Slash_A Motorcycle Club Romance_Savage Hearts MC

by Vivian Gray

  “Hey now,” Slash murmurs. “Come on. What’s wrong? How can I help?”

  “I – I’m sorry, Slash. I didn’t mean to break down like that. Things are just… a little… rough right now. That’s all.”

  “Rough? How so?”

  “Things are… problematic. With my mom.”

  “Your mom? Well, I can understand that. Me and my mom got big problems between us. I haven’t talked to her in weeks.”

  “No, that isn’t what I meant,” I say, shaking my head. “My mom and I are close – very close.”

  “Then what—”

  “She has cancer,” I confide in him. “Terminal. Stage 4. She’s got to have round the clock hospice care and between that and the bills that are all in my name… I’m drowning, Slash. I’ve been looking for an easy way out, and when Monica… when this friend of mine told me about the… about the auction… I realized it was something that I could do to help keep my head above water. And it worked, thanks to you. But things with my mom are so difficult right now, and I still have bills to pay, so I’ve been working double shifts to try to make enough money to survive.”

  I take a deep breath and sigh. I haven’t laid it all out there like that for anyone – not my mom, not Monica, not even myself. Now, I have just given my life’s story to a guy who’s practically a stranger. I don’t know what he’s going to think of me after this. Fortunately for me, he pats my shoulder kindly. He’s always so kind to me. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve that.

  “Hey, take it easy,” he says consolingly, “it’s going to be okay.”

  “It’s not though.” I sniffle. “It seems like everything that could possibly go wrong in my life is going wrong, and I don’t know how to make it right again.”

  “Well, maybe you can start at the beginning. It’s like when you get into an accident on your bike. Sometimes, you can swap out a few parts, and fix it up, and everything’s fine again. Other times, though, the damage is too severe, and you have to jettison the whole damn thing and get a new bike.”

  “I’m not sure I follow,” I say, doubtful.

  “What I mean is that you have to take a look at your life. Whatever is working, make it work for you. Whatever’s not, get rid of it.”

  “But what if nothing’s working?”

  “Then you start over, from scratch,” he explains.

  “But I can’t, Slash!” I practically scream at him. Then, regaining at least a little bit of my composure, I continue, “I have nowhere to turn. My mom is in hospice that I can’t afford, and the loans we took out to cover her medical costs are all in my name. Our house is going to get repossessed. I’m going to lose everything, and it’s all because I can’t make enough money to just survive.”

  “No.” He says it so simply, so flatly, that I don’t even have a chance to disagree with him. “No, Erin, that’s simply not true. You have it in you to survive and thrive. Look what you’ve accomplished already. You should be proud that you’ve gone as far as you have to help your mom and fix your situation. I know if you were my kid, I’d be proud of you.” Seeing the look on my face, he quickly adds, “Okay, bad example. I don’t want you to be my kid. That’s...”

  “Gross?” I venture.

  “Yeah, let’s go with that.” He laughs. It’s such a great laugh, full of life and vibrancy. “Look, I know you’re closing up here soon, but I want to see you again.”

  “What do you mean, you want to see me again?”

  “I want to take you out. You know… on a… on a date.”

  “A… date?” I’m flummoxed. I haven’t been asked out on a date by anyone except the drunken idiots at the bar in years – certainly not by anyone who meant it, let alone a hot biker who had just paid to take my virginity. “Are you – are you serious?”

  “I’m completely serious. Erin, I like you. I think you’re great. I’d like to take you out on a real date, like to dinner or something. You can choose where we go, if you want.”

  I smile inwardly as well as outwardly. He really is a sweet man. Unfortunately, there’s absolutely no way it can happen. “Slash, you’re really sweet,” I tell him, “but I don’t think it’s going to happen.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks, seeming both indignant and a little hurt.

  “I’ve got… I’ve got responsibilities. With the bar, and with my mom… I just don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Well… what if I could make time?”

  “Huh?” I reply, again flustered. I didn’t expect him to answer me with a question like that.

  “Listen… my mom is a nurse. An RN. She’s more than capable of taking care of your mom in hospice. She’s… she’s a…” He seems to cringe as the words fall out of his mouth. “... good lady,” he finally finishes, “and I’ll bet she can make your mom really comfortable.”

  “I – I—” I don’t know what to say to that level of kindness. Then something occurs to me. “Didn’t you say you hadn’t talked to your mom in weeks?”

  “That’s my business,” he says sharply. Then, clearly realizing he’s overstepped just a little, he softens his tone and continues, “My mom and I… we don’t really see eye to eye very well. Or at all. But I know underneath it all, she cares about what she does, and I’ll bet all the money in my pockets that she’s going to be willing to take your mom on.”

  “How much would it cost?” I ask, wary. I can barely afford hospice as it is, let alone from an RN.

  “Nothing,” he says simply. “If my mom wants payment for it, I’ll pay.”

  “Are you kidding?” I demand.

  “No.”

  “Are you kidding?” I ask again, this time almost frantic.

  “I – Erin—”

  “Slash, I...” I don’t know what to say again. I’m speechless. What he’s offering is a way to shut down another huge portion of our bills, so that I’ll only have to pay off some of the house bills. If his mom is able to help us out here, I’ll be in the clear. I can’t believe this kind of generosity is coming from an MC guy who goes by the name Slash.

  “Don’t say anything,” he says. “Just wait until my mom says yes. When she does, you can pay me back by having dinner with me.”

  “I would… I would love to, Slash,” I finally say, letting the warmth of his kindness wash over me.

  “Great!” he says with exuberance. “Just one more thing I need from you.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, somewhat suspicious.

  There’s a goofy grin on his face. “Can I have your number?”

  Chapter Ten

  Slash

  I can’t believe she said yes. I can’t believe I offered to have my mother come and take care of her mother. I can’t believe I’m going to have to talk to my mother again. When I told Erin that my mom and I haven’t talked in a few weeks, I wasn’t lying. In fact, we hadn’t spoken in nearly a month. But we had talked every so often since she kicked me out of the house.

  See, my mom didn’t believe in a life of crime. She said my daddy had been into every sort of crime known to man, and she didn’t want me to go down the same road. I swore up and down that I wasn’t going to do it – and then I got in with the Savage Hearts. I started working jobs – usually just the shit jobs I was normally working – but my mom didn’t see it that way.

  And when I suddenly started raking in the cash, she wanted to know how I was getting it. I didn’t want to tell her that I was stripping cars or selling drugs or shaking down lowlifes for their chump change, so I lied to her and told her I was working in a body shop. She found out the truth, though, when my MC mates started dropping by the house.

  That was enough for her. She told me I either had to drop the MC, or I had to leave. I told her I was bringing good cash into the house, and I wasn’t going to leave my brothers in the MC. That, again, was enough for her. She screamed at me to oblivion and told me I was as worthless as my old man. I didn’t want to hear that, so I left, and I never looked back.

  The problem was that,
try as I might, I couldn’t scrape the old broad from my memories. Despite our clear difference of opinion on my career choices, I loved my mom. And I wanted to be at least somewhat in her life. So, we had a bit of a truce, a relationship that basically depended on keeping secrets from each other. I didn’t ask about her life, and she didn’t ask about mine.

  All she ever asked was if I was being safe (yes), and if I had anyone special in my life (no). Of course, those answers are about to change. If I am on Marcelo’s tail, I’m not exactly being safe – but there might indeed be someone special in my life, which would send her over the moon. But goddammit, I don’t want to call her.

  It’s not that she’s a bad person by any means; she’s a very good person. She’s a retired nurse, for Christ’s sake; she makes a living helping people. But I just don’t want to deal with the ridiculousness of her incessant questioning of my lifestyle. I do what I do. That’s the end of the story. I don’t need her judging me for it.

  But for Erin’s sake – and for her mom’s – I’m willing to do it.

  I ride as far as my mom’s house. I stare at the door for what feels like an idiotically long amount of time, waiting for… something, I don’t really know what. I just want to prolong this as long as I can, I guess, so I somehow magically get her involvement without having to interact with her. But all that flies out the window when she opens the door and sees me standing there.

  “Thomas?” she asks, seemingly shocked that I would be standing anywhere in this neighborhood, let alone at her doorstep.

  “Hi, mom,” I say, scratching the back of my neck.

  “What – what are you doing here?”

  “I was… hoping we could talk,” I say, which isn’t a lie, not exactly. “Do you have a few minutes?”

  She doesn’t say “yes” or anything, but she moves away from the door, a clear invitation into the house. I’m honestly a little surprised. The last time I was here, she sent me away for bringing a “criminal element” under her roof. I’m hoping things go at least a little bit better this time.

  I go inside and sit on the sofa in the living room. My mother shuts the door behind me and comes to sit in a chair opposite me. We sit in awkward silence for what feels like hours but, in reality, is just a minute or two.

  “So,” she finally says, “you’ve got something to say to me?”

  “Mom,” I begin, “I want to talk to you about—”

  “Still living your life of crime, I see. Thomas, I don’t know where I went wrong with you, but this is… intolerable. I brought you up better than this. I brought you up to be more than this.”

  I hold up a hand, partly in defense, and partly to get her to shut the fuck up. “Mom, I didn’t come here to talk about how I live my life. I want to talk to you about a woman I know.”

  “A woman?” she asks, immediately more interested. “Is this one of the biker whores you bring back to that shack you call an apartment?”

  I shake my head. “Mom, listen to me, would ya?” I insist. “There’s this girl I’ve been… well, kinda-sorta seeing…”

  “What the hell does ‘kinda-sorta seeing’ mean? You’ve been sleeping with her?”

  I groan. “Mom.”

  “Well am I wrong?” she asks, an air of superiority in her voice.

  I look down at my boots. “No, Mom, you’re not wrong. But this girl is different. She’s not a part of the MC – the motorcycle club – or some groupie or some crap like that. She’s a nice girl.”

  “What would a nice girl want with the likes of you?” she asks, her voice still haughty.

  “I don’t know,” I admit, “but I know that she likes me. And she’s way overstressed. She’s trying to balance work with taking care of her mom, who’s sick and needs hospice.”

  “And you’re here to what? Ask me for money?”

  “What?” I ask, bewildered. “No, Mom, I’ve got money, and she never asked for any anyway. No, I’m wondering if you would consider helping her out by taking over her mom’s hospice care.”

  “I – what?”

  Now I had her. Something in her voice had changed. She sounded softer, more intrigued, and less angry at me over things that had happened years back. Now, suddenly, she wasn’t a dejected mother; she was a nurse again, and she was seeing her opportunity to practice what she knew.

  “Look, Mom, I’ll level with you, okay? I like this girl. I like her a lot. And I’m not changing my life or anything, but she’s the kind of girl that could be, y’know, a long-term thing. She’s sweet, and she’s beautiful, and she needs a break. I want to take her out. But I can’t do that if she’s got to take care of her mom after working double shifts all week. So, I’m hoping you’ll do me this favor. It would give you the chance to be a nurse again…”

  I know this will get her going. Ever since the hospital forced her into early retirement a couple of years back, my mom has been pining for a chance to use her nursing skills. She absolutely loved being a nurse, probably more than anything else in this world, up to and including me. Giving her the chance to be one again was almost certainly more than she could pass up.

  “So, you need a babysitter for a date,” my mom says sardonically, frowning. “Thomas, I – I just don’t know if I’m comfortable doing this for you. At least, not given what you’re currently doing.”

  “Mom, please.” I’m practically begging her at this point, hoping she can see past her anger and be the helpful, practical woman I know her to be.

  She sits in another long silence, thinking. Finally, she closes her eyes and shakes her head, which dampens my spirits. Then, to my utter shock, she says, “What – what time would I have to be there?”

  A few hours later, I’m sitting on my bike outside Erin’s house. My mom showed up early at four o’clock to meet Erin and her mom, which I wasn’t expecting – and which explains why I wasn’t there. Instead of Erin coming down the steps now, though, it’s my mom. She has a furious look on her face. I’m wondering if I’m late or something, so I check my watch. Nope, six o’clock on the dot.

  “And where have you been, mister?” my mom demands.

  “We – we said six, mom,” I say, on the defensive.

  “I mean, what kinds of bad dealings have you gotten up to today?” When I don’t respond, she continues, “Now, you listen to me, Thomas, and you listen good. These are nice people. Erin is a very nice girl. I like her a lot. Which makes me suspicious as to why she’s interested in you. But I’ll tell you once and for all, you had better treat this young woman with the respect she deserves, or you’ll be answering to me. You got it?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say, nodding in agreement.

  Wow. I didn’t expect my mom to get so invested so quickly. I also would’ve hoped she’d see my side of things. But that never really happens. At any rate, as soon as my mother is back inside, Erin runs out, looking gorgeous in those same leather pants and a red top. She looks gorgeous.

  We go to a little restaurant I know that’s friendly to the freaks of the world, where they don’t give a shit that I’m in leather or driving up on a motorcycle. It’s just a little diner, but it’s kind of funky, with a bunch of mismatched tables and chairs, some hanging Christmas lights, and a killer jukebox.

  We walk in, and nobody seems to give us much notice. I like it that way. The hostess seats us at a table for two, and Erin immediately looks down at her menu.

  “You want a drink first?” I ask her.

  “Honestly?” She laughs. “I was thinking about getting a milkshake.”

  “A milkshake? What? Are you five or something?”

  “Shut up,” she says playfully. “I like milkshakes. And I don’t really drink all that much, honestly.”

  “Well, I’m getting a beer…” I venture.

  “You go ahead and do that then.”

  I love the way she phrases things, so sweet, but with a little bite to it.

  We order our drinks, and we get into some good conversation, such as whether or not the bu
rgers here are good (they are) and what good toppings are. But I have to keep reminding myself, as social as this “date” is – and it is social – I’m hoping to get some info out of this girl. I begin veering towards the subject.

  “So, the night we met,” I start by saying, “you told me you had met Marcelo, is that right?”

  “The guy from the Red Club,” she recalls. “Yeah. He was nice. Why? Is he a friend of yours?”

  “I already told you, he’s most definitely not.”

  “Right, right. You said he was – what was the phrase? ‘Grooming’ me?”

  “That’d be correct.”