Savage Saints MC: MC Romance Collection

by Hazel Parker

“He’s so full of shit,” Uncle groused.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “I know him better than you do, Uncle. I think he’s serious.”

  “Yeah, and I’m—”

  “Uncle!”

  That seemed to snap some sense into him. Too bad it hadn’t happened before he had made an ass of himself in front of Kyle.

  “We need to tell Marcel and the others. Even Niner.”

  “Niner? Seriously?” Uncle said, although he was far less dismissive than before. “You know that he’s on vacation with his new girlfriend, right?”

  “I’m aware. But Kyle has something up his sleeve. We gotta get the Savage Saints together as quickly as we can. Tell you what—I’ll call Niner now, you reach out to Marcel?”

  I think the only reason Uncle humored me was because he was my literal uncle. If he weren’t family, he probably would have laughed at me and told me to go get a massage.

  “Alright, alright, I’ll give him a call, but don’t oversell it. You make it sound like the apocalypse is about to start, for fuck’s sake.”

  I honestly don’t think I’m that wrong if that’s what I’m conveying.

  Uncle finally headed inside. I pulled out my phone and dialed Niner’s number. I knew he was going to be pissed for me calling him, but I think he’d like it less if he came back to a club in disarray.

  “Biggie.”

  Yep, he sounds so thrilled to hear my voice.

  “Niner, I know you’re on vacation, and there’s no rush—”

  “Then why did you call?”

  Knowing I had to tell him the truth was the easy part. Actually doing it was anything but.

  “Because,” I said with a gulp. “Kyle has promised us that he’s going to fight the ‘final’ battle to take us down. It sounds like he’s going to throw everything at us to destroy us. I think we’ve pushed him too far, Niner. I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

  The silence that followed unnerved and unsettled me. Niner was an introvert by trade and one of the quietest ones I’d ever heard, but besides his girlfriend, I seemed to be the exception to the rule.

  “If it’s a fight he wants,” he finally said, “it’s a fight he’ll get.”

  Wait, what? He sounded so sure of himself, as if I had told him that he needed to get dinner for himself for the night. After what I’d said, how could he possibly sound so relaxed?

  “Niner?”

  “We’ve got our own resources,” he said. “I suggest you reach out to Marcel. Have him contact our friends out west. Tell him it’s time to call upon the help we were promised.”

  Oh, shit! That’s right.

  He hung up the phone right after, presumably having made his point. And boy, had he. As a club in Brooklyn, we may have had decent strength, but when combined with the forces in Las Vegas and Green Hills, we might actually be indestructible.

  Uncle barged right out and put Marcel on speakerphone.

  “Brother,” I said. “Niner had an idea. Bring—”

  “—all the Savage Saints together,” we said simultaneously.

  “Great minds think alike, eh, brother?” Marcel said with a chuckle.

  “Let’s just hope that I’m right about this,” I said.

  And then it started to rain.

  * * *

  Lilly Robertson

  …for it was not the spirit of the city, but the fires that kept it alive.

  And with that, I finished my latest fantasy novel.

  For about the fifth time in the seemingly unending process.

  “Everything all right?”

  I looked up in surprise at the barista coming by, cleaning the nearby tables. No, I wasn’t all right. I was trying to get my debut novel published while working overtime handling freelance work. I was living in a crappy apartment while holding onto the seemingly fleeting idea that an introvert like me would want to be around other crazy creatives. I was trying like hell to make a dream work as it also drained my finances.

  “Oh, sorry, I’m fine,” I said with a smile. “Just trying to finish this fantasy novel.”

  “Oh, you write? How cool!” she said. “It must be so fun writing!”

  In some ways, it was. I felt blessed to be leading this lifestyle. But it certainly could not be said that I was also saving, rising up in the socio-economic ladder, or doing one of many things that would be helping me improve my life.

  “It’s got its moments, definitely,” I said. “I’m almost at the end, though.”

  “Oh, of course, I didn’t mean to interrupt!”

  No one ever meant to interrupt. But no one ever realized the intense concentration required to write.

  Unfortunately, the barista’s interruption, good natured as it may have been, upset my concentration and flow. I could not bring myself to find the creative juices necessary to check my final chapter and make the edits necessary. With a bit of a sigh, I closed my laptop, pulled out my charger from the outlet, and started to pack up. I figured the time it would take for me to walk home would give me a chance to unwind and recharge my creative juices.

  I grabbed my bag and headed for the front door when I paused. An old classmate had entered, someone whom I hadn’t seen in months.

  “Kyle Stone?”

  The man that I had known as a wiry, nervous teenager looked at me with a gentle smile.

  “Lilly,” he said, his voice rising. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  “I know, right? Not since, what, two years ago?”

  “Something like that. What are you doing these days? Are you still editing? If you have to go—”

  “No, no, let’s sit,” I said, not wanting to be rude. Besides, maybe talking to an old friend would refresh my mind and give it the break it needed. “We should catch up.”

  I ushered Kyle inside and took a seat, waiting for him to order a coffee. It was remarkable to see how much he had grown up, though he still had the same wiry frame that had led to his brothers and the other kids at school picking on him so much. I felt so sorry for him, and yet it also felt like there was little I could do to boost his spirits, knowing that in some ways, his home life was worse than his school life.

  Once he got his coffee, he sat down.

  “So,” I said. “How’s life? I know, I know, broad question, but you know I like to start from the top.”

  “That you do,” he said with a smile. “Well, my brothers are continuing to give me hell, but that’s nothing new.”

  “They always were the bullies, huh?”

  “Yeah,” he said with a bit of a weak smile. “But I’m an adult now. I got into politics, actually. You know, I want to help those who are afraid to speak out or can’t. Like I was.”

  “Really!” I said. I genuinely had no idea. I kept my head buried so I could work most of the time. “That’s awesome. We need more people like you in politics. People who aren’t seeking out power but want to empower others.”

  Kyle just gave his trademark half-laugh that ended with him looking downcast. I always tried to get him to change that, fearing that it gave other people easy ammo to mock him with, but he never seemed to quite agree. He seemed more comfortable just…well, just being himself. I guess it was admirable in some way.

  “Is there anything I can do to help you with?” I said. “Anything to help a re-election campaign? Maybe raise some money?”

  Kyle put his hand on his chin as he appeared to go deep into thought. He was good at that—I always felt when we were in school together that Kyle was going to make a great thinker someday. I think that was part of why he got bullied so much; the other kids knew they couldn’t compete with him intellectually, so they came at him physically.

  “For right now, nah,” he said. “But I’ll keep the offer in mind.”

  “You know I’m always happy to help those who need it.”

  Kyle smiled, but it was a slightly awkward smile—on anyone else, I might have found it creepy. But with Kyle, I knew he just couldn’t help the way
he looked. He was not going to be someone who ever hurt anyone or acted cruelly.

  We sat and talked at that table for only a few minutes, as Kyle said that he had to go to a meeting shortly thereafter. But as I saw him leave, I was reminded of why I wrote.

  Sometimes, it was good to empower those who didn’t have much power to begin with. It was good to give those who didn’t have a fighting chance, a fighting chance.

  I just hoped, as the rain came down heavily outside, that I had the awareness to understand who the empowered and the disenfranchised really were.

  Chapter 1: Biggie

  On a typical Thursday, it didn’t take much effort to figure out the mood of everyone.

  Niner was the quiet one who rarely spoke unless the name Carrie was mentioned. He offered his insights, but he was easily the most hard-nosed and rigid of all of us.

  Fitz was the one who liked to consider all sides and tried to set himself up at the philosopher or ponderer of the group. He’d gotten better about standing up for himself, but he was still the guy that we picked on the most in the club.

  My uncle, whom we all called Uncle, was the brash hothead. In his world, the person that spoke the loudest and the most aggressively was the person that got their way. In some ways, it wasn’t wrong.

  My brother, Marcel, was firm, tough, but fair. I knew him as someone who was soft to his girlfriend and his daughter but willing to do anything and everything to protect them and the rest of us Stones from danger.

  And me? I was the optimistic guy, the joker. I was the one that, in a moment of tense silence, would make a joke and laugh at it myself; even if other people didn’t laugh out loud, smiles would start to form. You couldn’t have the nickname “Biggie” and not have a little bit of humor about yourself.

  That’s how we were on a typical Thursday night, when we had our club meetings.

  But today?

  The roles were reversed.

  Everyone else seemed extraordinarily calm and even happy with the status quo. My brother made a joke to Uncle, Fitz smiled, and Niner nodded his head along like he was listening to some great tunes. Laughter filled the air.

  I wasn’t laughing, though.

  I had never seen Kyle be so angry before.

  Oh, I’d seen Kyle plenty angry. I’d seen him throw temper tantrums. But from the boys that I’d been around and the people I’d seen that went mad, it was never the ones who screamed and cursed at the top of their lungs who were a threat. It was the ones who seemed to finally just say “fuck it” and know exactly what they needed to do.

  Maybe I was the only one not laughing because I was the only one who didn’t believe the best approach to beating Kyle was to kill him. Unfortunately, I was very much a man on an island in this regard; even Marcel believed at this point that the “Kyle politician problem” was best dealt with through physical means. I was the only person who believed diplomacy was best.

  But if Marcel and Uncle didn’t believe such an approach would work and they didn’t believe that he could be saved, it didn’t matter how nice or empathic I was to Kyle. The two of them would undermine me at every turn, prolonging our seemingly unending battle.

  “I’ve spoken to Richard in Las Vegas,” Marcel said. “It looks like they will ship us some weapons and body armor, but they’d prefer not to get involved in the fight unless absolutely necessary.”

  “Fucking figured,” Uncle muttered.

  “The weapons and armor they’re going to ship us will be military-grade, Uncle,” Marcel said. “It’s not as good as having bodies here, sure, but it’s a step in the right direction.”

  “Oh, sure, of course, that’s nice. And what happens when Kyle is pulling in a whole new gang and we’re outnumbered? Then what? The fucking hippies out west going to send good vibes our way for us Yankees?”

  I think everyone, at some point in knowing him, got a little fed up with Uncle. He was a good man at heart but “grating” was a kind way to describe his personality.

  “Uncle, we will deal with it when the time comes,” Marcel said.

  I could tell he was annoyed. His words were too rigid, too carefully spoken to suggest he was at ease and able to speak freely and easily.

  “Damn better hope the rich boys can,” Uncle said. “What about the California ones?”

  “They won’t come unless the Vegas Saints come,” Marcel said, which produced the exact kind of reaction that one would expect from Uncle in such a moment. “The Vegas Saints have the money. California’s got the manpower, but they’re not going to drive across the country.”

  The rest of us stared at Uncle as he laughed sarcastically, a quite pitiful laugh.

  “What the fuck did we make a deal for if they’re just going to act as our accountants?” he said. “We’ve got dorks here. Fuck, put some glasses on me, and I can order parts for the club! I knew this shit would happen. We give the Vegas Saints some money, and now they’re just standing on the sideline.”

  “They are not standing on the sideline,” Marcel said firmly. “They are giving us firearms and body armor. They will come down if we really need them to help. But, Uncle, what threat is there right now? Yes, no one in here is thinking that Kyle is in his happy place. The shithead’s doing something. But we handled the Bloodhounds on our own without much trouble—”

  “People got killed, Marcel!”

  Uncle’s words put a chill on the already cold room. Marcel bit his lip and looked at everyone else, as if waiting for permission to speak his mind. I don’t think any of us had much interest in saying anything until the president had weighed in. It was a heavy weight he had as president, and while I couldn’t quite say I wouldn’t have wanted it, I knew Marcel was better suited for the role.

  “Unfortunately, that’s part of the deal.”

  But it wasn’t Marcel who spoke. It was Niner.

  “We knew when we started this club that we were going to attract violence. Violence was just an idea when Kyle was making political moves or when Richard came in here and talked. It was not when the Bloodhounds appeared. Trust me. This is the new normal.”

  “Fuck…”

  Uncle muttered what all of us felt at that moment. It wasn’t a “fuck” of expectations thrown for a loop, but rather, of our worst fears confirmed.

  “Well, shit, if people are going to get killed, why the fuck aren’t we calling the Saints over?” Uncle said.

  “Because until people are killed—”

  “They were!”

  “In this current skirmish,” Marcel said. He was very much approaching his breaking point. “They are not going to help us. This is not something that we have the room to negotiate, Uncle. This is just part of the deal.”

  Marcel took a scan of the room. Fitz was his usual, quiet self. Uncle’s mood and attitude were as visible as the full moon in a cloudless sky. Niner had cast a pall on the room. And me…

  I sure wasn’t smiling now.

  “Biggie,” Marcel said. “What’s going on? You look nervous as hell.”

  Marcel might have asked me the question, but there was no clearer sign of his nerves than that. He didn’t call people out like that unless it was to deflect attention from himself and give other people to speak.

  “I just can’t help but wonder if we’re doing the right thing, you know? Like all we’ve done is escalate things with Kyle repeatedly. What if—”

  “Smite the bitch,” Uncle said dismissively. “There’s no room for negotiating with this bastard, Biggie. Kill him and we move on.”

  “No, for real, Uncle, I’m serious,” I said. “Look, he has reason to dislike us, especially from our past. And right now, we don’t know anything. The Bloodhounds are gone, at least as they were, but they could come back. A new club could come back. All we know is Kyle made a threat. And you know who he made that threat to? Me.”

  I felt a surge of strength come as I spoke.

  “And before you came out, Uncle, when I was speaking to him, I saw a brief glimpse of a man tha
t wanted this all to end. A man that was tired of the madness and the nonsense. We’ve had so much violence with him and his cronies…maybe it’s time that we extend an olive branch.”

  “An olive branch!” Uncle said, smacking the table. “Are we going to light the branch on fire before we give it to him?”

  “What the hell has your strategy done for the club?” I shouted, the words escaping me before I could reconsider them.

  “I’m the whole fucking reason that this club exists!” Uncle said. “You broke-ass mechanics weren’t doing shit until I came along! Your brother was in jail!”

  “You’ve given us the money and a whole lot of problems, Uncle!” I shouted. “Your belligerent attitude only provokes Kyle—”

  “A man who will continue to harass and ruin this club until you wipe him out!”

  “Enough!” Marcel said, pounding the table with both of his hands. “I can very clearly see that we are in no mood to have any type of serious discussion about anything with the club. Therefore, until cooler heads prevail—or at least until the hotter heads burn themselves out—I am closing this meeting. We will convene an hour before our party tomorrow, assuming that we still have it. Everyone out.”

  Fitz looked the most eager to leave, clearly feeling out of his element. Niner rose but did not leave, still of the mindset of staying where violence was most likely to erupt. I rose, but a look that Marcel gave me suggested I ought to remain. Uncle scowled at Marcel and me, muttering expletives under his breath that I tuned out just enough that I wasn’t sure what, exactly, he had said. Niner followed Uncle out the door.

  “Shut it,” Marcel said, nodding to the door.

  I did so and sat across from Marcel.

  “I know you’re right,” Marcel said. “I know that the way we treated him as kids, it’s like the justice for our sins has come full circle. But I don’t see how we can change anything at this point, Biggie. He’s so far removed and so far on the other side of the battle that even if we try and make peace, he’s just going to use it as a chance to off us.”

  “I know, I know,” I said, all too aware of the danger that Kyle presented. “But we need to be the bigger men and apologize. Do I think we say it once, and the war is over? No. I think it’s going to be a process. But I can promise you one thing. Even if apologizing only has a five percent chance of working, it’s a lot better than the zero percent chance that this battling is going to give us.”