Savage Saints MC: MC Romance Collection

by Hazel Parker

  It made me lose concentration.

  He’s quitting to join a club.

  He didn’t even explain much.

  “Oh, fuck, Amelia!”

  His cock swelled inside of me. It felt good. But…

  He’s quitting to join a club.

  He’s going to be in a motorcycle club gang thing.

  He’s out of his mind!

  “I’m so close; can I pull out on you?”

  “Huh?” I said, shaking my head.

  “I’m going to come on your stomach.”

  “Oh, OK,” I said.

  This can’t be happening. This can’t actually be happening—

  “Oh, shit!”

  He pulled out, stroked himself, and fired his seed all over me. I made moaning noises, but my head wasn’t in it, and the moans were not so sincere. I mean, the pleasure was real and all, but I only gasped to get Fitz into it.

  When he finished, he slowly rose, hurrying to get a towel from my bathroom. He commented on how nice the place looked, which made me wonder if he chose to live in a place well below his means for...some odd reason or another. The sink ran with hot water, and Fitz emerged moments later, wiping me down with the warm towel.

  “Wow,” he said. “That’s the kind of thing you could get used to.”

  You could.

  If your partner wasn’t joining a dangerous organization and throwing away the perks he has. For what?

  “You OK?”

  “Huh?” I said. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just...been a while since I’ve had something like that. Wasn’t quite as ready for it as I thought.”

  “Oh, sorry,” Fitz said with a compassionate smile. “Just, you know, heat of the moment, didn’t want to come inside you—”

  “It’s fine, it’s fine,” I said.

  I leaned over to kiss him, the sort of thing that I knew would shut him up. And it did. He leaped up over me and curled his body onto mine, kissing my neck.

  But to say that it was just “fine” was a bit of an overstatement. I’d hoped Fitz could explain what was going on, but all he had done was compare the Savage Saints to Rothenberg Banking and say it would be OK.

  Yeah, except it wasn’t. I didn’t want to think like “them,” but the money issue couldn’t be ignored. If we actually became something more, was I going to be his piggy bank?

  I’d always admired and liked Fitz because he was so different from the rest of the men at Rothenberg. He didn’t seem to tie his self-worth to the company, and he didn’t seem to obsess over every penny that came his way.

  But he may very well have proved that he was a little too different for us to ever turn into something.

  Chapter 13: Fitz

  Life hadn’t been this fucking good in a long, long time.

  Gerald hated my guts, but I think that made me feel only better about my decision to quit. I almost hoped that he told me not to come back on Monday when Friday rolled around, but he wasn’t giving me any indication that that would be OK. Actually, he wasn’t giving me any indication at all—he refused to acknowledge my existence and would scowl in my general direction whenever I nodded to him.

  Amelia was not just giving me the best kind of sexual pleasure I’d had in ages. She was someone that I felt safe expressing my decision to while also challenging me on my assumptions. Her honesty and intellectual prowess were unmatched by anyone else, and butting heads was a positive for us. I knew it was far too early to say we were dating, but I felt mighty confident about it.

  And as for the Savage Saints, they hadn’t yet learned about my decision to quit, but with me on the subway headed into Brooklyn for our Thursday meeting, I knew that it was time to tell them the truth. I couldn’t wait to see Uncle’s face. I imagined he’d be mighty confused and find me insane, but that’s what made it so damn fun.

  When I walked into Brooklyn Repairs, I was surprised to find that of the other four officers, only Uncle had gotten there before me.

  “Where is everyone else?” I said, removing my suit.

  “Hell if I know,” Uncle said with a chuckle. “They should be here any moment. But you know how the Stones are. Marcel’s probably making love to Christine. Biggie’s probably entertaining a crowd at dinner somewhere. Niner I know is on his way; he texted me.”

  “Niner talks?”

  “I said he texted me, not that he called me.”

  I nodded and took a seat. I wanted to blurt out what I’d done to Uncle, but that felt like something better reserved for the rest of the club. I bit my lip, shook my head, and put my hands on the table, twiddling my thumbs over each other.

  “The hell’s gotten into you?” Uncle said. “You’re looking like you just stole from the vault, but you’re afraid to tell me. What the fuck’s going on?”

  “I’ll tell you when the rest of the club gets here,” I said, not realizing how obvious I must have looked. “It’s something for the rest of the club to learn.”

  “So...what, I don’t get a sneak peek?” Uncle said, sounding offended—but I knew he was just being sarcastic. “I’m the only other person like you here, and you’re not going to tell me?”

  “Well, it’s—”

  “Did you get a raise? Did you knock up some broad? Are you moving to Los Angeles?”

  “None of those,” I said with a laugh, though I did remember how, last night, I was probably no more than a couple seconds away from unloading my cum inside of Amelia. One of us quitting Rothenberg put enough of a dent into finances, but if both of us had to quit? “I’ll tell you when they all—”

  “Ah, hell, Fitz, I don’t wanna hear it,” Uncle said, though at that moment, Niner and Marcel walked in together. “Boys, I don’t know if you know this, but Fitz has some sort of secret that he won’t tell me. Afraid I’ll break the super-secret handshake code between bankers.”

  “What?” Marcel said.

  Both of us laughed at that.

  “There’s no super-secret handshake code between bankers, you idiot,” Uncle said.

  “Hey, I don’t know what sort of corruption you two shitheads engage in, and I don’t care.”

  Yeah, see, that’s what I meant by us being misrepresented. If Marcel and I walked into the office at Rothenberg, they’d be saying the same thing to us.

  “Long as you assholes are making sure the club is funded, then you can do whatever the hell you want.”

  “That’s more like it,” Uncle said. “The fiery Marcel.”

  Marcel ignored him. Biggie walked in laughing a few seconds later.

  “Alright, you got your precious boys-only club here,” Uncle said. “Let’s hear the news.”

  “OK, well—”

  “What the hell, Uncle?” Marcel said, causing me to drop my head in exasperation. “You know we save personal news until the end. Club business first. The club comes first.”

  “You’re telling me this banker asshole comes in here with some news that he won’t tell me until everyone shows up, and then everyone does that, and now I gotta wait?”

  “The club. Comes. First.”

  Uncle rolled his eyes.

  “I should have put myself in as president,” Uncle muttered to himself. Biggie snorted, but a quick glare from Uncle shut him up.

  “Now then,” Marcel said. “The Savage Saints from Las Vegas haven’t done anything since Richard showed up a week ago. I know they said they would give us two weeks, and that seems to be the status quo. We said we were going to use all two of those weeks to come up with something. Has anyone come up with anything?”

  Jesus. I’d forgotten all about that. That wasn’t quite true, at least not in the literal sense, but Amelia had occupied so much of my time and quitting had made me so happy I’d forgotten that the green grass over here in the club had some stains on it. It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows over in the Savage Saints headquarters.

  “Fitz?” Marcel said. “You seemed to be the one who could corral the wild Las Vegas man. Do you have any ideas?”

  “Non
e, no,” I said honestly. “You said two weeks. I think deadlines spur creativity. There’s no…”

  My mind got distracted realizing I would soon have to tell the rest of the club something very different. I shook my head to get the cobwebs out.

  “Sorry. Yeah, that’s just it. Deadlines spur action and creativity. No need to think of anything before then.”

  “Alrighty then,” Marcel said, sounding a little disappointed that I didn’t have anything more to say. But I didn’t—there was no reason for me to say anything else, not when the club would have their debates and not make a decision until the end anyways. “Does anyone else have any ideas they’ve thought of?”

  No one else said anything. No one even cleared their throats, as if wanting to say something but not being willing to volunteer to say it.

  “I’d mock all you assholes, except for the fact that I haven’t come up with anything either,” Marcel said. “We’re not fucking giving them fifty percent of our profits. That’s beyond stupid. If we were in San Diego or Phoenix, sure, but not when we’re on the other side of the country.”

  “I would guess we’re not in great legal standing though, Marcel,” Uncle warned. “We can posture here and look tough, but this is something that we’re going to have to resolve sooner rather than later. If we blow them off next Thursday, they are going to come after us.”

  “What are they going to do, take us before Judge Judy?” Biggie shouted.

  Marcel was the only one to laugh at his brother’s joke.

  “No, but the fact that they can means they will not feel compelled to resort to violence,” Uncle said. “You think that sounds great, but it’s not. It gives them options. It makes them unpredictable. It’ll be harder for us to anticipate them. We can let this get near the end, but we cannot blow off the deadline.”

  “I don’t think anyone was planning on it, Uncle.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  I was sitting back in my seat at this point, waiting for Marcel to give me permission to speak. The arguments that he and Uncle had were predictable, boring, and rarely resulted in change. It wasn’t like one of them would say something that would suddenly cause the other to change; Stones were just too hard in the head to do anything.

  “Anyone else have anything to say?”

  No one did.

  “Fitz,” Marcel said. “We’ve run through our club business. It’s time for personal news, and if we make Uncle wait any longer, I think he might kill all of us. So why don’t you tell us whatever it is that Uncle was so desperate to know.”

  “Sure,” I said, sitting up taller in my seat. “I quit my job at Rothenberg Banking so that I can work full time at Brooklyn Repairs and with the Savage Saints.”

  Silence.

  And then…

  Uproarious laughter.

  “That’s amazing!” Uncle said, laughing. “You, Thomas Fitzgerald? You quit your job to be like Marcel and Biggie? Oh, that’s a good one!”

  “We needed some levity here, and you gave it!” Marcel said.

  Even Niner appeared to be half-chuckling, half-coughing. I just folded my arms, wore a small smile on my face, and waited for the laughter to die down.

  Niner was the first to realize I was serious. Biggie was next. Marcel and Uncle both realized the truth at the same time, though they both tried to force more laughter out, as if once they hit a certain quota of laughter, I would reveal in a big surprise that I wasn’t serious.

  “Oh my God,” Uncle said. “Fitz...you’re not joking.”

  “Nope.”

  Uncle looked at Marcel, who stared back at him with a slack jaw. Uncle stared back at me.

  “Jesus Christ,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “You’re...are you out of your goddamn mind? Did I not specifically tell you at the club party last week to not quit your job?”

  “You did,” I said. “And I considered it, along with the rest of the evidence. And I decided that this was the move I wanted to make.”

  “Holy fuck,” Uncle said.

  My eyes remained on Uncle, but the rest of the club looked amused, even supportive—that’s what I wanted to believe, at least. Marcel was remaining somewhat neutral, but Biggie and Niner looked impressed.

  “You had a fucking six-figure job, and you threw it away, why? So you could show how big your balls were?”

  “Oh, come on, Uncle, you know me better than that,” I said. “I hated that job. What fucking good is money if I have no time to spend it? Who do you think is happier: me, with only the once-in-a-blue-moon relationship, the utter lack of free time, and an inflated bank account? Or Marcel, who has his daughter, a lovely girlfriend, the club, and much less money than me?”

  “I am pretty happy right now, minus fucking Richard,” Marcel cracked.

  “Shut up, Marcel!” Uncle roared. “God...fucking damnit, Fitz.”

  To my surprise, Uncle just stood up from his seat, slammed the chair back under, and walked out the door. I looked at the rest of them and shrugged.

  “You are...serious, right?” Marcel said.

  “Yes,” I said. “I did seek Uncle’s advice, but I knew as recently as Tuesday that I was going to quit. It’s been on my mind for some time. I just needed to take the leap.”

  “Fuck, man, nice,” Biggie said, smiling. “When’s your last day at your job?”

  “Next Friday.”

  “Just in time for us to get butt-fucked by Richard and his cronies,” Marcel said dryly. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re joining us full force, Fitz. We could use someone with your brains to make sure you make up for the lack of ours in our skulls.”

  I smiled, but he didn’t give me a chance to respond.

  “I don’t have anything else. Biggie? Niner?”

  Neither said a word.

  “Uncle has made his feelings known. So, we’ll assume he left because he had nothing left to say. Meeting closed, see you guys at the party tomorrow.”

  With that, we rose. I hurried out, ignoring the pats on the back from Biggie. It was nice, and I was glad that most of the club supported me, but if I had a lifetime of dealing with Uncle’s harangues and criticism, well, the Savage Saints would just turn into a blue-collar version of Rothenberg Banking, complete with the bullshit politics and nonsense.

  I didn’t need to go far to find him. He was leaning against the garage door, smoking a cigarette.

  “You’re a sick fuck, you know that?” Uncle said. “Or…”

  He took a puff of his cigarette.

  “Maybe I’m the sick fuck, and I just hate you for doing what I couldn’t do.”

  “Sorry?”

  He took another puff of his cigarette, shaking his head.

  “I don’t hate my job. I’m not going to bullshit you and say that I think you have a lot of courage. I think that you’re a goddamn idiot, and I’m not going to change my mind on that for as long as we live.”

  He chuckled at his own joke. I didn’t laugh.

  “But that world, that banking climate. I’ve never seen an industry chew up and spit out so many bright minds like they’re nothing. They say the most dangerous jobs are the ones on oil wells and out at sea, but at least you keep your mind and sanity in those jobs. You might get hit in the head and killed, but that’s it. The door is shut, the lights are turned off, and that’s it. It’s on-off. Banking makes it all a dimmer. You lose your grasp on reality. You forget there’s more to light than just the brightness of the light.”

  He shook his head, dropping his eyes before taking another puff of his cigarette.

  “I thought you were one of the few people equipped to both climb the ranks and maintain his sanity,” Uncle said. “Most people who get up to the top are kind of insane. And most people who maintain their sanity get the hell out after two years, maybe five if they’re too scared at twenty-four or twenty-three. But you seemed different. Still are, I suppose.”

  He threw his cigarette to the ground, finishing it, and grounded it.

  “I kn
ow you’re not insane, Fitz, but what you’ve done...you know that you didn’t have to prove to anyone that you were a legit member of the club, right? You know that none of us cared? We just gave you shit for the hell of it?”

  “I know, Uncle, but I didn’t quit to get recognition. I quit because I wanted to. Because I want to be on my bike as much as possible. Because I want to be with you guys as much as possible.”

  “Us?” Uncle said with a laugh. “You want to hang around us assholes?”

  “Better than Gerald and the rest of the guys at Rothenberg.”

  “Hah, don’t blame you for that.”

  Uncle pulled out another cigarette.

  “You know, on the one hand, I don’t feel bad about staying in that role. There’s no part of me that yearns to get out. But I’m a chain-smoking, drinking, woman-chasing, friend-fighting asshole. I lost a marriage, regularly piss off my nephews, and will go beyond the legal code to get what I want. Maybe you shouldn’t want to associate with people like me.”

  He lit his cigarette and took another puff.

  “But you need people like me in the club, people with the connections and the means to get shit done for whenever we need it. Without me, the club will falter, and everything will go to shit. I know you don’t like people like me, but—”

  “Uncle,” I said, exasperated. “Yes, the people at Rothenberg aren’t the greatest. But this was a me decision. That’s it. It’s a nice bonus to be away from those people, but it’s not the driving factor. The driving factor is the freedom to be on my bike and to be a part of the Savage Saints. I’ve wanted something like this for years. That’s it.”

  Uncle looked at me like I was crazy—which maybe I was—patted me on the shoulder firmly, and puffed some smoke away from me.

  “I really hope you made the right decision for yourself, kid,” he said. “Because if you didn’t, you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life. That’s an awfully heavy weight to carry around from now until the grave.”

  With that, he walked past me, not saying a word.

  If anything, Uncle’s actions had only made me feel better about what I had done. I had about six more days of work to get through Rothenberg Banking, but as soon as those six days were over and done with, I’d never have to deal with anything related to that lifestyle ever again.