by Hazel Parker
I decided to tell a white lie.
“They put up some graffiti that included the name ‘Degenerate Sinners.’ I believe that you know that name?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Dom’s tone made it very clear he did not actually think I was kidding.
“No, I am not. I will send you the photo proof of it if you’d like. I think there’s a war coming here, Dom. And what’s worse, the club here is split on how to handle it. We’re on the verge of having a civil war. But if you all come and help, if the Green Hills Saints come and show up, then maybe we can push back. Maybe we can unite, prevent internal strife, and fight this battle that we need to fight. But without it, I don’t know what’s going to happen in battle. I do know, however, that people are going to die.”
Dom let out a very long sigh on the other end of the line.
“Brother, you’ve made a convincing case. But this isn’t just a matter of sneaking a few members over the Nevada-California border and helping you. This is a matter of flying out to New York and taking the battle to the streets. I can’t do anything without getting Richard involved. He’s going to notice if half of his club disappears to the East Coast—actually, he’ll notice if even fewer goes, considering how small we are.”
It was my worst fear come true. We were going to be on our own.
“I understand. And I’m not asking you to help me by undermining Richard. I’m just saying that whatever you can do to help, however you can try and convince Richard to come…I know he and Marcel don’t have a great partnership. I get it. But maybe you and I, as VPs of the club, can do something.”
“I hear you,” Dom said, and I really believed that he did. He didn’t sound like he was just giving lip service. “I’ll see what I can swing. But don’t get your hopes up, Biggie. Richard is slow to act on matters like this, and he’s going to argue pretty heavily in favor of just sending you the supplies and that being enough.”
Whatever you can do. We need whatever we can get.
We hung up shortly after. I looked at the VP of the Green Hills Saints and saw the name Splitter. I knew that the Las Vegas Saints were the ones with the money; they would be the ones to send people flying over. Meanwhile, the Green Hills Saints were ones that we had never met in person. Splitter could be anything from a stocky, short guy in his early twenties to a tall, lanky, quiet man in his late thirties. There was just no way to know.
But at this point, with few options that couldn’t be described as “desperate,” I decided to place the call.
“Hello?”
Splitter sounded groggy, as if he had just woken up. It was early evening on the West Coast, so perhaps a nap had come in.
“Hi, Splitter?”
“Yeah, sup?”
I smirked at his straightforward approach.
“My name is Jack Stone, but you can call me Biggie. I’m the VP of the Savage Saints in Brooklyn—”
“Holy shit, you guys!” he said, his voice suddenly lighting up with excitement. “I was wondering when the hell we’d get to talk to someone from the East Coast. Fuck, that’s nice!”
“Yeah, well—”
“Shit, I’ve been telling Trace all this time, man, we just needed to explore our options out east for expansion. And then it just worked out for us. Fuck, man, I love you guys!”
I could already tell Splitter was a lot more excitable and a lot more gregarious than Dom was. Splitter had a deeper voice, but it also swayed a lot more from moment to moment. I didn’t want to say I was going to take advantage of this, but it did seem like the kind of thing that would offer more promise.
“And we love you guys for being the original Savage Saints.”
“That’s what’s up, man. So what’s going on, dude?”
“Well, Splitter, I hate for this to be our first conversation, but we need help.”
Just as I had with Dom, I outlined all of the concerns I had and the request for help. Just as I had with Dom, I anticipated that not much would come, but I held out hope that something could happen.
“Shit, man, I’d love to, but I gotta get permission from Trace,” he said. “Let me speak to him some. He’s like a brother to me. Real chill dude.”
Well, it sounds more promising than Dom and Richard. Those two were like business partners; “like a brother to me” might yet get us what we need.
“Alright, well, if you can decide sooner rather than later, that would be great,” I said. “We’re facing a lot of conflict and battles over here.”
“I hear you, man, I get it, I totally get it. I’ll hit you back as soon as I can.”
I didn’t have much hope for that happening, though. It was going to take something heavy, maybe even something tragic, for that to happen. They may have had the best of intentions, but sometimes, the best of intentions only meant that a particular outcome was that much more frustrating.
At this point, with it being very late on a Saturday night, I had done all that I could. I had my weapons for protection, I had made all the back-channel talks that I could muster, and we had our marching orders from Marcel. The only thing that remained…
Was my date tomorrow with Lilly.
It felt so odd to shift gears in such a style, to go from dealing with the most serious of club business to the most casual of personal concerns, but I genuinely had given everything that I could have. If I spent any more time with the club, I was just going to stress myself out.
I’d done my part as vice president and as a member of the Stone family. Now, for at least one day tomorrow, for as long as I could, it was time to put that to the side and give myself a little bit of a break.
It was time to see if I could find my girl, just as almost all the other officers had.
Chapter 8: Lilly
OK, let’s try this again.
It was Sunday evening at P.M. Coffee, and this time, I didn’t hold anything back in preparing for my date with Jack. I put on far more makeup than I had the prior date. I put on a low-cut red top. I wore jeans, but these were snugger than the ones I had worn before, showing off my curves.
I felt incredibly excited for this date, most especially to hear Jack’s cheerful laugh. The only thing that lingered was the question of what the Savage Saints were and how much Jack was involved; just because I had summarily dismissed Kyle as a boy who couldn’t get his way didn’t mean that his words didn’t carry any weight. I had done a little bit of research into the Savage Saints and read a few articles about the chaos they had caused, but I’d learned long ago that news reporting, especially with groups like these, preferred to vilify more than it did to understand.
But that was but one minor point amongst the many factors that could work in Jack’s favor.
Starting with the rumbling of the motorcycle outside my front door.
I had to admit; I felt a little silly for not anticipating this part of the date. He was, after all, part of a motorcycle club. But just because I hadn’t anticipated it didn’t mean that I wasn’t going to take full advantage of the offering.
I opened the front door and saw that bald, handsome man turning the engine off and turning his sunglasses-adorned face up to me, that beautiful, sexy smile plastered on his face. Already off to a better start than Kyle.
“Well, hello there,” he said, seemingly unable to remove the smile from his face. “I thought we could ride off in style. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” I said as I admired the bike. I walked over to him and embraced him in a hug, and I couldn’t lie: there was a sort of immediate temptation to kiss him. I almost thought it was going to happen, the way we looked at each other and slowly fell into each other’s arms, but thankfully, we weren’t that hurried into it. “It’s a beautiful ride you have.”
“Thanks,” he said, beaming. “I try to take good care of it. I’d like to think that it’s something that I can ride with pride.”
“I would say so,” I said, running my hand over its warm exterior. “I haven’t
ever ridden a motorcycle before. Is it going to be safe?”
“Of course!” Jack said as if I’d asked him the most amusing question ever. “I wouldn’t take you on a boring first date, but I also wouldn’t take you on a first date where you could die! That would be a bit much, don’t you think?”
“Well, in comparison to some of my other first dates, it might not be the worst thing,” I said with a laugh.
Thankfully, Jack didn’t ask me to elaborate any further on what I meant. I wouldn’t have minded telling him about Kyle, but I didn’t think first dates were the spot to discuss previous relationships. Maybe on, say, the fifth date or so.
“Well, you got nothing to worry about. No one’s dying today on my watch. I’ll make sure to go at a controlled, safe pace. Think of it as an opportunity for you to do some research for your next book!”
“That’s my excuse for everything,” I said with a snort. “Although, people do like reading about chicks on motorcycles in some urban fantasy novels. So, you know what? Why the hell not. Let’s do it.”
“Now you’re talking,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulders.
He then lifted the seat, revealing a helmet that fit pretty snugly over my head. I felt like I was in a roller coaster, with the attendants making sure that the restraints were properly pushed up against me. Those same nerves were starting to set in, the feeling that I was about to get on something that I would not be able to get off until the conclusion of the ride.
But you know what? I had never suddenly gotten off of a roller coaster just before it started, and I didn’t see any reason to start that now.
He got on the bike and beckoned for me to sit behind me.
“Just wrap your arms around me and hold tight,” he said. “Don’t worry; you can’t choke me.”
It’s a good thing I kept my mouth shut, because I might have said something a little inappropriate there without the proper self-censoring.
“The only thing to remember is that when I lean, follow my lead. You’ll feel the bike. But don’t jerk too hard. Just very gradually move your body in that direction. I don’t think it’ll be anything too hard. Got it?”
“Yeah!” I said.
I pushed my legs up onto his and wrapped my arms around his body. I had hugged him before, but I hadn’t laid my hands on his stomach. I was surprised to realize that though he was bulky, he had a pretty firm stomach. He was not big because he was fat, or if he was, he had plenty of muscle underneath.
But admiring his firm figure vanished as soon as the bike roared to life. The roller coaster had officially lurched out of the entrance and had begun its initial ascent. I could have gotten off, but there was no real way to at this point; now, it was just a few moments of peaceful calm before it roared.
“Where are we going, by the way?” I shouted.
He leaned back and smiled.
“Where I assume all authors like to hang out.”
A coffee shop? A book store? A—
The bike lurched forward. I let out a scream and pressed my head in between Jack’s shoulder blades. The missile of a vehicle vibrated between my legs, and I felt myself squeezing the bike as hard as I could as if somehow gluing myself to the thing would prevent me from getting hurt.
Slowly, though, I relaxed my muscles. I still kept a tight grip, but I managed to ease up on the tension.
And my goodness, in doing so, I opened up a joyful experience unlike anything I’d ever felt before. I was so glad that Jack had put it as me getting an education for my novels because he was a hundred percent right. I needed to incorporate a good motorcycle ride into Fires of the City. Maybe after the final fight or something—but it had to be somewhere!
The ride was a lot more stop-and-go than I think Jack would have preferred because I heard him muttering about the traffic frequently. To my surprise, though, instead of going east to more open area, we were instead headed straight for Manhattan, perhaps the worst place in the world to be a driver of a private vehicle.
For the most part, we stayed on the easternmost roads, my view obstructed by the many high-rises. But I could still get a few close-up glimpses of One World Trade Center, the Empire State Building, and many others. We finally turned left around 42nd Street, making me wonder if we’d somehow missed the street for Times Square and were backtracking.
But instead, Jack somehow, miraculously, found a spot to park on the street just a little bit down the road from Grand Central Terminal.
“Sweet,” I said, feeling relieved to have made it through but also a little sad that it had ended. “That was amazing!”
“Good news for you: as long as you don’t hate my guts by the end of the date, there’ll be an opportunity for a ride back.”
I laughed, remembering the date from the night before. It would take an almost schizophrenic switch in personality for me to suddenly abandon Jack. As long as he acted as he normally did, I didn’t see anything that would make me want to leave him and the chance to get on that bike.
“So far, I don’t hate you at all.”
“Give it time,” he said with a wink before offering his hand. It was warm to the touch and still trembled ever so slightly from the bike, but once his fingers curled around mine, the trembling disappeared. It was like as long as he had me, he felt secure.
Soon, though, my mind shifted to trying to figure out just what we were going to do. I still hadn’t the foggiest idea, and though Manhattan certainly offered more than its fair share of activities to do, I was left groping in the dark for what we were going to do. I almost began to think that Grand Central Station was somehow supposed to represent an expansion of the mind needed for the author, and that was why he was going to take me there.
But instead, we kept walking right past it, his hand guiding me through the throng of people entering and exiting their respective trains.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
“It’s just a few more blocks away,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you walk across Manhattan.”
“I would hope not!” I said with a laugh. “Us writers aren’t usually the greatest at staying in shape!”
“Look at me; do I look like someone who keeps himself up?” he said, chuckling as he then walked me across the street. “I’m more likely to eat an entire pizza and not think about it than I am to go for a run.”
“Oh, don’t say that! You look like you’ve lifted a lot of weights in your life.”
“That is true. I do a lot of bulking. But not a lot of cutting!”
He laughed that beautiful, bursting laugh that seemed to echo across all of Manhattan. Every time I heard that laugh, I felt like I was a little closer to his soul; his laugh was the most genuine part of him, and nothing else even came close. Nothing could send tingles down my spine quite like that laugh of his.
Then, before I could think, he was pulling me away from the road.
“Look up.”
I did. My eyes went wide.
“The library?” I said in surprise. “You know me so well.”
“I hope it’s not cliché.”
“Are you kidding me?” I said, it becoming my turn to laugh. “Come on!”
Now it was my turn to take the lead, and I dragged him into the library. We walked slowly, admiring the Roman-like architecture on the outside with the columns, and then gasping when we got inside at the art up high and the seemingly endless rows of stacks. Though we had to become quiet so that we would not get kicked out or disrupt those who were there to work, inside, I was screaming for joy and practically dancing with excitement.
“Libraries are like my personal Mecca,” I said when we reached some stacks that weren’t quite as crowded. “It’s like you have all the knowledge in the world without the clickbait and silly nonsense that the internet creates.”
“So it’s like a curated Google,” he said.
“Yeah, but I feel like that doesn’t do it justice,” I said, suddenly getting on a roll. “
Every book that you see in here took a long, long time to produce. Some only needed a few rounds of edits, some needed endless editing, but they all took time. You put something on Google, it can be ready for consumption in a matter of moments. There’s no filter on it. But here? Everything is curated. Everything is selected. Time has ensured that everything in here is valuable.”
I knew I was romanticizing it a bit. I’m sure there were books in the library that were terrible, uninformative, or even propaganda. I knew that there were some books that could generously be called “art.”
But I also knew that for at least ninety percent of the books in this building, I was not wrong. I wasn’t a good enough author to have added anything I created to the stacks inside, but I still held out hope that at some point in my lifetime, I would make that happen. At some point, I would have a book good enough to make it into the New York Public Library.
That, much more than a five-star review on Amazon or anything of a similar ilk, would have made me proud and satiated. That would have been the crowning of a wonderful career.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s look.”
We spent what felt like the next hour just going through the stacks, trading jokes about book titles, sharing interesting tidbits about different sections, and describing our favorite books. I knew that Jack felt a little bit out of his element; I could tell that he wasn’t nearly the same voracious reader that I was. But even still, I couldn’t stop admiring how much he had put himself out there by taking an interest in what I liked.
That, far more than him knowing anything in the stacks, made him so much more attractive. At this point, it was getting pretty hard to think of anything that I didn’t like about Jack.
Except for one thing.
He wasn’t wearing the sleeveless jacket today with the Savage Saints lettering on the back, but the connection that Kyle had unwittingly made for me yesterday was the kind of thing that I couldn’t let escape. Honestly, I didn’t think it would bother me that much, but it was something that I just had to know.