Hearts: Motorcycle Club Romance (Savage Saints MC Book 7) Page 8

“Tuesday? Same thing I always do. Sleep in. Maybe play video games with Dom. Come to the club and party. Unless you have something in mind that I can occupy your time with.”

  I chortled and took another puff of my cigarette. I also took a swift glance around us to make sure we were alone.

  “Let’s go somewhere,” I said. “We’ll… talk.”

  Talk about everything about me. Talk about my scars, my dark past, and my terrible flaws. Talk about how you will never want to be with me after this.

  Talk about how this was a fun dalliance, but you can do much better than me.

  “Works for me,” Pork said. “Do you have anything in mind?”

  “Do I look like I have anything in mind?” I said. “Dear, I barely know what’s going to happen tonight. I’m giving you more than I think I’ve ever given anyone for a Tuesday night this far in advance. Mmm-k?”

  Joseph knew well enough that that was true. At the sound of some motorcycles approaching, he went to my right, pushing his back against the wall so that the new arrivals could come in. They were three motorcyclists I didn’t recognize, but they had on the Savage Saints insignia. The California Saints.

  They rode in a pack and with ease, and when BK stood up, it was immediately obvious by his height it was him, Trace, and Krispy. In the short time that they’d been here, I’d liked them a lot more than I had anticipated. Trace was young but mature and with it; I wanted to know his life story, especially since he had more maturity than some of the club members here who were older.

  Krispy was a little bit of a wild card. He looked like the youngest of the three, and he had an aggressive attitude that needed tempering by Trace and BK. With some seasoning, he would make for a hell of a sergeant-at-arms. As it was, I bet that he had come because BK wanted someone taking on the more violent and aggressive missions.

  “Evening, Mama, Pork,” Trace said as he walked forward.

  “Gentlemen,” I said. “Enjoying your evening?”

  “So far,” Krispy said. “Wish I had some Sinners to fucking kill, but soon enough.”

  “Careful what you wish for, hun,” I said. “Those assholes are like gophers. Pop their head out long enough for you to strike, but if you’re not quick, they’ll escape for a while.”

  “Luckily for me, I’ve got my eyes on nothing but those holes,” Krispy growled.

  Trace chuckled as the three got inside the building.

  “That was a fucking terrible joke.”

  Joseph?

  “What?”

  “Just a bad joke,” Joseph grumbled. “There are so many more things you could have said. Whack a mole? Groundhog Day? I mean, hello.”

  I’d never heard Joseph act so passive-aggressive and so rudely to anyone who showed up. We all had our celebrity and athlete guests we hated or the occasional dancer who had a diva attitude, but Joseph always smiled and cracked a joke, even when it was obvious he was frustrated. So what the hell had the California Saints done?

  I certainly wasn’t going to let it go without some attention.

  “The hell is going on, Joseph?” I said. “Which pet of yours did they kill that got you so—”

  “It’s nothing like that,” Joseph said.

  I waited for him to fill in the details. I would’ve waited until the end of time with the way he kept staring at where they’d last been.

  “Don’t tell me you’re gonna pull a Barber on us,” I said. “You better not get in a power struggle over—”

  “No.”

  Joseph’s reply was emphatic, cut me off, and almost militant. Whatever the fuck was going on with this was far beyond whatever I had ever anticipated from him.

  “Barber fought for the wrong reasons,” Joseph said, a gruffness in his voice that almost seemed out of character. “He fought for personal pride. I’m not. I’m most certainly not.”

  I was about to ask him something more when Richard opened the back door. Joseph upon seeing this, smiled, said, “What’s up, boss?” and then headed back inside. Richard didn’t bother masking his confusion, probably because I did no such thing. Once Joseph had gotten all the way inside, Richard walked out to me, taking Joseph’s place. The two meant very different things to me, but right now, I was happier having my big brother than my strange crush.

  “Everything all good?” Richard said. “And I trust you’ll tell me the truth.”

  “The truth?” I said with a laugh. “Handsome, when have I ever not told you the truth?”

  “It’s not about you not telling the truth,” he gruffly said. “More about you telling the whole truth.”

  I finished my cigarette and put it out on the ground.

  “I find myself asking how things are going with myself more than him,” I said. “He has me under some sort of weird feeling, man. I don’t even feel like myself.”

  “So then don’t hang around him?”

  “Not like that,” I said. “It’s not bad. It’s just confusing. I’m fighting like hell for it not to be true, but some things, you just can’t fight.”

  Richard shrugged. I was sure that when he and Natasha were figuring things out, he would feel like an idiot trying to explain things to me and others. It was easy to look at it as an outsider and have it seem so simple, and yet, even after three and a half decades in this world, put me in a situation like this, and I sounded like a horny teenager trying to speak rationally and clearly.

  “Well, can you at least tell me how he is? He seems a little off the past week.”

  Ever since the California Saints came into town.

  “Something about the Savage Saints from Green Hills is bugging at him and bad,” I warned. “He’s never like this. He openly mocked a joke Krispy made. Is there anything I should know about them?”

  Richard clammed up, bit his lip, and folded his arms.

  “I’m playing something very close to the vest,” he said. “Unfortunately, I can’t say no. And I’m sorry about that. But this will either turn our enemies into two groups or into zero.”

  “Well, that’s fucking ominous,” I cracked, but I understood Richard’s need for privacy.

  Even if I had absolutely no clue what he meant. Some sort of private mission with one of the Green Hills Saints? What the hell would it be, if so?

  And what did Joseph know?

  “It is,” Richard admitted. “It very much is.”

  “And you haven’t told anyone else?”

  “No.”

  Then what does Joseph know? What did he find out? And how did he find out about it?

  I was beginning to feel very nervous, but I wasn’t sure what was making me more nervous: The relationship between Joseph and I, or the multiple relationships that entangled myself, Richard, and the club as a whole.

  “Mama, the fact that I’m even hinting at this goes so far beyond anything else that anyone else in this club would know,” he said. “The only reason you know is because you are like a sister to me. But do me a favor. For the sake of the club, please don’t mention this to anyone else. OK?”

  Now you’re just making me more nervous.

  But if there’s anyone I trust unconditionally in this world, Richard, it’s you.

  The question is, will there be a second person after Tuesday?

  “You have my word, hun.”

  Chapter 9: Pork

  It was like heaven was on my left, and hell was on my right.

  To my left was the woman I’d had eyes for since joining the Saints, the woman that could make me laugh even when she was slapping me. To my right, though, were the traitors to the name “Savage Saints.” Spies for the Degenerate Sinners who were going to bring the Las Vegas version of the Saints to their knees with the infighting.

  It pissed me off so much to see Krispy walking around The Red Door and the property without anyone else so much as giving him a glare. Was I just lucky enough to catch him being a deceitful, traitorous punk that he was? Or did other people see it and just not put one and one together?

  I coul
dn’t think straight. The fact that I couldn’t even focus on Mama while this was all going down probably said it all. The woman that I wanted to have for myself—the only woman whom I’d felt for in such a way over the past few years—and I couldn’t keep my eyes off of Krispy.

  I had to say something. I had to confront him. I had to fight him, kill him, kick him out, expose him—anything.

  I just couldn’t do it right now. There were too many other people around. Thank God for the small voice in the back of my head telling me I needed to take it slow; if I was wrong about this and threw around an accusation that had no actual basis, I was done, in the same spot I wanted Krispy.

  I just needed to saddle up to him alone at some point tonight. I was just working general security this evening; I didn’t have to work the roof or any other spot in the club. Walker had his usual spot at the door; I think Dom had the roof this evening. I would have the freedom to walk around and do as I pleased.

  I went back inside, leaving Mama before I let my frustration boil over too much and hurt us. I stood in the back of the club as guests filed in, chatting and networking amongst themselves. Richard and Dom partook in these conversations, and I did at times too, but I didn’t care nearly as much as others might have. I’d known what it was like to be in a well-off family and be well-connected, and it was tragically funny how little it mattered at a certain point.

  When the show started, I remained in the back. Krispy and Trace had seats in the rear—apparently, two of our guests had failed to make it, though they had not failed to pay—while BK hung near the back, scanning the room with Barber. I patiently watched the girls come on stage, wearing their elaborate hairpieces and other clothing, slowly stripping down in conjunction with the music. It was a show I’d seen hundreds of times, probably thousands by this point.

  It just made waiting for the intermission that much more difficult.

  When it came, I begged for Krispy to go outside for a smoke break. Fortunately for me, he was a biker, and if there were one thing bikers were good for, it was engaging in activities that weren’t great for one’s health. Speeding, smoking, drinking, fucking—we were pretty good at being pretty bad.

  I followed Krispy from a distance, keeping near the entrance as he and Trace had a conversation on the side. If they were having a serious conversation, I couldn’t tell; they were laughing their ass off so much that it seemed unlikely they were talking about meeting the Degenerate Sinners. And in any case, their laughter seemed more genuine and less nefarious.

  Much as I wanted it to be the other way around so that I could have further “proof” of what Krispy was doing.

  Thankfully, BK came outside, grabbed Trace, and took him inside. It left Krispy by himself, an easy target for me. Just be careful how you word things, Pork. Not gonna do any good if you accuse him out of the gate and look like an idiot.

  I approached Krispy, who was taking a puff, and nodded.

  “Sup,” he said, scratching his neck.

  “You’re Krispy, right?” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “That’s a sizzling nickname!”

  God, even by my standards, that’s bad. He’s going to see right through it.

  “I could not know your face and I’d know you’re Pork,” he said with a laugh. “They warned me about you, you know.”

  “Did they?”

  I tried to keep my tone non-threatening, but when I heard words like that, with how I already felt about Krispy, how was I not supposed to read negatively into it?

  “Yeah, they warned me you’d just make terrible jokes and one-liners all the time we were here,” Krispy said, laughing on the exhale of his cigarette. “I was told you like to say things like—”

  “Not with that attitude?” I said.

  “Exactly.”

  I reminded myself that I wasn’t there to make conversation with him and become friends. I was there to check in on him, make sure he was who I thought he was, and not just some normal human being. He’d lost that right when I’d seen him shaking hands with a Degenerate Sinner.

  “Well, I can be full of hilarious jokes and one-liners,” I said. “But I’m also a committed member of this club. I make sure to fight off enemies. Of all kinds.”

  “I would hope so,” Krispy said. “I wouldn’t want an officer in Green Hills who couldn’t fight!”

  “What about in Red Hills?”

  Krispy just looked at me in confusion before he shook his head. Stop. Stay serious. Or at least control your jokes if you have to do it.

  On the other hand, it is doing well to keep me in character.

  “You’re even worse than they say,” Krispy said, patting me on the arm, a move that I was sure felt nice to him but to me just felt extraordinarily condescending. “But I like it. We’re not a funny bunch up in Green Hills. We need someone to lighten things.”

  “Yeah?” I said. “So I’m like the class clown, huh?”

  “More or less,” he said.

  “Does this make you Bat—you know what, never mind,” I said, catching myself, realizing I was heading to a conversation that would derail me. “Just remember, the joker can be deadly serious too. He has a way of knowing and seeing just about everything.”

  I really wanted Krispy to have some sort of reaction to what I said. A hesitant breath, a cough from his cigarette, a pause in his movement—anything to signify to me that my words had gotten through to him somehow.

  Instead, I just got a slow nod, the kind of thing that anyone would have done in that spot, innocent or guilty. It was an empty gesture from the perspective of proving something.

  “That’s good,” he said. “In this fight with the Sinners, we need all the help we can get.”

  “Especially since the fight comes on multiple fronts.”

  Again, Krispy had no visceral reaction. I was realizing the problem with my plan—in my efforts not to outright accuse him of being a rat, he could pretend not to pick up on what I was saying and play dumb. The fact that I was beating around the bush and not rattling it meant he didn’t have to come out of the bush as long as I didn’t shake it.

  “Well, you know how it is,” Krispy said. “These assholes never want to have a mano-a-mano fight. They want to hit and run, pull some bullshit underhanded tactics, and try to wear you down. But good news for you Vegas folk? We’re all brothers here, even if I don’t know you.”

  Damnit, he’s really good. He’s really, really good.

  “That’s a very nice thing to say,” I said. “Let’s just do our best to abide by that principle.”

  “That’s the plan, brother.”

  With that, Krispy put his cigarette on the ground, smashed it with his boot, and walked away. Even though this particular side entrance was littered with cigarette butts and was used by all of us, the sight of someone else smoking and then getting rid of their butt pissed me the hell off. It was like a dog coming to piss on my shoes.

  “See you around, Pork,” Krispy said, patting me on the shoulder.

  Again, such a move felt so condescending I could barely stand it. Who the fuck patted me on the shoulder like that? Richard, maybe, but he was the president. I wasn’t even sure what role Krispy filled at the California location. For all I knew, he could have just been a mere officer or even a potential officer, not a VP or anything like that.

  But right now, as I heard the applause signaling the start of the second act, I knew that I needed to pick a better time to confront him than now.

  And that time wouldn’t come today.

  * * *

  Instead, it came Monday night as the work week wrapped up.

  The past three days had proved a little stressful as I went into a holding pattern, waiting for the chance to accuse Krispy of his crime while also waiting for my date with Mama. I had a lot of big things coming up, but there was no way to expedite them.

  I suppose I could have confronted Krispy at any point, but I wanted to do it away from paying customers’ eyes and in a setting where I could get
away if things got ugly. I could have taken Tanya out, but then our date would have ended at a predetermined time, taking away the excitement that would have been a great second date. In short, I had to practice patience.

  And at four a.m. on Monday night—or Tuesday morning, depending on what time your alarm went off—I got my chance.

  And this time, I had a little more evidence than before.

  Just about eight hours before, I’d been heading to the club when, lo and behold, I saw Krispy meeting with a Sinner again. But the craziest part of it was, he had the audacity to meet with him with the sun still out.

  It wasn’t a full afternoon sun, to be sure. Darkness had begun to settle into Las Vegas to some degree. But the fact of the matter was, it was obvious it was Krispy. He wasn’t wearing his cut, but by now, I had his face memorized down to the strands of gray hair in his beard.

  And in any case, I wouldn’t have to memorize anything else about Krispy, because one word was quite evident right now. Rat.

  I wasn’t able to confront him on the street, not the least because doing so would have exposed me to at least one Degenerate Sinner, and likely many more, hiding somewhere like the cowards that they were. But now, with the evening shift wrapped up and Krispy making an exit before Trace and BK, I had my chance.

  He walked out to his bike, looking as unaware of my knowledge of him as anything else. I stood by his bike—no, actually, I did one better. I leaned against it.

  One of the few sacred rules about bikes. You never, ever touched another man’s bike.

  Unless, in my case, it was to make a point.

  “The hell do you think you’re doing?” Krispy said when he saw me.

  “I could say the same to you, bud,” I said. “And in this case, it’s not that it’s not you; it’s me. This time, it is you.”

  “The fuck you talking about?”

  He really doesn’t have any idea, does he? He really doesn’t realize that I’m on to him. Or he’s just that good.

  “What were you doing with the Sinner earlier today?”

  Krispy’s face hardened. He knew that I knew.

  “And last week, for that matter?”