?”

  I hated everything about this man. If this really was Marcel’s uncle, the fact that he had the guts to try and hit on me in front of Marcel was telling of their family dynamics, and not in a pleasant way.

  But as much as it pained me to admit it, a glass of Dom did sound kind of nice.

  No, it didn’t; that was just me being in a moment of weakness.

  But it sure would have helped deal with this asshole.

  “Yes, I am sure,” I said, standing up to both Reggie and to my inner weakness. “Now, do you mind? I’m here with Marcel.”

  “Marcel seems—”

  “The fuck are you doing?”

  Marcel came over and got between Reggie and I. I had never felt so grateful for Marcel’s size as I did at that moment.

  “Talking to a young lady; what does it look like I’m doing?”

  “The young lady that I brought here as my date, you mean?” Marcel snarled. “Her name is Christine. And if you fucking talk to her again—”

  Reggie smirked, drew closer to Marcel, and stared him down.

  “Are you sure that you want to talk shit to the man who is paying your bills?”

  Marcel’s fists tightened.

  “You know damn well that you’ve got a problem, Uncle, and we want to help you, but we’re sure as shit not going to when it involves our dates.”

  Uncle’s cocky demeanor faded in favor of what looked like sheer anger. I swore the two of them were about to come to blows and made sure to back up just enough that I could easily dodge the chaos if it started.

  “You don’t ever bring that up here; you got that?” Reggie said. “So help me God, if you bring family issues to this club, I will not just pull the rug out from under your ass, but I will find a way to get your ass back in jail. I don’t give a fuck if it hurts Lilly or anyone else.”

  Marcel looked at me, looked back at Reggie, and then turned and punched a wall as hard as he could. His fist produced a pretty big hole—it suggested power that probably could have killed Reggie or someone else if he so tried.

  “Smart man,” Reggie said.

  “Find some easy skank,” Marcel said. “Someone who isn’t…”

  He didn’t finish his words. His uncle winked at him, chuckled, and walked away.

  “You OK?”

  “Come with me outside,” Marcel said. “I need to take a break from all this fucking madness.”

  He grabbed my hand and led me, and just as they had when he escorted me from his bike to the apartment stairs, sparks flew in my stomach. The only question was, would the big explosion of a kiss come, or would it die a lame death for a second time? Will I have the guts to make it an explosion, perhaps better said?

  Because of the configuration of the shop, we barely had any space outside. In fact, “space outside” was more akin to just leaning against the shop and having to deal with neighbors and people walking by. More than a few people took notice of the music booming from what looked like a closed repair shop, but no one mustered much courage or interest in actually going inside.

  “Sorry about that,” Marcel said. “My family can be… interesting sometimes. My uncle, we call him Uncle, he’s a genius, but he’s a snake. He can blend in anywhere and in any crowd, but as soon as he sees what he wants, he goes for it. What was he trying to do with you, anyway? Besides sleep with you.”
>
  “You’re fine,” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “He… wanted to get me a drink.”

  The next question went unasked, but I knew it had to be addressed based on our last awkward date. And how did you respond? Why did you respond the way you did?

  “See, the thing about it is, I’m not a drinker,” I said.

  That’s still not the full story.

  “I’ve had some issues in the past with drinking. It’s for the best for everyone if I avoid drinking. Whenever I do drink, I tend to get myself in a lot of trouble. And when I get into trouble, well… I wind up as I am.”

  “A cute girl who makes me laugh and is willing to come to a party like this?”

  I gave a half-hearted laugh. He didn’t know the half of it. And maybe he should have, but there was no part of me that was willing to divulge it. It was too painful, too much of a mark of shame.

  Why wouldn’t it be, considering alcoholism was what caused my last relationship to end?

  “You’re sweet, but you don’t know me well.”

  “Yeah?” he said, turning his body to me.

  I gulped.

  “I know you well enough to do this.”

  It was deja vu. The buildup wasn’t as great as it had been, but it didn’t need to be.

  Because I’d learned from my mistake. And I’d seen what the alternatives were. I wasn’t about to repeat history.

  I closed my eyes, leaned forward, and let Marcel kiss me.

  His wet lips sealed mine and pressed into me. His left hand pulled me close as his right leaned into my leg. I turned more to him.

  I’d waited nearly two and a half months to kiss someone else, to just feel that sense of belonging like I had before, and I finally had it back.

  Except… I didn’t really “have it back.” I had something better.

  I had something new for the first time. I had Marcel in my arms for the first time.

  Call it optimism, call it love drunk, call it whatever you wanted, but I knew it felt right. And in a world where a lot felt uncertain and not much felt sustainable, this was something that finally felt right.

  “You know, I do have to stay here,” Marcel said. “As president, I got an obligation. But don’t feel like you have to stick around. I got what I wanted for tonight.”

  “That’s all?” I said flirtatiously.

  Marcel chuckled.

  “We’ll see how the night goes. Let’s just play it low key. I have to make sure no one gets arrested.”

  I waited for him to punctuate his statement with a light laugh. I would have wound up waiting for quite some time if not for him standing up and walking back inside.

  Though we’d only been outside a few minutes, it felt like the entire place had gotten collectively drunker in the time since. Maybe it was because being with Marcel and Uncle had made me unaware of the gradual shift toward getting hammered, or maybe bikers just partied much harder than I thought.

  It wasn’t something I couldn’t handle, though. In fact…

  “You know what this reminds me of?” I said, observing a couple of girls without their tops on kissing some of the guys. “Wall Street.”

  “For real?” Marcel said.

  “Yes. The only difference is you guys don’t seem ashamed about it. If the New York Times captured this, you’d brag about it. If a banker at one of the firms got caught, it’d be his job.”

  “Huh, interesting. Makes us better in one way.”

  “Oh, trust,” I said, putting a hand on his arm. “You’re better in a lot of ways.”

  I found the red solo cup that I’d left aside earlier. I dumped the contents down the sink just in case they had gotten spiked or contaminated and filled it with water before joining Marcel. Uncle kept his distance, though it was noticeable how he kept glancing my way. The rest of the men would occasionally look my way, though that seemed more borne out of curiosity about Marcel’s date than for me.

  After a couple of hours, as we approached eleven, Marcel leaned forward.

  “You should get out of here now,” he said in a protective way. “I have a feeling this place is going to get truly nutty.”

  As if on cue, Uncle suddenly ran by streaking with a gaggle of girls half his age chasing after him.

  “I was hoping that what I said wouldn’t be literal,” he said with a sigh.

  “As I said, I’ve seen similar before,” I said.

  But I also partook when these things got crazy and wound up making terrible decisions. So maybe you should listen to him.

  “But I’ll take your word for it. Call me. And for real this time.”

  “Trust,” Marcel said, leaning forward for a kiss he held for many seconds. “I’m not that stupid.”

  Chapter 11: Marcel

  I so hated to see Christine go.

  But at least I knew now I wasn’t going to make her wait two weeks. I wasn’t even going to make her wait two days.

  I just had to make it to tomorrow morning. And given that most of the crowd wasn’t even going to make it to midnight, well, that wasn’t going to prove too challenging.

  The only tricky part was that I was drunker than I thought I was, so I couldn’t exactly get on my bike and go home and let someone else take care of it. But that was the thing—I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay here with my crew.

  Tomorrow could be the day of Christine. Tonight was the night of the Savage Saints, the birth of what was bound to be a great club.

  * * *

  When I woke up, it was not to sunlight pouring through the garage windows. It was not to someone in the repair shop waking before me, making noise with their feet. It wasn’t just even me waking up on my own.

  It was because of a rhythmic, almost obnoxiously consistent knock on the door by the garage. It would have somehow been less annoying if they had just slammed their fist on the door, because at least then there would have been a sense of urgency to answer. But no, they nonchalantly knocked just loud enough to get me up and moving, but not loud enough to make it feel like Brooklyn was burning to the ground.

  “Who the fuck,” I mumbled as I stepped over people lying on the ground.

  I ran through the possibilities in my head. All ideas eventually turned around to the notion that it was someone from the party last night who had just left early but left behind something.

  I got to the door and paused. The smell of oil and alcohol was not a pleasant combination. We were going to have to figure something out for future parties.

  I looked back over the room one last time before opening the door. People were naked everywhere. Beer bottles and cans were strewn about the space. Uncle had himself two girls about half his age. It was both darkly funny and unsettling.

  The knocking never stopped.

  “OK, OK,” I said, opening the door. “What’s so urg…”

  My voice trailed off when I saw the man before me. It was the person I least wanted to see.

  Kyle Stone.

  My brother.

  The only way anyone would have seen Kyle was a stone was by the eyes. He had the same eyes that Biggie and I did, but otherwise, he looked like a sheep in a wolf’s clothing. Unlike Biggie and I, who were bald, Kyle had hair that he liked to slick back like he was a mid-century greaser. He kept himself clean-shaven at all times as if that somehow made him a better person than the rest of us.

  He never lifted weights, or if he did, he didn’t get the bulk that Biggie and I had. He looked like a fucking twig, so tiny and lithe in comparison to us. And he always had a goddamn greasy smirk on his face.

  Growing up, Kyle had always tried to use words and circumstances to his advantage. He knew that he could never win a fight with his fists or with his charm, so like the snake that he was, he tried to undercut us in other ways. I suppose in his spot, with how much of a pussy he was, I would have done the same, but thank fuck I didn’t. This guy was an asshole.

  “Hello, brother.”

  “The fuck you want?”

  Kyle
chuckled, his lips not parting as he laughed. His throaty laugh was so goddamn annoying. Really, everything about Kyle was annoying. I almost wished there were a way siblings of an asshole could petition the legal system to kick someone out of the family and force them to change their name. Kyle Adams or Kyle Zane or Kyle Any-Fucking-Other-Name would have been better and more accurate than Kyle Stone.

  “Just came by to check out the new place, I must offer my congratulations on it becoming a Stone property.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Kyle narrowed his eyes on me. He had the most punchable face across America, I swore. If anything could unite people in this country, it was the desire to punch Kyle.

  “Dear brother, don’t tell me that prison made you so stupid as to forget what I do,” he said. “I work in the Small Business Administration here in New York City. You think I would miss the sale of an auto repair shop to a Stone in a place like this?”

  He sniffed the air.

  “I assume that you are running a business here,” he said. “After all, the zoning states, in layman’s terms, that you need to have a legitimate business.”

  “We are,” I growled.

  “Then why does it smell like alcohol? Hmm?”

  That was another reason I hated Kyle. He didn’t drink. And it wasn’t like Christine, where she had issues with it. Kyle didn’t drink because he knew he’d keep an advantage over others and control them better sober.

  “We were celebrating the night of the sale.”

  “Oh? Do you mind if I inspect the building?”

  “I do mind,” I said. “It’s not working hours. You can’t come in.”

  “Oh, but I—”

  “You’re welcome to try, Kyle.”

  Kyle mockingly sighed and said my name like a disappointed parent.

  “You just got out of jail, brother!” he said haughtily. “And now you’re threatening a state official?”

  “A state official? That’s a lofty title for someone who probably doesn’t even make six figures a year.”