Hearts: Motorcycle Club Romance (Savage Saints MC Book 7) Page 5

  Whatever it was, Joseph was a grown man who could handle his own business as he damn well pleased. He knew my advice for him, and that was all that I could give him.

  “You’ve been warned,” I said.

  And that goes for you too, Mama. Don’t do anything that’ll get him kicked out of the club.

  “I know,” Joseph said. “And I can’t wait.”

  A smile was forming on his face. Oh, fucking heavens. I didn’t realize that I’d just said yes to coffee with a middle schooler.

  “I’ll make plans with you after the poker game,” he said.

  He leaned forward, kissed me on the cheek, and walked out humming a tune to himself. When I emerged from the dressing room, I saw Richard standing at the meeting room entrance, looking utterly befuddled, while Joseph was making himself a drink at the bar. I waited until Joseph had gone into the room to approach Richard with a shrug.

  “What the hell was all that?”

  What was that, indeed.

  “If everything goes perfectly,” I said. “The start of something good.”

  And that was true. Pork was a gentleman, a funny guy, and a guy whom I began to see as hotter and hotter by the second. If there was going to be anyone that was going to change my mind about romance and love, it was going to be him.

  It sure as fuck wasn’t going to be anyone on Tinder or Bumble or any of these other stupid apps.

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  And that’s the most likely scenario, isn’t it? That’s the risk both of us are facing here. I sighed.

  “It’ll be the end of the Savage Saints as currently constructed.”

  Chapter 5: Pork

  I’m actually going to get the chance I’ve wanted for years now.

  Holy. Shit.

  I walked into the meeting room as giddy and as excited as I’d felt in a long, long time, and I was pretty damn good about feeling cheerful and happy in general. Granted, some of that was just me faking it when I was actually feeling shitty underneath, but even then, cheerful faked moods had a way of creating cheerful actual moods.

  I was by myself for the moment, having arrived early specifically so I could talk to Mama before the meeting started. It was a little unfortunate that Richard had shown up, but he, like everyone else in the club, knew on some level what was going on.

  What I didn’t anticipate, however, was that as I sat in the chair, I could hear Mama and him talking about what I had done already. I would’ve thought they would have waited until after the night to discuss it, but it seemed such matters could not wait at all. I stood from my chair, leaned against the wall, and eavesdropped on them.

  “If everything goes perfectly,” Mama said, the first words that I was able to pick up coherently. “The start of something good.”

  It was quite reassuring to hear Mama speak about me in such terms. This wasn’t a pity yes; this wasn’t her agreeing to do it because I had beaten her down. She saw that it really could work out.

  There was quite a bit to Mama that I needed to learn about. I knew not all of it would be good—it never was with anyone—but as long as it was honest…

  “And if it doesn’t?” Richard said.

  The pause that followed did nothing to reassure me. I knew that, just by percentages, most relationships failed, and this one very well could as well. But Mama was right in saying there would be consequences for me if this fell through. I was just more willing to accept them than most members were.

  After all, when you’ve been kicked out of one brotherhood for horrendous crimes, you learn that leaving them isn’t the end of the world.

  “It’ll be the end of the Savage Saints as currently constructed.”

  I really hoped that she was referring only to the two of us, that she only meant that I would no longer be an officer, and maybe some shuffling would take a place. But the way she spoke carried a little more weight than that; it was the kind of statement that led me to believe this was the kind of thing that could tear apart the club at its very roots.

  I didn’t hear anything for a few more seconds, so I returned to my chair, pondering the exchange. I didn’t feel the need to apologize for asking Mama out; I’d liked her for far too long to not have finally found the balls I needed to ask her out. And now that I’d found them, I intended to use them to the fullest.

  But that didn’t mean I had to drop my pants and show the world my new balls. I could keep them to myself, keep my actions to myself, and then let the chips fall where they had to. In other words, whatever happened between Mama and me needed to remain quiet and out of sight for as long as possible. Dom already gave me shit for my attraction to her; if the entire club found out, well, gossip was never a unifying force.

  I decided, seeing Richard’s face as he walked in, that I was not going to acknowledge this being a thing to anyone right now. Mama liked to keep her work life and her home life separate? Then that was exactly what we were going to do. If someone walked in unannounced, as if they were our poker guests, then it was my intent to make sure they didn’t have any idea that we were interested in each other.

  It was a lot easier to believe in that when, just within a couple of minutes, the table was filled with Barber and Dom, giving us a full set of officers and a chance for Richard to begin the meeting. Richard did not look at me after the rest of the officers had entered, which was just as well; I didn’t need this to turn into a staring contest with me.

  “As you well know, normally, we conduct business first and then bring in our guest for our poker game,” he said. “However, in this particular circumstance, I would like to invite our guests in first.”

  Guests? Plural?

  “Dom, if you would.”

  Dom stood without a sound, went to the back, and came back with three men from the Savage Saints of Green Hills. Two of them, I recognized immediately—BK and Krispy, who had come here for their first meeting. The third, a guy who looked closer to our age, younger, even, stood at the front of them. He had the “President” patch over his chest.

  “You all know BK and Krispy,” Richard began. “This is Trace Cole, President of the Savage Saints in Green Hills.”

  “Hi, everyone,” Trace said.

  His face was young but it was also marked with determination and a certain coldness to it that suggested he’d seen and done things that had well prepared him for this moment. It reminded me of a look that any combat veteran had, even when they wore a smile—the look that said at any moment, under any circumstances, he would willingly enter himself into the line of fire for whatever followed.

  “The three of them have arrived, along with ten of their members, with the intent to eradicate the Degenerate Sinners,” Richard said. “Until they leave—which will only happen once the Sinners are completely and totally destroyed—you are to treat them as if they are members of this club. Officers, even. Trace and I will collaborate to give directions, while BK and Krispy will be with you all, helping to lead the charge. Treat them as you treat each other. I expect no dissent and no problems like we had last time.”

  I kept my eyes on Richard but had my attention on Barber. Only he had suffered the presence of BK last time in a negative fashion, but he’d turned around rather dramatically. Rather than seem annoyed by his presence, though, Barber almost seemed invigorated. He had an energy and a stare that suggested he wanted to take the fight out tonight.

  I leaned back in my chair, taking a swig of the White Russian I’d gotten to celebrate Mama saying yes to me. And speaking of Mama… I made sure not to stare at her directly. What I did do, however, was turn my eyes to the drink as a way of bringing her back into my peripheral vision.

  And my God, did she look stressed as all hell. Even with me having asked her out, even with the positive words on the other side, she looked like she was about to have a mental breakdown. But why? Did the concerns with the Sinners affect her that much? Mama was well known for laughing in the face of what we thought was actual danger—so what was causing thi
s?

  Maybe it’s a real danger this time.

  “Now, we need to discuss the issue of the Sinners attack,” Richard said, regaining my attention. “Mama? Care to share with our California friends what you know?”

  “Of course, hun,” she said, sitting up in her chair. “I was leaving the Starbucks on Rancho Boulevard when I saw about a half dozen of them approaching from the north. The thing about that area? There’s not a goddamn thing to that area. Which may be exactly why they were coming from there, because they knew we wouldn’t expect anything.”

  “And what were you doing at a Starbucks?” Dom said.

  “Ain’t none of your damn business, boy,” Mama said. I would have chuckled, but the seriousness in her tone suggested this was not something she had any interest in turning into a joke. “In any case, I think this means we’re likely to see a lot more hit-and-runs, the type of thing that will make our lives hell and them difficult to track down.”

  Richard nodded.

  “That’s what I figured,” he said. “Trace, did you encounter anything like this in California?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” he said.

  His voice had a lot more confidence to it than I had anticipated. Then again, I was probably just trying to make myself look better in front of Mama by looking for weaknesses in everyone else. I needed to stop that nonsense.

  “Within the last year, we dealt with a group known as the Devil’s Mercenaries. Real shitty assholes. We had to even take them down in public in downtown Los Angeles.”

  “Fuck me, really?”

  I didn’t even blame Dom for his reaction. The Sinners, one had to hope, wouldn’t be desperate enough to do a goddamn day-time attack on the Strip. That wouldn’t just be local; that would be national. That would be a really good way to ensure that the feds came and shut everyone down. It might have gotten us beat, but it would be a suicidal move on their part.

  Except, then again, these Mercenaries had done just that in Los Angeles.

  “Yes, and the attacks continued afterward,” Trace said, which made it even worse. “The attacks never stopped. The Mercs were only stopped when we killed their leaders and gave everyone in there a chance to escape.”

  “Won’t work with the Sinners,” Barber said. “They’re ruthless. There’s a reason they’re called Degenerate, and it’s not because it’s a reference to the city. There is no reasoning or rationalizing with these assholes.”

  “That’s what we thought too,” Trace said. “And then one of our guys, Sensei, the older one in the club, he had the idea to offer peace. He said that if you used violence, it was like fighting a hydra. You’d cut off one head, and three more would sprout up.”

  “But if you tenderly put one to sleep, more won’t come,” I interjected.

  I cringed at my stupid addition. This was not the time for jokes.

  “Exactly,” Trace said.

  Thank God he gets it and supports it.

  “Well, that’s not something I’m willing to put up with,” Mama said. “They scare my girls, they threaten to rape and kill them; the only way I’m putting those assholes to sleep is permanently.”

  “So we’d like to believe,” Richard said. “We have time to think about how we want to do this. We do not need to decide today. I would, however, like us to figure out a strategy for the next week until our meeting. Trace, I believe you and BK had some suggestions.”

  “Yes,” he said, clearing his throat. “From our experience, you have more options than you think. First of all, you being in a big city—remember, we worked on the outskirts of Los Angeles, not within it—gives you an advantage. I trust you all have favor with the local police?”

  “Hell yeah,” Dom said. “I got that shit under wraps.”

  “It’s good,” Richard said with a slightly more subdued and professional tone. “The chief of police is someone I speak with regularly.”

  “And is he doing anything with the Sinners?”

  “No.”

  That’s why we exist. To fill in the gaps where the cops won’t.

  “There still has to be ways we can leverage them,” Trace said. “Talk to them and see what you come up with. Obviously, don’t get anything above the locals, though. State and feds are not your friends.”

  “You don’t say,” Richard said with a hint of a smile.

  “If these guys are going to engage in hit-and-run operations,” Trace continued. “Then you need to anticipate that strikes could come at any time from any location. I suggest during working hours, and through the night, you have someone on guard patrol on the roof. Keep them hidden from customers, but able to come in at any moment.”

  “Curse of having a business,” Richard snorted.

  “Hey now, that thing ain’t nothing but a blessing to all of us,” Mama said.

  Especially for me. It’s a second chance I didn’t deserve after Iraq.

  “In any case, we’ll need to rotate through,” Trace said. “Is there anyone on your team who is good with guns?”

  I didn’t even bother to raise my hand. Everyone’s eyes shifted to me. I was far from the only one with a military background in the club, but I had the most extensive training with firearms. This was a no-brainer.

  “I’m Pork,” I said.

  “Don’t let him say anything else,” Mama said with a hint of a smile. “He’s bound to make some stupid pun that’ll have you both scurrying back to California.”

  “You mean back to Cali, Cali, Cali?”

  “See?” both Mama and Richard said at the same time.

  Krispy laughed out loud. Trace gave a slight smile. BK didn’t react at all.

  “We could’ve used someone with your sense of humor the past year,” Trace said. “But you’re good with guns?”

  “Oh, I’m great with guns,” I said. “I don’t miss.”

  For once, I wasn’t joking in a club meeting.

  “Then how’s it sound that starting tomorrow, we put you up on the roof? We can get one of the non-officers up there tonight. But we should have you up there tomorrow so you can tell us all how it is.”

  I looked to Richard, but Richard pointed me right back at Trace. He wasn’t kidding when he said that the three of them would be officers now and that Trace would be in charge as much as he was.

  “Sounds like I’ll be on point then,” I said.

  The rest of the officers didn’t get the joke, which was probably for the best. Mama probably already wanted to kick my ass as it was, never mind that she would probably exaggerate it in public to avoid the perception of us sort of being together.

  “Alright then,” Richard said. “Anything else?”

  No one said a word.

  “Trace, let’s play some poker, shall we?”

  BK and Krispy went out to the theatre, standing in the back, avoiding the crowd of the wealthy and the famous. Trace took his spot at the guest table, and Richard pulled out his deck of cards as the bartender came by to ask if we wanted drinks.

  While I was far from a great player, I was good enough not to be stupidly bad. I was probably break even, all things considered. Some games I won, some games I lost, and I think at the end of the day, it all came out the same.

  But I couldn’t keep my concentration today. For one, Trace lowered the stakes to a mere five hundred dollar buy-in, joking that the Nevada folks didn’t have as much in the way of taxes as the California folks did.

  More importantly, though, Mama was looking more and more stressed by the minute. She swore under her breath at bad hands, cussed up a storm when she lost, and barely looked relieved when she won. Sometimes, she did this just for the sake of humor in our games, but there was nothing humorous about her approach right now.

  Around midnight, Trace requested a smoke break, and we all headed outside. The privacy wasn’t there, but that didn’t stop me from approaching Mama.

  “You look stressed as hell,” I said. “Mama want a cracker? Hmm?”

  Mama rolled her eyes and sla
pped me, but she kept her slap lighter than usual—as if saying she had to do it for appearances but didn’t want actually to hurt me like so.

  “Dealing with enough shit right now,” she said. “Just let me be. Things will turn out fine, I promise.”

  She had her back turned when she said, “I promise,” allowing her to wink. I got the hint and headed back inside, not talking to her again for the rest of the night.

  Dom and I got home at the same time. The game actually ended a little earlier than usual, around two in the morning, as Trace got tired of losing money. The show, which ended at the same time, emptied out, and we got to go home. It was just as well—I was beginning to come down from the emotional high of asking Mama out.

  It was something that I thought I’d get the chance to handle when I woke up, but just before passing out, Dom just couldn’t let bygones be bygones.

  “So you and Mama seemed to have something unspoken tonight,” he said. He had on the smirk, but it was a tired smirk; his eyes suggested that he preferred sleep over anything else. “What’s going on there?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  But Dom just stood there, waiting for me to elaborate. I hated when Dom did this, when he knew he was right and people just needed a little encouragement to speak. He wasn’t wrong for thinking this.

  “Everyone’s stressed over this,” I said. “I’m sure you are too.”

  “Hell yeah, I am,” Dom said. “This shit is like Iraq when we had to train the locals to help us. At least here, the locals are actually extra soldiers to help us.”

  And at least this time, I won’t kill the locals by mistake. I won’t lose my mind.

  I won’t commit heinous acts that will get me kicked out of the club.

  I hope, at least.

  Shit. I knew as those thoughts came to mind, I’d have to share this with Mama at some point. Hopefully, though, “some point” was far the fuck away from right now.

  “Indeed,” I said.

  “Well, fuck it, if there is something, I hope it works,” Dom said. “I’m going to bed. Later, lover boy.”