Savage Saints MC: MC Romance Collection

by Hazel Parker

  I sighed and put my hands in my head as I heard a familiar voice.

  “Hi, is Carrie Griffith here?”

  Lane’s voice seemed to carry to the back of the room. Poor Sam probably wondered why so many men were asking to speak to me these days, both of them intimidating from a certain perspective. If that didn’t drive him to quit as so many of my employees had in my tenure, then nothing would.

  I had to be honest: at first, I didn’t want to get up and face him. Even though I had invited him, I didn’t want to have this conversation. Failure wasn’t just an abstract idea right now. It was literally at my front door.

  But I didn’t need Lane to feel my hurt. He had enough things to deal with. So I dragged myself up, took a breath, and walked out to the front to see a very confused Sam wondering if he needed to yell for me.

  “Hey, come on back,” I said.

  He could tell from the tone of my voice this wasn’t going to be a happy conversation. I could tell from the look on his face that he had expected nothing less when he entered. Neither of us were feeling good or even even-keeled.

  He did his best to portray relaxed and easy-going posture when he entered, but as soon as the door shut to my office, both of us slumped in our seats, the faces of defeat and frustration.

  “I’m just going to come out and say it,” I said with a very long sigh. “The store, even with the influx of business that you brought—for which, I cannot stress enough, I am incredibly grateful for—is just not turning a profit. It is not sustainable. If business continued to grow, then maybe it could work, but right now, there is just no way forward. So, we’re closing on Friday. Which means that I am going back to Georgia shortly after.”

  Lane, bless his heart, was doing everything he could not to look emotional or sad. But I could see in his eyes how much I had just hurt him. I did my best to imagine what he was doing through, but I just couldn’t.

  It wouldn’t surprise me if this were the type of experience that turned Lane into a complete loner, unable to trust women ever again. OK, I was being dramatic and egocentric. I wanted to believe that I meant that much to him.

  But I was also a little emotional and frustrated. I also wasn’t in a great headspace. There wasn’t much that either of us could do to make us feel better, short of finding a miraculous solution that did not seem to exist.

  And then, as if by miracle, something did come to mind.

  It wasn’t going to keep me in New York. It wasn’t going to save the store. But it might offer the potential to save something else.

  “And, I know this is going to sound crazy, and it’s not something that I have given serious thought to. But…what if you came with me back to Georgia?”

  “What?”

  “I’m serious,” I said. The more I thought of this idea, the more I was starting to fall in love with it. It had serious potential, at least in my emotional, scatter-shot brain. “Georgia is home for you. I know you don’t have a lot of good memories, but you and I could make good ones, and…and…”

  My voice trailed off as I saw Lane shaking his head at everything I said. I was desperate to grab on to something that could change his mind, but I knew from the way he disagreed that there wasn’t anything I could say within this idea that would make him understand.

  “Georgia may be home for you,” he said, his voice as quiet as I had ever heard it. “But it is not home for me. It is where I grew up. But there is nothing for me.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “Moved to Kentucky. It’s cheaper there.”

  Shit.

  “OK, well, you could be a police officer in Atlanta—”

  “No place will ever take me on as a cop,” he said. “The best I can hope for is as a car mechanic. No one’s going to take on a cop that got fired from the NYPD, even if it was for shady reasons.”

  No…Lane…

  “I get why you’d want to go back to Georgia,” he said. “You went to college there. You had a good time in Athens. You have friends there that could take you in. But I’m here to tell you that ever since I have left, no part of me has wanted to go back. The only times I ever went back were to visit my parents, and even they aren’t there anymore. So long as I’m alive, I don’t think I’ll ever go back. Georgia isn’t home; it’s hell.”

  “So then don’t do it for you; do it for us.”

  I was getting desperate, and largely over something that shouldn’t have rationally mattered this much to me. We’d only slept together once! We’d had one great, long date together, but the key phrase in that was one—not several.

  And yet, it wasn’t just one date. I’d been in his life almost for the entirety of it, and though it hadn’t crossed my mind until he’d told me of how much I meant to him, it was impossible for me not to value him because of it.

  “I know this sounds brash and crazy, and maybe it is,” I said, my voice starting to become a little too emotional. “I’m not saying this just because of the sex or the date or whatever. I’m saying this because of you. It feels like we’ve…”

  My voice again trailed off when Lane again shook his head. It was starting to look like we were both far too stubborn and stuck in our positions to make it work. I was beginning to resent Lane; the only reason I wasn’t starting to resent myself was because I was already resenting myself for everything that had gone on.

  “It’s not just that Georgia is hell to me, Carrie,” he said. “It’s that I’m, well, not to get too corny, but I’m in my heaven here with the Saints. Well, as much as I can be. They are my brothers. They are the men that I sweat and bleed for.

  “You know, when politics and other things forced me out of the NYPD, I thought that I had lost that collective brotherhood forever. I couldn’t think of any other organization that offered me something like that. Maybe the military, but I’m an old fart. I’m too old to be doing shit like that. And then Biggie—one of the guys in the club, his real name is Jack—he brought me into the fold.

  “And don’t get me wrong. It’s not like we’re a frat. We don’t slap each other on the back, nor are we linking arms and declaring war on our enemies. But we have each other’s back completely. That’s not something that, all respect, you’re not going to find in the business or restaurant world. It’s something that I can’t ever see myself giving up.”

  And I knew listening to his tone and the emphasis he placed on his words that I wasn’t going to convince him to give it up. In fact, the more I heard him speak, the more I understood that even if I did somehow persuade him to move to Georgia, he’d be miserable. The only way this could work would be if I found a way to have a restaurant in the city that made money.

  It was possible. But not with present circumstances.

  “I understand where you’re coming from,” I said. “Just…give it some thought and let me know tonight or tomorrow?”

  I knew it was a futile gesture. I knew nothing was changing his mind and, again, even if it did, I wasn’t sure that it was worth changing his mind. But at this point, I was desperate for any kind of win, even the ones that would bite me in the long run.

  “No promises, but OK,” he said. “Anything else?”

  I shook my head. He stood up abruptly, said thanks, and walked out. It was so sudden and so quick…was this how it was going to end? Really?

  Without any warning? There wasn’t going to be any thank-you speech? No farewell? No hug goodbye?

  But I guess that’s how Lane operated. I was mad, but I wasn’t rationally angry at him. I’d just thrown cold water on what he probably thought was an erotic fire starting to blaze. Who could blame him in that regard?

  I remained at my desk for a few moments, trying to fight back tears. I only had four days left with the store; the least I could do for the sake of Sam and any other employees who bothered to show up was not cry. And that was especially true for tears shed over things that had nothing to do with the club.

  When I gathered myself enough, I stood up, walked out to
the front of the store, and helped Sam serve a couple of customers. As soon as we had finished, Sam turned to me with a concerned look on his face.

  “Everything OK?”

  Bless this kid’s heart. He was going to do some great things someday. He just wasn’t going to do them at this restaurant.

  “Sam, there’s something you need to know,” I said, pulling him out of hearing range of the customers in the store. “We’re closing the shop on Friday. That creepy man who came by yesterday? Unfortunately, he’s right. We’re not doing well enough. I wish we were, but…well, that’s that.”

  I sighed. At least Sam wasn’t asking to leave right now. At least we had some semblance of functionality for the rest of the lunch period.

  “I’m going to let the rest of the employees know in an email here shortly,” I said. “If you want to leave right now, I’ll understand. You’ll still get paid for the hours you put in here.”

  “No, I’ll stay,” he said immediately.

  I didn’t want to think bad thoughts, but it was nice to see at least one person was sticking behind me. I couldn’t blame Lane, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t frustrated with him and the situation.

  “You’ve been so good to me, Miss Griffith. The least I can do is be here until Friday.”

  I almost started to tear up at that. At least I was getting that one small win I’d hoped to achieve.

  “Don’t ever lose the spirit you have, Sam,” I said. “Because most people will lose that spirit far too early.”

  It might have sounded like I was making a snide remark about Lane for my own sake. But I wasn’t. I was doing something far worse.

  I was making the remark about myself.

  Chapter 15: Niner

  I knew as soon as I had left that what I’d done was too abrupt.

  But I also knew that if I stayed any longer, if I listened to anything else that Carrie had to say, if I had to hear one more word about how we weren’t going to work and if I just came back to the place of my worst nightmares we could be fine…I was going to lose it.

  And I didn’t mean through anger.

  But I did promise her that as soon as I got home, with the benefit of some distance and time, I would give her request some more serious thought. I honestly didn’t see how said thought would change anything, but a promise was a promise.

  Well, as it turned out, being in the privacy of my apartment made me hunker down on my positions even more. The more I thought about Carrie, the more I realized how much I liked her. In fact, it could almost be said that I loved her. I certainly adored her and admired her.

  But for as much as I liked Carrie, I despised Georgia even more. Carrie was literally the only good memory from that state; everything else was getting bullied, sulking in class, or waiting for the day when I’d finally bust out. It was never as bad as the days before Carrie had intervened, but that didn’t mean those new days were somehow magically good.

  And while I couldn’t exactly say that New York City had a ton of great memories, either—yeah, my life hadn’t been the greatest—the Saints gave me the security of knowing someone cared about me. They gave me that feeling of togetherness, even if I didn’t say much to them. I didn’t need the Saints to be guys I’d share drinks with, talk about sports, and pump myself up with; I just needed them to be there for me.

  And they had.

  And I was supposed to leave that behind? I was supposed to be the one to sacrifice?

  Besides, even if I left, I would never be able to let New York City go until Damon was killed. Then, and only then, could I consider the alternative. But right now, unless Carrie budged, that was it for us.

  It was a fucking shame. I didn’t want to blame her, but she had to be the more flexible of the two of us. She knew I had my issues and my need to stay here. So if she couldn’t, well, yes, it would be my decision to stay, but it was ultimately on her.

  This isn’t right, Lane. She’s not to blame, not in the way that you’re thinking it. It’s a decision you both came to separately, and that’s how it’s got to be.

  I sighed. I’d told her that I was going to give it twenty-four hours, but there was just no changing my mind. The drive to kill Damon and be around my brothers was stronger than the desire to sacrifice my personal happiness to be with Carrie. Maybe I could fund a new restaurant for her. Maybe I could get her a job here.

  But I couldn’t make myself miserable for the foreseeable future just to make one woman happy, no matter who that woman was.

  With some regret, I made my way back to Southern Comfort. I did not want to have this conversation, but I owed it to Carrie to not leave her as I had last time. If this was going to be goodbye, I needed to do it right.

  When I walked inside, I just went straight past the teenage boy working the counter. He called for Carrie as I walked past him, but all he did was give her a heads up. He wasn’t going to stop me. I opened the door to her office just as Carrie did the same. I looked down at her eyes, which were red from tears. This has not been a good day for either of us.

  Hell, it’s not been a great couple of days for either of us.

  “You OK?” I said.

  What a stupid fucking question. You’re just trying to be polite, and all that you’ve done is sound insensitive and like you don’t listen. Fucking idiot.

  “Did you make a decision?”

  Justifiably, she ignored my question. I tried to enter so that we could speak in private, but Carrie held firm, keeping her arm in place, keeping me in the hallway. That was not a good sign for the news that I was about to deliver to her.

  “I did,” I said.

  “Well?”

  Just say it.

  “I can’t leave New York. I can’t—”

  “Then the rest doesn’t matter,” she said, drawing a deep breath.

  So that’s what that feels like. To be prepared to give a lengthy explanation or conversation and just have it cut off abruptly and coldly. I guess it’s only fair.

  “I wish you the best of luck here in New York, Lane. I hope you and the Savage Saints stay safe, the repair shop takes off, and that you find the peace, happiness, and brotherhood that you came here for.”

  The finality of this was just too abrupt. I had only walked out as quickly as I had last time because I was getting emotional and I knew I’d see her again. But now this? This wasn’t the conversation someone would have if they were planning on seeing someone again. This was the “we have to go our separate ways forever” conversation.

  “Will I ever see you again?” I asked, my voice cracking.

  Carrie looked down at the ground, but her arm remained in place. Her arm, at this point, might as well have been a separate part of her body for how still it was. It was the barrier preventing me from having the privacy I so craved with her.

  And then Carrie gave the worst answer possible.

  “I don’t know.”

  I don’t know. The uncertainty would murder me. At least if she said no, as painful as it was, Carrie could gradually shift from friend to memory. She would obviously be alive, but I wouldn’t see her as that; rather than being a person I might interact with someday, she could become a part of my story that I would be grateful for. It would make appreciation easier.

  But “I don’t know?” That left everything open at a time when I craved certainty. That made me believe that I could see her…or I could not…I figured that at some point, I’d get over her. I wasn’t a hopeless romantic, at least not outside of Carrie.

  But still. This was going to suck terribly for quite some time with an answer like that.

  “OK,” I said, my voice as quiet as it had ever been. “Good luck in Georgia.”

  The words sucked. They couldn’t convey how I felt. They couldn’t express both the gratitude I had for her coming back in my life and the pain I felt from her leaving it all too quickly.

  But what words could convey that without having me turn into a sobbing mess? What could actually tell Carrie how I fe
lt without making me look like a pathetic mess?

  Nothing.

  “Bye,” I said.

  Carrie just nodded. Her eyes were watering again. I pulled myself away before mine did the same. I left her, the restaurant, and my hopes and dreams for something between us behind.

  All because of the stupid fucking restaurant. That’s all it was, wasn’t it? The fucking restaurant.

  I turned and looked at the name. “Southern Comfort.” Some comfort, my ass. That wasn’t a comfort. It was crippling. It was crazy. It was everything that wasn’t comforting.

  And you couldn’t even take an investment from me? Granted, it would probably come from Uncle or Fitz first, but still…

  Pride did a lot of terrible things to us. So did impetuous emotions. And right now, it was costing me a chance at the best relationship I could have ever had.

  Fuck me.

  * * *

  “Niner?”

  I ignored Biggie as I entered Brooklyn Repairs, having walked from Southern Comfort.

  “Niner? Everything all good? You know today is your day off, right?”

  Again, I didn’t say a word to Biggie. I just went into the office, grabbed my shirt, and threw it on.

  “Niner? Hey man, you alright? We can have you work, but we can’t pay you—”

  “So then don’t,” I said, but it didn’t have the usual sharpness. The words came out very dull, almost like I had slurred them.

  “Niner,” Biggie said, a little calmer than before. “I know something is affecting you. You can talk to me if you want.”

  Biggie, of all people, should have known that I was not the kind of person to talk about issues like these. I wasn’t the person who shared his feelings like it was a therapy session; I was the person who silently sat at a table, nodded when I needed, and then gave the shortest answers possible when it came time to talk.

  Maybe he recognizes that you do need to talk right now.

  Or maybe you’re just too sensitive right now.

  I paused at the entrance to the shop. I couldn’t bring myself to look at Biggie, but I could at least give him some advice.