Diamonds: Motorcycle Club Romance (Savage Saints MC Book 8) Read online

  And instead, he just kept switching from girl to girl, as if holding an audition that no one could ever win.

  “Jenna?” Mama said. “Jenna.”

  “Yeah, sorry.”

  “Was it something I said?” Pork asked. “Something with Dom?”

  I bit my lip. There were many things I could hide the truth about, especially when it came to police business. But in this particular case, when it was just a personal matter?

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “I’m the reason he’s the way he is.”

  Chapter 1: Dom

  It was Thursday afternoon at about four-thirty in the Panorama Towers.

  Outside, the afternoon sun glittered against portions of the Las Vegas Strip, casting harsh, focused, heated beams of light upon those on the Strip and those in high-rise apartments, like Pork and me. There were no clouds in the sky, no relief in sight. I sat on our massive L-shaped couch, playing Fortnite with Pork.

  Hanging out of the pocket of my Houston Rockets gym shorts was my phone, buzzing. It was the blessing and the curse of being the client-facing VP of the club that I could have to meet anyone, anywhere, at just about any time. I was pretty sure that, for fun, I’d invited the creators of Fortnite to attend one of our shows. I was going to invite them for poker, but the scene was so far removed from what they wanted that they stopped answering my texts.

  They were a rarity, though. Most of the people I got in contact with were desperate to be a part of the club. And, sometimes for good, sometimes to the point of sheer annoyance, most of the girls I met also wanted to be a part of the club.

  “How did your mini-party go last night?” Pork asked.

  “I’m sorry, there’s nothing mini about any of the parties I throw,” I said. “And if you must know, it went exactly as you would expect.”

  “Shallow and unfulfilling?”

  I laughed so hard that I lost my concentration on the screen and got killed a couple of seconds later.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that expecting a child and falling for one woman suddenly made anyone who decides to enjoy the fruits of the season a shallow whore,” I said. “No, it was awesome. That new girl, man, she can suck a dick. Let me tell you—”

  “Please don’t.”

  I laughed. I wasn’t actually going to. Surprising some in the club, though I was not shy or coy about flirting in public, what happened when we got to the bedroom was mostly private. I would toss out crass statements like the one I’d just made to get the other party to shut up, but everything else was for the girls and me to know.

  Really, though, it was probably just because I didn’t want to stay focused on the past. I was forward-thinking.

  “I take it you and Mama went home, held hands, looked into each other’s eyes, and talked about how much you look forward to having new life? Did you sing Kumbaya and meditate together?”

  “Uh, wow, you really think we turn into Buddhist monks? You do know that a woman’s sex drive goes through the roof when she’s pregnant, right?”

  “I mean, that’s not something I’ve ever tried to find out, nor is it something I ever intend to find out! You think I’d be willing to give up the life I have so I can change diapers at two in the morning or sleep no more than four hours straight?”

  “I mean, eventually.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. Our round came to an end, and I used the opportunity to look through my text messages. In the last ten minutes, I’d gotten eight messages. One was from a potential poker guest tonight. Five were from either former guests of The Red Door or people who wanted to attend, including one prominent football player. Two were from girls asking me what I was up to that night.

  I blazed through responding as many of the messages as I could. For the girls, the message was always the same: “check back later tonight.” When I got off at four in the morning, I usually had about a half-dozen girls begging to get on my dick. Some nights, I’d send a message and tell her where to meet. Others, I’d just be so exhausted that I’d ignore all of them.

  Yes, I knew I had a good life when I could choose to ignore sex rather than take it at the first opportunity.

  “I swear, you text more than a middle schooler,” Pork said. “You’re glued to that damn thing.”

  “Like how you’re glued to your chicken wings?”

  “One provides healthy fat and nutrition. The other destroys your brain cells and concentration.”

  “Bro, those are fried,” I said with a laugh. “You actually think they’re healthier?”

  “Healthier than staring at a screen for six hours a day.”

  “I make up for it by staring at a different pair of tits every night.”

  Pork just rolled his eyes. Not many people knew how to shut him up, but I liked to think I was one of the few who could.

  “In any case,” I said, sending one last text off. “I have my poker guest for the night.”

  “Really? Do I get a sneak preview or are you going to be a bastard and make me wait until the end of the meeting?”

  “Ah, I’ll be nice tonight,” I said. “It is… not Igor nor is it any of the California Saints.”

  “OK, you said you’d say who it was, not who it was not.”

  “Technically, I did not.”

  Pork stopped, stumped. I knew I was right.

  “I’m just fucking with you,” I said. “It’s this poker pro named Hal Russel. I met him a couple of weeks ago at one of my nightclub visits to the Strip.”

  “Wait, a poker pro?”

  “Ah, but there’s a catch. He is a huge alcoholic and spews off chips like his life depends on it. So…”

  I texted Katerina to ask her to make sure the drinks for one Mr. Russel were especially strong on that night. She gave me a thumbs-up emoji back, and I closed my phone.

  It was kind of interesting how Katerina was the only girl that I refused to sleep with at the club. I’d learned from many bars I could no longer frequent that you never slept with the bartenders, no matter how hot they were. And by this point, I had so many options I didn’t have to turn to Katerina for sex.

  Well, she was the only specific girl. There were two names that I could never go for, but that was a different story.

  “We just let Hal have a few drinks, play tight until it kicks in, and then we can take advantage of him!”

  “We’re so generous.”

  “Bro, we’re bikers. Do you really think we’re going to just let people take our money?”

  Pork snorted in laughter as he grabbed another chicken wing. We started up another game.

  “Are you gonna get distracted this time?” Pork asked.

  “I dunno, are you gonna find your balls again and play aggressively?”

  “Counters, man, counters!”

  I just shrugged.

  “By the way, ran into someone last night who was asking about you. Jenna—”

  “Don’t,” I said immediately.

  All the humor vanished from my voice. In fact, everything except anger and disgust vanished from my voice. That was one of the two names that I could never sleep with, and the very sound of it felt like someone trying to create a curse in my world.

  “Do not mention anything about her,” I said. “I know she was there. That was fucking bad enough.”

  Pork looked at me with a perplexed expression on his face, his lips pulled back and his eyes narrowed. I ignored him, choosing to use Fortnite as an excuse not to have to think about that fucking bitch and everything about her. I figured he’d eventually turn back to the game.

  “Can you at least say why you hate her?”

  “Fucking hell, Pork,” I growled. “She’s the reason I am who I am today.”

  “Huh, weird,” he said. “That’s the exact same thing she said last night.”

  At least he didn’t say anything else about it.

  But that didn’t mean he hadn’t put her back in my mind. I was glad that she knew why I hated her. She needed to suffer as I did. Granted,
she probably did suffer a lot from what I saw of her after everything happened, but…

  Well, how the fuck did someone like her become a cop anyway? How much cock did she have to suck to get into that position?

  The worst part of it was, under different circumstances, she would have made for a great hookup. She had an absolutely banging body; when she wasn’t under my stare, she had a wickedly sharp attitude and wit that could make many men crumble; and she was stern and direct in what she wanted. She could have been someone I might have even asked back for multiple rounds.

  But because of what she did, such a thought was repulsive. No joke, if I needed to stop thinking about sex and get serious, I thought about her. The way she had upended my life was close to unforgivable. I just…

  Ugh, fuck her.

  And not literally.

  A terse, awkward silence fell over us for the next half hour as we played. After my outburst, the best I could determine was that Pork just wanted to get to the meeting. I did too. In between games, Pork got up from the couch to get more food, while I used the opportunity to text guests for tonight and our poker guest. Pork was right, I did text like a schoolgirl, but you know what?

  None of those texts ever involved Jenna, and that was a hell of a lot better than having to deal with her return to my life, whether through conversation with Pork or some other fashion.

  “Alright, brother, it’s about time to head over to the club,” Pork said.

  “Good,” I said, relieved Pork had not returned to that ugly topic. “Are you going to race me today? Or has Mama taken your balls in such a vice grip that you can’t go above the speed limit?”

  “Man, you mock me all you want, but there is no way that I am risking anything when our kid is just a few months away,” Pork said. “And in any case, I can race you if there’s no traffic. Right now, though?”

  “Pussy.”

  “Fuck you, I’m smart. You go knock up a gal; we’ll see how long you want to gamble with God.”

  I rolled my eyes as I headed to my room to change.

  “How many times do I have to tell you, bro, I’m not knocking anyone up?”

  “Then why not just get a vasectomy?”

  Because someday…

  “There’s no reason to; I’d still have to wear a condom,” I shouted. “Do you know how many of these girls aren’t just sleeping around, but are doing so in ill-advised decisions? I mean, fuck, look at Barber and Cassie!”

  “Fair,” Pork said. “Anyway, hurry the hell up. Mama and the rest are going to yell at us if we don’t hurry over.”

  On cue, I walked out of the door, wearing my faded jeans, my cut, boots, and cross necklace.

  “Let’s go, then.”

  We casually strolled through the hallway, nodding to one guy who managed one of the nightclubs and then to two strippers that I knew well. And by knew well, I meant very, very well.

  But they weren’t on my radar tonight or in the near future, and we reached our bikes in the parking deck without any further conversation. We both rode our bikes at a relatively safe pace out of the building, onto the road, and toward the highway.

  After that, though, the brakes came off. I gunned the engine to full throttle, leaned forward, and waved to Pork behind me.

  The thrill of being on the bike, especially in Las Vegas, was the same reason I loved the thrill of being single—there was something so liberating about not having to answer to anyone or anything, about being able to go as fast as you wanted, and about going at life at your own pace, not at someone else’s. I could see the value in being in a relationship—I’d lived it, in fact—but now?

  There was no going back for the immediate future. There was probably no going back in the long term. Maybe, just maybe, someday I’d fall for someone and be theirs, but that someday felt very, very far away.

  When I got to the exit, I slowed down at the line of traffic. I looked back to see that Pork was not even in sight. I shook my head. I loved him, and I loved Mama, but the two of them had gotten soft ever since they had become a thing.

  I waited for him in the back parking lot, and I had to do so for nearly a full minute before he finally drove in. As he killed his engine, I walked over to him and leaned on his bike.

  “Bro,” he said.

  Leaning on another man’s bike might as well have been the same as going up to him and grabbing his junk, daring him to react.

  “What?” I said with a smirk. “Took you long enough to get here. Maybe this will anger you enough to drive a little faster next time.”

  “Fuck, Dom,” Pork said. “The only thing I want to go a little faster is Mama’s pregnancy. I can’t wait to be a father! You all are going to love little Porky so much.”

  “Jesus Christ, The Red Door is going to have to open a daycare wing at this rate,” I said. “I swear, if we ever stop throwing parties so that people can be responsible adults, I’m going to go open my own club. I’ll call it—”

  “The Sex Door?”

  “You know, I was going to say The Black Door, but The Sex Door drops all pretenses. I can get behind it.”

  Poor Pork. In just the span of a couple of months, he’d gone from someone I could banter with about sex and partying to someone who now apparently took offense at the concept of “The Sex Door.” Of course, I was never leaving the club—even if the other officers all got married, I was going to carry on the legacy forever. I considered it nothing less than my sacred duty to do so.

  I was wearing a smirk when I walked in the door, but it slowly subsided when I saw a face I did not recognize. There were three people standing behind Richard, two of whom I recognized—Trace, the California Saints president, and BK, their sergeant-at-arms. But the second, who bore the patch of “Vice President” was one I did not recognize.

  “Dom,” Richard said. “This is Splitter. He’s the VP of the California chapter.”

  “Pleasure,” I said, although I was withholding judgment on whether or not I’d still say that in the near future. I shook his hand with a tight grip, something that Splitter was more than happy to return.

  I sat down with Pork. Mama and Barber were already present. I took a deep breath as I looked to Richard, very curious to see why three members of the California Saints—including one that had not ever fought with us—were doing here.

  “Let’s get this started,” Richard said. “As you all know, the Sinners have been eliminated, for all practical matters. We could not have done it without the help of the California Saints, and for that, we are extraordinarily grateful.”

  Where is this going?

  “However, as we all know, mere thanks is not enough to show our appreciation for what they did,” he said. “They would like us to merge with them into one chapter.”

  “What?” Mama said, but Richard kept going.

  “We operate as two separate entities. I have made mention before of how I chose the name, knowing that Paul, my older brother, had picked it for Green Hills. But because of our family division, I had refused to integrate in any way until an existential crisis hit our front door. Now, however, that crisis is removed. We do not need to worry about the Sinners anymore. But we cannot pretend that the two Saints are removed from each other.”

  He cleared his throat, stood, and stepped aside, allowing Trace to take his seat. I already hated this, and I hated even more that Richard seemed to be so easily moving to the side for Trace to take over.

  “Thank you, Richard,” Trace said. “The two Savage Saints clubs may be operating independently, but we share quite a bit in common. We have the same grit, the same love of motorcycles, and the same love for our brothers and, in this case, our sister. It would only benefit everyone to become one unit; you can supply economic value to us, and we can supply manpower to you. We have both sacrificed to get rid of the Sinners, but only you will benefit from the removal of them. We believe that this is fair and best for both parties.”

  I shook my head. This was stupid.

  “Dom
,” Richard said. “You seem to be in disagreement over this. Care to explain why?”

  “We’re not the same,” I said. “We share a founder’s last name and the name, and that’s it. You’re blue-collar, and we run The Red Door. We couldn’t just supply economic value to you; we would be the entire economic engine. You guys run a store; we run a club that brings in the wealthiest people.”

  “Maybe so, but you’d be dead without us.”

  Goddamnit. I struggled for a response, but the struggle existed because there was no rational way to argue with Trace. Without him and the Saints of Green Hills, yes, we really would be dead.

  “Look, I’m not saying any of this as a threat; we want this to be an amicable celebration, a reason to join forces. This is not meant to be some tough talk. We want this to be as peaceful and smooth as possible. So please, please do not take this as us threatening your club’s status. We just firmly believe in it.”

  I opened my mouth to retort that no takeover was ever “peaceful and smooth” but then Trace bulled right on ahead.

  “We’re going back to California to take care of some things, and then we’ll be back in two weeks. I would say in that time, come up with an offer and relay it back to us. Sounds good?”

  “Yes,” Richard said before any of us could say a word. “Thank you, Trace, Splitter, and BK.”

  The three nodded, thanked us as they left, and headed out the door. As soon as the door to their bikes shut, I turned to Richard, the usual smirk on my face erased.

  “If we have to pay them, fine,” I said. “But we’re not joining them.”

  “Did you not hear a word they just said or remember a thing that happened when we were alone?” Richard said. “You know we’d be dead without them. At best, we’d be scattered, The Red Door a shadow of what it once was, probably burned to the ground, if we’re being honest. We might be alive, but we’d be broke and without any means to make money.”

  “Right, and I’m not saying we don’t reward them. If we’d made this deal before the Sinners shit, I’d have been OK with it. But not now, Richard. They will get rich as hell off of such a deal, and we’ll just have our coffers drained. You really think that they wouldn’t come to our aide if we rejected this deal?”