Savage Saints MC Series (Complete Box Set)

by Hazel Parker

  I told myself, as far as why I wanted to do it, was because that was the focus of the paid session. It was my professional duty to try and break Splitter in this meeting, and if I didn’t do that, I was not being a good lawyer.

  But personally, though, I knew it would make Splitter dislike me just enough that he would not think about touching me or flirting with me. And if I were doing it, then I would see Splitter not as an attractive man, but as a client who needed to stay strong during the inquiries.

  You do realize that neither of us are actually trying to touch or flirt with each other. It just comes out. And most of the time… it’s coming from me. I’m the one flirting.

  Dang. Maybe I am going to need more than three rules for myself.

  Just the fact that I was even having this conversation, asking myself about having these rules, was a bit of an eye-opener. I’d dealt with men that every woman from back home had posters of growing up; I’d dealt with Instagram models who had more followers than residents of the state of South Carolina; I’d dealt with athletes who got courted by very attractive women while they were on the courts.

  And yet, I had never needed my own rules until now.

  If my divorce is affecting me like this with Splitter… what’s it going to do for someone like an athlete or a movie star?

  Nevertheless, such self-questioning would do little good for now, and I knew that in the short term, I just had to get through these next two hours by supplying my greatest legal advice and professionalism yet. When I got home, I’d just pray, find the answer, listen to God, and go from there.

  … If that worked, that is. It hadn’t seemed to recently.

  Shuddering at the severe questioning of my faith, I kept my focus on the road until I got to Peters’ Auto Repair. I parked the car inside the shop grounds, making sure that no cameramen had followed me—or at least pretending to make sure, since it was not like if they did, I could do anything about it, a few bikers could though—and headed inside the clubhouse.

  Remember your three rules. No touching. No staying after eleven. And no doing anything other than trying to break Splitter during cross-examination.

  Then Splitter appeared, wearing fitted jeans and a white t-shirt, revealing his unbelievably jacked shoulders and gorgeous arms, and I could not help but wonder how easy it was going to be to actually stay on top of my promise to myself. I don’t know why—it wasn’t like I had never seen an attractive, muscular man before—but there was just something about Splitter that made me so… so…

  “Damn.”

  I covered my mouth as soon as I realized I had sworn! I silently apologized to God.

  “Was that a swear I heard from you, Amber Reynolds?” Splitter said, teasing me. “Hmm? Because I’d be happy to teach you a lot more than that!”

  “Sorry, sorry,” I said, legitimately feeling quite guilty. “That was bad; I just got caught off guard, goodness me, I just need… this is a bad start. OK, let’s start over. We—”

  But before I could finish, I saw Mr. Cole emerging from the bathroom.

  “Hi, Amber,” he said. “I was wondering if you could take fifteen minutes of your time to provide some general club advice. I understand it will take away from Splitter’s time, but Splitter and I are in agreement that the club needs this.”

  “Um, sure,” I said, feeling a bit hurt that Splitter was losing valuable time. “I can’t promise I can give specific advice without reviewing the evidence of what you’re going through, though.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Trace said. “I mean, it does, but I’m more interested in your input than anything else.”

  “Alrighty then,” I said.

  I didn’t think that this was some sort of weird trap or anything; I had not done anything wrong, and nothing about Splitter’s behavior had suggested he needed to keep me here to talk to me. But I couldn’t help but feel just a smidgen of awkwardness from what was basically a legal ambush of sorts.

  “The club recently was levied a public disturbance complaint from Monday night. While, as you know, the party did get a little bit crazy—you saw the aftermath—it was far from the loudest party we had ever had.”

  I shuddered to think of what their full parties looked like. If this was a tame party… full of things that I considered shameful and sinful… what did their real ones consist of?

  Focus, Amber. It is not your place to judge. Just stay focused on his advice and answer it.

  “I strongly, strongly suspect from talking to sources and from my gut intuition that we are getting pressure from the local authorities. They’re looking for any excuse to get us to crack and go down, and if they can get it with public appearances, well, they’re going to do it. I want to fight this, but I know that we can’t exactly fight the cops and the authorities as we do the DMs or other rival clubs. So… what would you advise?”

  We can’t exactly fight the cops… as we do… other rival clubs. Well, thank goodness you aren’t doing that; I can’t stand here and represent a club that would do something like that. That would be too much.

  “Right now, I’m going to advise you first to do what I told Splitter to do, and that is to lay low,” I said. “That means no parties. No parading the motorcycles around. No going around town and starting fights. Nothing like that. You do your work as car mechanics or whatever you do here, and nothing more.”

  Trace smirked at me, sighing, and folding his fingers together.

  “Club members are not going to like that.”

  “I know that, and I understand,” I said, even though I came nowhere close to understanding it. I came from such a different world it wasn’t like I was speaking English and him Mandarin; it was like I was speaking English and he was speaking a language from another world that did not involve vocalizations. “But there’s going to be a lot more that your club does not like if you keep on causing problems. If you keep flouting things in the face of law enforcement, they’re going to find obscure codes to get you with. They will dig through the rule book. Heck, I would bet that they can find a way to fine you or punish you for something as simple as swearing in public.”

  “Shit,” Mr. Cole said.

  “Case in point,” I emphasized.

  Trace bit his lip.

  “And then what?”

  “As best as I can recommend, Mr. Cole, in times like these where the government is set on trying to get you to break, the longer you are good, the more bored they will get. Eventually, they will reach a point where they just feel like they’re wasting their resources and they will move on. At that point, you can throw your parties. But for right now? If you want to avoid getting arrested or shut down, lay off on the parties.”

  Trace nodded, bowed his head, and chuckled.

  “Funny thing is, the two of us, the president and the vice president, we’re fine with it,” he said. “I’ve got my girl. Splitter is facing legal trouble and knows he has to lay low. But the other boys?”

  “Teach them some self-discipline, I guess.”

  Both Splitter and Mr. Cole burst out laughing so hard that even I had to laugh at the absurdity of what I had just said. I supposed that while the bikers were many things, “disciplined” was far from one of them.

  “In any case, Amber, I appreciate you helping me out,” Mr. Cole said as he rose from his chair. “Splitter, the place is yours for the night. I’m going to meet Jane.”

  “You got it, brother,” he said.

  I watched the two embrace and felt a slight twinge of envy; I had never grown up with any siblings and thus had never had a brotherly or sisterly love like Mr. Cole and Splitter had. Of course, they weren’t actual brothers, but their profession made them so close that it was as if they were. Meanwhile, the legal field, starting with my pre-law days at Yale all the way up to the present, was so competitive and so fierce that the notion that I could ever have such close relationships with anyone in my field was too sad to think about.

  Mr. Cole nodded in my general direction as he lef
t. I watched him leave, curious as to why he had set up something like this—the advice I had provided was not especially concrete, and it seemed as if he had already known the advice was coming before I even gave it.

  And then the door slammed shut, and I realized that Splitter, looking hot as hell, and I were alone.

  Remember your three rules. Remember especially the first one. No touching. None whatsoever, Amber.

  But we could also do whatever we wanted. No one’s watching… except God. But I mean, do you see the temptation lying before me?

  Wow!

  “Well, you’re going to become the most loathed person in this club,” Splitter said with a laugh. “Telling the boys they can’t throw parties, you might as well have told them everyone needs to become vegan.”

  “That bad, huh?” I said, somewhat wondering if these boys would have a liver by the time they reached fifty years old.

  “For some of them, oh yeah, especially the younger ones,” Splitter said. “We have a guy here named Krispy. New guy. He’s not super young, probably in his early thirties. But I have never seen someone so obsessed with drinking and raging as he is. It could be morning, and he’ll be having his morning Irish coffee. And then at night, he’ll bring over a couple of gals and do his own party if the club isn’t.”

  I smirked at the first thought that came to mind.

  “So your first fight won’t be with the authorities, but with each other.”

  “That…” he said, trailing off when he realized how right I was. “Damn. You’re right.”

  I didn’t bother to call him out for swearing. Such a move was now becoming patronizing, and he was already doing much better about avoiding the worst of the words. Or maybe I’m just going soft on him because of my feelings for him.

  “Well, it’s just something we will have to deal with,” he said. “In the interim, can I get you a drink? We have a full bar.”

  “Oh, no, I’m good,” I said instinctively.

  “Do you not drink either?” he said. “Are you that much of a real saint?”

  I laughed and blushed at the comment, but he had not quite hit the mark.

  “No, I do,” I said. “Just in moderation. I think the drunkest I’ve ever been was maybe five glasses of wine at my best friend’s wedding. And that was a one-time thing.”

  “Well you definitely would feel very out of place at our parties,” Splitter said with a chuckle. “Five glasses of wine are what we call the prelude to the warm-up to the main event.”

  I didn’t need any more elaboration to get a sense that I probably would not make it past the first prelude, let alone the warm-up.

  “However, this is not one of our parties; after all, someone told us no more parties, and we’re not about to question them,” Splitter said, arching an eyebrow. “This is simply a shared drink. What say you?”

  Well…

  It was not one of my rules. I could do this.

  But…

  “OK, fine,” I said, drawing a clap of excitement from Splitter. “But I’m judging you on the quality of your drink now!”

  “As you should,” he said, already heading for the bar. “What kind of man would I be if I couldn’t make you a proper drink?”

  We… most certainly have different opinions, but I can see where you’re coming from. I think.

  “What would you like?”

  “A whiskey soda,” I said.

  “Simple and easy.”

  I watched him with admittedly more attention and curiosity than I probably should have. It wasn’t a difficult drink to make. Grab a rocks glass, put some ice in it, pour a couple ounces of whiskey, pour some club soda in, and done. There was no science to it, no timing of blends, nothing like that.

  But my Lord, seeing his arms flex as he held up the bottles of whiskey… seeing him so focused on the task at hand… oh, this was bad. This was not good for the sake of what I had told myself. Still following the three rules so far. Haven’t violated them. Let’s keep it that way and stay focused.

  Splitter came back with two glasses, both of whiskey sodas. He put mine in front of me, held his aloft, and said, “Cheers.”

  “Cheers,” I said, clinking glasses with him and taking a gradual sip. “I did not peg you for a whiskey drinker.”

  “Oh, I’m not,” Splitter said. “But when in good company, you let them pick. And you are a sophisticated and smart woman. I think you’re on to something here.”

  “Aww,” I said, then silently berated myself for reacting in such a way. “Would your boys ever drink anything like this?”

  “Nah. They’d drink it straight from the bottle.”

  Images in my head from Yale and Duke of the deranged students drinking liquor on a dare from the bottle or doing other things I thought insane, like funneling, shotgunning, and keg stands came to mind. They were in their twenties; the men in the club were mostly in their thirties, some older. I guess if you can be young forever…

  Or, more appropriately, if you can look like Splitter forever…

  “But that’s a topic for another day, ideally a day when the police and authorities aren’t hounding us at every opportunity,” Splitter said. “What was your text all about? I’m just curious as to why here and not at your office?”

  I thought, again, about telling him about my divorce. But now there was a new reason why I didn’t feel great about it; I wondered how Splitter might view me personally if I confessed to it. I had already gotten emails of disappointment from some people back in South Carolina about how if I had gotten a divorce, I must have turned my back on my faith and what I believed in. I don’t think Splitter could have differed any more than those folks, but it still was not something I wanted to face. Judgment from my peers… it hurt. It hurt a lot.

  “You know I work with some high-profile clients, and as a result, the cameras follow me to a lot of places,” I said as I took a gulp of my drink. “Well, while we were in the car at the bagel place, someone took a photo.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Splitter growled. He’s becoming emotional again.

  “I think he followed me to my front yard or jumped ahead of me, because when I got there, a cameraman was waiting for me with photos. Here’s the thing.”

  I leaned forward. I knew this was putting me in a spot to violate my own first rule, but at this point? Who cared?

  “The photos themselves weren’t that incriminating, but it’s the idea that I’m being followed everywhere I go that’s so bothersome,” I said. “Unfortunately, at this point, it’s just a part of life for me. I’m not going to try and fight their presence because to do so would only encourage more of them. They’re like wasps; they’re annoying when you don’t attack them, but swat at them and they will quickly turn violent and gang up on you.”

  “Bunch of fuckers,” Splitter growled. “Sorry for swearing, but not sorry for the intention.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  Is the alcohol really already getting to me? Or… is Splitter just having that effect on me?

  “Being famous seems like the kind of thing that might sound cool when you’re young or even when you’re not it,” I said as all of the feelings of the moment came to me at once. “Admittedly, I never really sought out fame, but when it first came to me because of some of my clients, I began to feel a certain thrill about it that was unlike anything I’d ever had before. My faith kept me grounded, but fame has a way of lifting up even the most grounded of people.”

  “I can imagine,” Splitter groused.

  I sensed… almost a sort of resentment in him, not at me, but at the people who had fame. This was somewhat common, but it seemed more personal, almost more deeply embedded than those who just trolled online websites with comments and snarky posts. I wanted to figure it out.

  Maybe that was the alcohol speaking, but Splitter was just a guy I wanted to get to know better, plain and simple. If it helped me…

  OK, slow your roll, Amber. This is really the alcohol speaking.

/>   “But you know what? I’m with you. I don’t want to be famous,” he said, then smirking. “I just want another drink. Would you care for one as well?”

  I was surprised to notice that my glass was all but a couple of sips away from being empty. I had drunk much faster than I had realized, which I supposed was typical with alcohol. I had a feeling, though, part of me was wanting to get drunk, wanting to have an excuse for what was probably going to follow.

  “Sure,” I said, smiling.

  Splitter got up and started pouring one.

  “Just out of curiosity,” he said. “I know you said you hate fame. I take it that you value privacy then?”

  I nodded, unsure of where this was going.

  “Privacy is very important to me,” I said. “Most often, I think of it as privacy with my clients. I know things about so many people in this city that I could write a bestselling book.”

  “But privacy and what’s between me and someone else is as sacred to me as love and faith. So yes, it’s pretty important to me.”

  “Makes sense,” Splitter said. “Let me ask you something, then. Is there anything that I should know about you that you haven’t said already? Any reason why the paparazzi would have such a keen interest in you?”

  He knows. Or he wants to know about the divorce.

  I had a couple of seconds to think as Splitter finished pouring the drinks and walking them over. I weakly thanked him when he put his cup beside mine, but I still didn’t have an answer. On the one hand, for all of the things that he told me, I felt I needed to share my secrets with him—most notably, the secret of the divorce.

  But on the other… what did the divorce have to do with us professionally?

  Nothing.

  But that wasn’t really the question at hand, was it? That wasn’t the question dancing in my head as I had my second drink in private with Splitter at his club house, was it?