Savage Saints MC: MC Romance Collection

by Hazel Parker

  “Well?” Richard said. “Did you Yankee shitheads figure out what you wanted to do? Or did you decide that you’d rather die?”

  Marcel stood with a nervous gulp. He walked over, stood in front of Richard, and nodded.

  “We’ll make a deal,” he said.

  “Good,” Richard said, patting him on the cheek. “I’m sorry it took you idiots witnessing nerd’s girlfriend over there getting hurt, but better late than never.”

  Stay calm, Marcel. Stay calm. Don’t lose your cool.

  “What is your proposal?”

  We hadn’t reached a consensus, but at this point, it was on the president to act as the leader of the club and do what was best for us. Whatever that turned into, we had to accept and embrace.

  “We’ll give you twenty percent of profits for the first year, twenty-five for the second year, and thirty thereafter.”

  Richard pulled out a cigar, lit it, and looked over at Dom and the rest of his crew. He then looked back to Marcel, blew a puff in his face, and smiled.

  “No.”

  “No?” Marcel said in stunned disbelief.

  “I don’t know if you’re aware, but we have all the leverage here,” Richard said. “You will give us fifty percent.”

  “Kiss my ass,” Marcel said. “There’s no deal then.”

  “Are you sure of that?”

  Goddamnit, Marcel, pull it together. Come on. Please.

  “I’m as sure of it as I’m sure that your mother’s a fucking whore.”

  Fuck us all.

  On cue, Dom slightly raised his pistol, aimed it at Marcel, and fired. Marcel fell to the ground...alive.

  Easily alive, in fact. Dom had shot at Marcel’s foot. Marcel howled in pain and cursed out the Las Vegas Saints with a vengeance, but the fact that Dom had fired at a relatively innocent place told me that the Saints had not come here to kill. They may have had all the leverage, but they didn’t seem interested in using it at the cost of lives.

  Well, for now.

  “In half an hour, we’re going to shoot again,” Richard said. “Consider that a courtesy shot that we did not take out a more vulnerable target. We may not be so kind in half an hour.”

  Without another word, Richard exited. I waited a few moments after the last of the Vegas Saints had left before I spoke again.

  “Marcel, don’t take this the wrong way, but that was a good thing.”

  “Are you fucking stupid, Fitz? I have a fucking bullet in my left foot!”

  “And that’s far better than in your left eye or your left lung,” I said. “The easiest way Richard can end this negotiation on his terms is if he shoots you in the face and forces us, in a panic, to accept the fifty percent offer. But he didn’t. Why? Because he probably recognizes the value in having us here. He kills all of us, there are no Brooklyn Saints to make money off of.”

  “That’s fucking stupid!” Marcel yelled.

  “No.”

  Niner?

  “It’s not. Marcel is right. You’d be dead if he wanted it all.”

  Niner speaking up was enough to get Marcel to shut up about how stupid I was, though he kept complaining about the pain in his foot. By this point, Biggie had already wrapped his shirt around the wound, but he clearly needed to go to a hospital.

  “He’s not going to go for such a target next time,” Uncle said. “He’s going to make us suffer. But I don’t think physically.”

  He nodded in her direction. Amelia was still out. I grimaced at the thought; seeing her with the bruise on her skull was bad enough. Imagining her with a bullet wound…

  “I know,” I said, sighing. “Clock’s ticking. We gotta come up with something. We know it has to be more than what we offered. But we can be pretty sure we can get away with less than fifty percent.”

  “True,” Uncle said. “But then what?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “That’s why we...we….”

  I stopped.

  Amelia was waking up.

  Chapter 18: Amelia

  I was staring at a white-tiled floor when I woke up.

  I tried to put together what had happened. I had seen a creepy man named Dom. I had asked him to take me to Fitz. He had led me into Brooklyn Repair...and then…

  “Ow,” I said, feeling the back of my skull. “Fuck…”

  “Amelia!”

  I glanced up to see Fitz rushing over to me, with several more men behind him. Fitz hugged me and kissed my forehead multiple times.

  “Are you OK? Do you remember what happened?”

  “Yeah,” I said groggily. “How long have I been out?”

  “Probably about thirty-five minutes or so,” I said. “Not long. But we don’t have long. We need…”

  Something appeared to dawn on him.

  “We need your help with something.”

  “OK…” I said, grimacing and groaning as I tried to sit up. It felt like someone had driven something into the back of my skull—which was probably more accurate than I wanted it to be, given that I’d gotten knocked out. “What the hell is going on, then?”

  In the next five minutes, Fitz, along with a few other members of the Savage Saints, tried to give me the quickest version they could of the situation. Although I was missing huge chunks of information, I picked up enough to know that the Las Vegas Saints wanted money from the Brooklyn Saints, and that the Brooklyn Saints had essentially taken the name for themselves without first asking.

  “So let me get this straight,” I said. “You all stole the name and likeness of the Savage Saints out west. You now have those Saints with guns just outside. They have requested that you give them fifty percent of your profits. You think you can get less. If negotiations go poorly, then you believe that they will kill all of you?”

  “I don’t think they’ll kill us all, but—”

  “Violence will happen,” Uncle interjected.

  “And if I’m understanding right,” I said, looking at Fitz. “You think because of my experience with high-level negotiation that I can figure out something that both parties will like?”

  “That’s the hope,” Fitz said.

  I started to talk, laughed, and then just sighed.

  “I don’t know how the fuck you guys thought you were going to get away with this.”

  “It was a tribute!” Marcel shouted.

  “Hey!” Fitz shouted. “She can help us. It doesn’t matter what the reasons were for setting it up or doing it like so in the first place. What does matter is that we need her help right now, and if we let it go to waste, then we’re going to get shot. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want any more bullets hitting any of us, even if we think they aren’t going to kill us.”

  Even though I’d gotten myself way into a situation I had no business being in, even though I was now more convinced than ever I would never understand the MC lifestyle, I appreciated Fitz. I was growing quite fond of him, actually. If anything, I hoped that this might spur a couple more dates for us.

  “Look, you guys are kind of fucked, OK?”

  “Boy, she doesn’t have a filter, does she?”

  “Uncle,” Fitz snapped.

  “But, to Fitz’s point, someone who has all the leverage doesn’t engage in negotiation. They engage in orders. The fact that they’re doing this tells me they want something from you, and it doesn’t have to be money. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not all money necessarily.”

  “With all respect, sweetie, that’s not how MCs work,” Uncle said.

  “Call me sweetie one more time, and I’ll make sure that a bullet isn’t the only thing that goes up your ass.”

  Uncle started to laugh, but no one else joined in. In fact, Fitz came over and shoved him to the ground.

  “Hey, hey! What the hell happened to your point about not fighting?”

  “Ask yourself that,” Fitz said.

  “Alright, enough,” Marcel said with a sigh. “Fitz…”

  He rose, hobbled by the bullet in his foot. />
  “It’s obvious to me that you and her have the knowledge and detachment for negotiations that no one else in here does, save for maybe Niner. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Uncle is too involved in this and is too much of a stubborn fool to stay out of harm’s way. So here’s what’s going to happen.”

  Marcel turned to the rest of the group.

  “These two are going to negotiate on behalf of us,” Marcel said. “I trust you, Fitz, Amelia, to do the best you can. I will accept whatever you do, so long as you recognize that you can’t throw the club under to save our hides. Our lives may not depend on it, but our livelihoods do. Fitz’s included, now that he’s quit.”

  You crazy fool, I thought with a smile.

  “However you do it is up to you.”

  An idea came to mind.

  “Let me go talk to him,” I said, pulling on Fitz’s arm.

  “What?” he said. “Me being here got you in enough trouble as it is. I’m not going to let you get hurt any further than you already have.”

  “He’s not going to hurt me, I promise,” I said. I then turned to the rest of the group. “Negotiations often fall apart when large groups get together. Two, three people in a room hashing out differences will go a hell of a lot further than a room of a dozen or so people. I am going to request to speak to just Richard alone. The rest of you will wait outside.”

  No one fought back. I think everyone knew better than to think they had better ideas than I did.

  “Amelia,” Fitz begged. “Don’t go.”

  “Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “I’m coming right back in with him. The point isn’t to say that I’m going to work on my own. It’s just to get him into the room. That’s it.”

  It didn’t surprise me that Fitz still didn’t look the least bit reassured by my words. I was pretty sure that anything short of a bulletproof vest across my body and a bulletproof helmet over my head would not have assuaged him, and even then, he might have found reason to worry. But all that did was make me more sure about what kind of guy he was.

  A guy who, no matter the external circumstances around him, was worth having.

  “I’ll be back. I promise.”

  To drive home the point, I did something that I would never have done a week ago.

  I kissed him in front of other people.

  “Just wait here.”

  Before he could say a word, I stepped out of the office, found the door, and opened it. Several bikers cocked their guns at me.

  “Richard,” I said.

  Richard turned to me. He was smoking a cigar.

  “Yeah?” he said. “They sent out the lady to get half?”

  “They sent me out to start a dialogue. I only request one thing from you. You alone negotiate on behalf of the Las Vegas Saints. And in return, Fitz and I will be the only ones to negotiate on behalf of the Brooklyn Saints.”

  Richard looked at the rest of his club members. He scoffed, but what was noticeable was not the reaction; it was that he had not yet said no.

  “So let me understand something,” Richard said. “The Brooklyn Saints sent out the love interest of one of its members and is requesting that you and he negotiate with me, alone, and that that is supposed to settle everything? And why should you be a part of that?”

  “I shouldn’t be,” I said. “That should be Fitz’s role. But I can act as an independent arbiter of sorts. I can be fair to both sides. Yes, I know. You’re going to say I’m biased in favor of the Saints because of Fitz. I’m more biased toward getting Fitz out of there alive than I am in getting the Saints the best deal possible.”

  Richard put the cigar on the ground and came close to me. He towered over me, but there was nothing about him that intimidated. I was used to dealing with men trying to use their size on me. Another one of hundreds of men who had pulled this tactic off didn’t frighten me in the slightest. I normally would have made a comment about how they weren’t as tall as my husband, but given the heightened physical stakes here, I decided staying silent was the best course of action.

  “No tricks,” he said. “Just the three of us. Fitz will act in his own interest. You will oversee it. And I can call bullshit on things at any moment.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “It’s like I told them. Two people in one room, hashing out issues, will get more done in one hour than two committees trying to reach a consensus in one week.”

  “Now there’s the first goddamn sensible thing I’ve heard anyone in Brooklyn say since I found out about you guys,” Richard said with a cough. “Get the room set up. We’ll be there in two minutes.”

  I hurried back inside, leaving some of Richard’s men to question if that was the best choice. I knew Richard wasn’t going to change his mind for the same reason I knew he had scoffed in front of me. He had to save face in front of his people; to look weak before them would have been a loss in leadership. He may have had the maturity not to have acted like a macho badass, but any man in any leadership had some insecurity about making a public decision and sticking to it.

  Fuck, there was a reason politics were a nightmare.

  I went into the room.

  “Everyone except Fitz needs to leave,” I said. “They know you’re coming outside.”

  No one questioned me. Uncle nodded to me on the way out, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. As soon as all of the members had gone outside, I turned to Fitz.

  “You’re going to have to negotiate on behalf of the Saints yourself.”

  “But—”

  “It’ll be OK,” I said. “I made the deal with Richard to get him in here. If I start acting on your side, then that’s going to betray his trust, and our best shot at working out a deal will be done with.”

  Fitz looked nervous. He gulped, his words were more of a stammer than an actual speech, and his leg was shaking under the table he was seated at.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve wanted the chance to prove that I was a real club member,” he said. “For so long, it’s all I’ve dreamed about. The chance to prove that I belonged to the Savage Saints. I don’t know if the club members believed it, but I thought they saw me as weak for being a banker. When I quit, it got a little better, but I still wanted a real chance. A chance with stakes on the line to make a difference. I always thought it would involve bullets and a heroic saving of someone’s life, but...I guess it’ll be just like the days at Rothenberg, huh?”

  I smiled, leaned forward, and kissed him once more.

  “Don’t worry about proving anything,” I said. “You’ve already proved to me that you are a man in every sense of the word. You aren’t afraid to go and get what’s yours. Who cares if you’ve never been in a gunfight? You’ve been in plenty fights of a different kind, and you’ve made the right choice in every single one. If that’s not being a real Savage Saint, then nothing is.”

  Fitz shook his head in delight.

  “I knew I made a great choice in choosing you.”

  I giggled as I leaned forward in kissing him.

  “So does this mean I’ll get another date out of this?” he said.

  “Only if you don’t blow the negotiations.”

  “I thought you were a neutral arbiter.”

  “I am, but that doesn’t mean I won’t have my own thoughts in my head.”

  “That’s pressure.”

  “Dating me is a lifetime of pressure.”

  “That’s even more pressure.”

  “I can make it worse if you’d like.”

  We finally cracked and laughed at that. Soon, we’d be sitting diagonally from each other, me at the head of the table as Richard and Fitz hammered out the differences of the club. Soon, we couldn’t even so much as look at each other in a certain way, let alone kiss and flirt.

  But just a little more beyond that, if all went well, we’d be doing a whole lot more.

  “Any last-second advice?” Fitz said.

  “No,” I replied. “You already know what you need to
do. Be the Fitz that I fell for. Be the calm, collected, and detached Fitz. Be the Fitz who isn’t just a good dealer in investing, but in the world. You’ll be fine.”

  Fitz didn’t look entirely convinced, but what I said had enough of an effect to calm him down. Behind me, I heard the door open.

  “It’s time,” I said.

  I took a seat, giving him one last look of encouragement. Richard walked in a couple seconds later. I pointed to his seat, also diagonal from mine, with Fitz across from him. Richard examined the room carefully before sitting, looking for bugs, microphones, and other ways of eavesdropping.

  “Open your shirt,” he said to Fitz.

  Fitz did as commanded. I tried to display no reaction to his shirtless body. He nodded in approval. He looked at me, as if considering the same thing, but then thought better of it.

  “Well then,” he said, finally taking a seat. “Let’s make a deal, shall we?”

  Chapter 19: Fitz

  There was a certain rush that came as soon as Richard said those words.

  The bullshit and drama of the past month had come and gone. The taunts from Marcel and Uncle, the decision to quit work, my evenings out with Amelia—none of that mattered anymore. The only thing that mattered was that I did right by the club, allowing us to continue as an entity in Brooklyn.

  It was pressure, but the good news was, I had spent the last decade and a half in a world of pressure. It was hard to create a more stressful environment than Rothenberg Banking. I wasn’t exactly keen on trying to make the present as demanding as this, but I’d be ready for it if need be.

  “That sounds good to me,” I said. “As I understand it, Richard, you want half of the profits of our company, correct?”

  “That is correct.”

  I paused for a second, waiting to see if Amelia would say a word. She kept as silent as the table between us. I should have known that would be the case, given that there was no one who took her work more seriously or with as much determination as Amelia did.

  “OK, so that you can understand where we are coming from. We recognize that we have used your name, image, and likeness without permission. We first want to say that we’re sorry for that. Marcel got carried away, but we as a club should have stopped him or advised him of this in the first place. At the very least, we should have reached out to you to let you know that this was going to happen. No matter what, though, we did a poor job of that, and so we’re sorry.”