by Hazel Parker
“Actually, sir, I wanted to talk to you about something else,” I said. Why are you even calling him sir? “It’s about my job here at Rothenberg Banking.”
“Yeah,” Gerald said, still not looking up, almost bored by my presence. “If you’re looking for a promotion, then please make an inquiry to HR.”
He doesn’t even care about us. He’s just sounding like a robot. That’s all we are to the company. Just...things to toss aside.
“Gerald, with all respect, I’m not looking for a promotion. I’m leaving the company.”
“If you’re...wait, I’m sorry?”
Gerald finally broke out of whatever he was doing on the computer and turned his attention to me. It was a damn shame it took me quitting to get his attention. It was probably an even greater shame that nothing about this surprised me in the least.
“I am here to announce that effective in two months, I am leaving Rothenberg Banking.”
“You’re what?” he said. Just as I expected, Gerald could truly not comprehend what I was doing.
“I am pursuing my passions with vehicles. This is a decision that I have pondered for some time, and—”
Gerald, much like Amelia had last night, burst out laughing. But unlike Amelia, who actually cared about me, Gerald was laughing to be condescending.
“You are just like the rest of the stupid hippies who have left here,” he said. “You think you’re going to set the world on fire with your creative freedom and spirit, and then you realize the world doesn’t run on spirit: it runs on dollars. Money is what makes the world spin, not some passion project. I want you to think long and hard about what the hell you just said to me, Thomas, and come back to me by lunch and apologize.”
I didn’t budge.
“I’m sorry, sir, but this is a decision that I have made my peace with. I know that I am not going to change my mind. So no. I am not going to come back at lunch and apologize. If I come back, it’s to reiterate what I said.”
“You cannot be serious,” Gerald said with a laugh, but the laugh was fraying into something much sadder. “You cannot be serious! What else is there out there for you, huh? Are you going to a competitor?”
“Did you even listen to me? I said I’m going into vehicle work—”
“No one could possibly be as stupid as you’re sound right now. No one!”
I folded my arms. If I had to quit right here on the spot and never be seen again, then I was OK with that. Four more paychecks would be nice, but it wouldn’t make or break my financial situation.
“Goddamnit, Thomas,” Gerald said. “You know what? We don’t want your sorry ass here if you’re going to go work on a bunch of Civics and stupid shit like that. We’ll keep you here until a week from Friday at the latest, but don’t be surprised if you suddenly lose access at any moment. We don’t need weak-minded individuals here like you.”
“That’s your opinion, sir.”
“That’s a goddamn fact is what it is!”
I cleared my throat and stepped back.
“I will complete the remainder of my work in a professional and respectful manner. If you wish for me to leave earlier, please let me know.”
I heard Gerald yell that what I was doing was bullshit as I left, but I couldn’t have cared less what he had to say at that point. I had just freed myself from the tyranny of working at this forsaken hell hole. Two more weeks without any new work was like a miracle from above.
The worst was over. Even if I took an entire two more weeks to finish up the work, the hard part was done.
I could finally focus on becoming a full-fledged member of the Savage Saints.
Chapter 12: Amelia
I’ll admit it. I was jealous of Fitz.
I was jealous that he could just throw away so much for the sake of some...some motorcycle fetish or something and not feel the slightest bit unnerved by it all. I was freaked the fuck out on behalf of him, and nothing had changed for me. I was still employed, still posting good numbers, and still on track to—eventually—become executive director.
Fitz’s complete calm when it came to his decision almost had me wondering if there was something that I was missing. Was I just crazy? Were we the crazy ones in the banking world? Was Fitz somehow the sober one, the one smart enough to escape everything?
I mean, he wasn’t the one who wanted to have literal sex on the beach. He wasn’t the one who insisted on passing up sex for the sake of controlling the opposite sex with oral. He wasn’t the one who then insisted on being brought to orgasm on said beach.
I still couldn’t believe anything in the past twelve hours had happened. None of it made a goddamn ounce of sense. The fact that I had had a nervous breakdown at work earlier was the most believable aspect of this week, and given how long I’d gone without having one, in a vacuum, that was pretty damn unlikely itself.
When I saw him in the morning at the cafeteria, I fully expected him to come to me and tell me that he was just teasing me, playing on the fact that my mind wasn’t in the best place. When he came close to me, I almost wanted him to go away. People would pick up on the fact that we were doing something, and I didn’t need that to happen. I didn’t need my coworkers to get any vibes of any kind.
Though he winked at me, no one seemed to take mind of us.
Which left me wondering, instead, just what last night had meant. I liked Fitz. I still liked him. He was mighty good going down on me, and it made me want to have more of him. But if he was seriously quitting to be a car mechanic…
Just thinking the words made me laugh out loud. A car mechanic! A motorcycle club member! What the actual fuck!
I pulled myself together enough to get up the elevator and to my desk. Ben, making a surprise appearance outside his office, passed everyone by and said hello. He didn’t seem taken aback by my presence or by me acting in any particular way. He treated me like anyone else on the floor. That was a good sign, at least.
But as soon as Ben exited, my mind became just as frazzled as before.
And I didn’t think I would get any answers either.
* * *
I deliberately skipped lunch with Fitz. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see him, at least not for the most part. I was just struggling to regain a sense of control over my day, and if I saw him, that control would slip out of my hands faster than the sand from the Long Island beach the night before.
Once eight came, though, and I left work, I had nothing left to distract me. Nervously, I reached for my personal cell phone, pulled up Fitz’s number, and texted him.
“So, did you really do it?”
I put my phone away, got on the subway, and rode down to my apartment. I didn’t pull my phone out until I had plopped down onto my couch, but this time, I wasn’t about to fall asleep suddenly. It helped that he had already responded to me.
“Yep! Gerald didn’t take it well. I said two months, he said two weeks. Really, one and a half weeks, since I’ll be done end of next week.”
Jesus Christ, Fitz. You could be kidding with me, but you’re not going to kid with your boss.
“Wow. Well...I applaud you for sticking to it,” I wrote, but that just felt so empty.
I would never make sense of him quitting this job to become a car mechanic. First of all, Fitz should have known that that job would vanish soon in favor of automation. At least artistic, creative jobs would last quite some time. Second...a fucking car mechanic?
“And work full time in the Savage Saints motorcycle club in Brooklyn.”
Curiosity overtook me as I remembered that last bit from last night’s dialogue. Maybe that was the money maker right there. Maybe the motorcycle club was actually code for something much, much cooler. Maybe the car mechanic thing was just a front for some sort of government operation to, I don’t know, get a closer look at blue-collar crime in Brooklyn?
I thought most people who cried conspiracy were full of shit and just hadn’t done enough with their lives to provide actual value. But
the more I thought about Fitz in this case, the more it seemed like the only thing that made sense. Fitz was too smart to do what he was doing without some serious promises.
I searched “Savage Saints Brooklyn” on my phone, curious to see what kind of results would pop up. The first hit was a NY Post article: “Copycat club opening in Brooklyn.” I opened it and read.
“BROOKLYN, NY — If you thought the Hell’s Angels were bad, just wait until you see the Savage Saints.”
I knew very little of the Hell’s Angels outside of what had stereotypically been told of them, but it wasn’t good. And the group that Fitz was joining was worse?
“Recently, a new chapter of the Savage Saints organization, a gang most known for inciting gun violence in California and Las Vegas in very public settings, opened up shop in Brooklyn, with an anonymous investor purchasing Brooklyn Repairs to house the gang.”
Fitz is joining a fucking gang? What the shit!
“‘We’ve prided ourselves on keeping Brooklyn clean and will do everything we can to drive out this plague,’ Kyle Stone, a local politician, said. ‘It’s unfortunate that this has come to our town, but the people of Brooklyn and New York City at large can know that we will not stop at anything.’
“Messages sent to the club were not returned.”
I sat up on the couch, as wide awake as I’d felt in ages. Fitz...in a gang?
Something about that didn’t sit right. It felt like someone had blackmailed him into joining. But for what purposes? It’s not like Fitz had family he needed to protect or skills we didn’t know about.
I pulled up our chat conversation.
“If you’re not doing anything,” I wrote. “Come over. Let’s hang.”
Fitz wrote back immediately that he was on his way.
“Come up here,” I wrote. “Apartment 3204. Let’s keep it a night in.”
I didn’t want to get on his bike. I didn’t want to have him associated with that gang, bikes, or anything remotely near it. It had become apparent to me that Fitz was being held against his own will.
* * *
“Hello, beautiful,” Fitz said as he entered.
I accepted his greeting of a kiss, but I wasn’t engaged in it at all. I ushered him in, shut the door, and locked it quickly.
“Everything all right?”
“Where’s your phone?” I said. “Can you turn it off?”
“Um, sure,” he said, confusion evident in his tone. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll ask you the same when your phone is off.”
He raised an eyebrow but did as requested. As soon as the phone was off, he held it to my face to show that he had turned it off completely.
“Now, what’s going on?”
“Did you join the gang against your will?”
“Huh?”
“The Savage Saints. I saw the NY Post article. The one—”
“Ohhhh,” Fitz said with a laugh. “Amelia, let’s go sit down. This one might take a while.”
“But—”
“I promise I am acting of my own free will, OK? I am safe. You have nothing to worry about. I just want to explain everything you have uncovered.”
If he wasn’t safe, is this something he would say? Then again, his phone is off, so no one can bug it. We are on the 32nd floor of my apartment complex, and no one is near us. No one can just barge in here.
I hurried to my couch, sat down, and crossed my legs, turning my body to Fitz. I was nervous to hear what he had to say, knowing that he was likely to make it even weirder.
“First of all, let me just say this upfront. We hate being called a gang. We are not a gang. We are a club. A gang goes around and terrifies the area around it. The worst that we do is play loud music on Friday nights. We invite cute girls to our parties. That’s it. We haven’t done anything else.”
“But...the article said you’re a chapter, and the other chapters—”
“They’ve got things like club rivals and other issues they need to take care of,” Fitz said in a casual manner. “We have guns, but that’s purely for self-defense. Our ugliest enemy has been the brother of two of the founders. He was quoted in that article, actually.”
I tried to remember the name.
“Kyle...something, right?”
“Stone, but yes,” Fitz said. “He’s been trying to go through the political and legal system to get us booted. But the truth is, we’re just a bunch of guys who enjoy bikes, enjoy traditional customs between men, and will eventually make a difference in our community when we have the means. We’re so new, you know, and we need to start making money to support—”
“Wait, wait, wait, back the hell up,” I said. “So let me get this straight. You quit Rothenberg Banking to join...a charitable startup?”
Fitz laughed.
“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but yes!”
He’s taking this way too casually.
“Fitz, do you realize how crazy you sound?” I said.
“Yeah, but the really crazy thing is giving away your time for a job that you hate. Do you know how often we talk in the offices about how time is money, and yet we seem to be willing to just donate our time to Rothenberg like we’ll live forever?”
Shit…
“I know I won’t make much money. I know there’s a major risk here. But I also know that I’m in my thirties. I’m starting to think about the great beyond, and the funny thing is, the club might be safer than the office. The club might put me in physical harm more, but it won’t stress me as much as—”
“I thought you said you wouldn’t be involved in physical stuff? You said that the chapters in Las Vegas and California had rivals but you didn’t?”
“Well, no, we don’t. Not right now, at least.”
Jesus Christ.
I sighed, put my head in my hands, and took shallow breaths through the split in my hands. It would have made more sense to me if Fitz had quit to join law enforcement. Now he was joining a group that was bound to clash with law enforcement.
“Look, you and I currently work for a company that everyone, including the Wall Street Journal, loves to hate, right?” Fitz said. “We’re called what’s wrong with capitalism and America. We’re told that we need to pay more taxes. We’re told by the protesters that we need to have our coffers sucked dry and redistributed through the country. And yeah, you know we have employees that seem hellbent on living up to that stereotype. But you also know that we provide a valuable service of investing in companies. We give people chances to expand to enormous levels. But you’ll never see that in the Times.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Same thing here. Same thing with the Saints.”
I hated that the analogy made perfect sense. I hated it. It made me understand what he did more, and a part of me didn’t want to understand it. It made things a lot easier.
“Look, I promise you that I haven’t done anything to put us in jeopardy,” he said, putting a hand on my knee.
“Us?” I said, but it was said with excitement.
“You didn’t think last night was just something to be done and ignored forever, did you?” he said with a smile, squeezing my knee. “Do you really think that I sat all those times with you at breakfast and lunch just so that I could then ignore you as soon as I got to you?”
“I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time…”
“Yeah, but we’re not in college, Amelia.”
I meant at Rothenberg. But I understand where you’re coming from and what you’re trying to say.
“I like you,” he said. “I love how straight a shooter you are. I love how honest and real you are. I love that you don’t take shit from anyone—and believe me, I see a lot of shit taking at Rothenberg. That is one thing that I am not going to miss.”
“You’re funny,” I said, putting my hand over his and squeezing back. “I’m going to miss that at work, you know. Your humor. How calm you are. How the fuck do you do it?”
“Hah! I’ve n
ever been the type to be super close to my job. I do it well, but I maintain a certain level of detachment. I know it’s a trite answer, but it’s true. I don’t let my work affect me. It’s an active choice.”
“Well, aren’t you just a goddamn star,” I said with a laugh.
I looked at his face. That smile—that fucking smile. It was so handsome. It was so easy to fall into.
He got the picture. He leaned forward, kissed me, and pressed me back into the couch.
I had drive just like I had last night, but it was for something different. Last night was for release, but not of the sexual kind—it was release of the weight on my shoulders by shifting the weight to someone else. I wanted to be the boss, I wanted to be the one in control, and I wanted to set the ground rules.
Tonight, I just had a drive to be with Fitz. That’s all I wanted. Whatever happened, happened.
Clothes came off after just a few seconds. We were naked in under a minute, and Fitz’s hard cock brushed against the outside of my sex.
“Am I yours again tonight?” he said. “Or can I go inside you?”
“You are mine,” I said back. “But I am yours as well. Do it, Fitz. Do it.”
Fitz nodded, reaching back and feeling for his target. As soon as he’d found my opening, he put his cock right on the edge. I gasped at the sensation running through me—
First time in—
And then my eyes went wide as his hard cock plowed into me, burying as deep as it would go. Deeper, certainly, than I would have expected.
“Oh, Fitz,” I moaned.
I lost myself in Fitz’s body and the pleasure that he gave me. We rolled around on that couch like two teenagers in mom’s basement, laughing and giggling and moaning at the pleasure that came through us. For as much as we had argued when he walked inside—or maybe precisely because of it—our sex felt that good.
But thinking about where we had started did something to me that had not happened the night before.