Savage Saints MC Series (Complete Box Set)

by Hazel Parker

Oh no…

  “An unidentified perpetrator appeared to throw a brick through one of their windows and shot the building multiple times. Attempts to reach employees or the owner of Peters Auto Repair at this time have proved unsuccessful, but it does not appear there was any loss of life or injuries of any kind.”

  The newscaster moved on, but I was left to just gawk at the television. When had that damage occurred? Had it come last night? Did it come right after I left?

  If I had stayed there… would something bad have happened to me?

  At least the newscaster had made a point to say that no one had died, which immediately resolved the issue of whether or not Splitter was OK. Still, I was both a little bit shook and a little bit thankful. Shook that the Savage Saints were engaged in the kind of work that would cause someone to do something like that, but thankful that I had not been there.

  Of course, the circumstances why I left… well, I can’t say I liked that part.

  What was for me to decide, though, was reaching out to Splitter. I sent him a text immediately.

  “Hey, saw what happened on the news about your shop. So sorry. If you want to talk about it, let me know.”

  I put my phone down and tried to turn my eyes to the news station, though it was mostly just to pass the time so I wouldn’t get in my head.

  One segment later, though, my phone rang, and I had no choice but to get into my head as I saw Splitter calling. Alright, let’s do this.

  “Hi, Splitter,” I said, trying to maintain a neutral tone.

  “Hey… Amber,” he said, his voice not exactly neutral. “You saw what happened on the news here?”

  “Yeah. The newscaster said your store was the victim of a drive-by attack. Said that there weren’t any casualties, but I just wanted to make sure everything was OK.”

  Splitter laughed, but it sounded like a strange mixture of sadness and relief.

  “Well, OK is not quite the word I would use for me, but the drive-by? That happened maybe half an hour after you left.”

  I really am lucky.

  Wow…

  “It started with someone throwing a brick through our window. I went to get a gun to confront whichever ass… whichever punk, sorry, had done this.”

  He’s still trying not to swear.

  That’s good. That’s really good. That’s even promising.

  “But just as I got to the bar, the bullets started. I took cover and was never really in danger of getting hit, but the message was clear. And I also mean that literally because attached to the brick was a note from the DMs.”

  “DMs?”

  “Devil’s Mercenaries, the rival gang, sorry,” he clarified. “It basically said that because we killed their leader, they were going to kill all of us. So, I think this stuff is about to get a whole lot more violent.”

  He let out a sigh.

  “My question is, how did the news know to cover us? We don’t ever put out relations to the press. We do our best to lay low, well, maybe not to this extent, but we certainly don’t engage the media. I don’t know of a single MC in the world that can say they get regular favorable coverage.”

  That was actually a very good question. Much of my job was trying to get people to crack and admit to being “anonymous sources” in reports so that we could prosecute violated NDAs or anything of that nature. The fact that the store had said that attempts to reach employees and the owner were unsuccessful made me believe that it was not someone in the club… and if it was, it didn’t make sense.

  “Well, the newscast said they couldn’t talk to you, so I think it must have been someone not associated with the club.”

  “I smell trouble from the DMs,” Splitter said. “It would never be anyone in the club.”

  “Yeah,” I said, trailing off.

  “So…” Splitter said as the conversation reached a natural wrapping up point. “Did you get the chance to think at all about last night? What was discussed?”

  I had, but I had not thought about it enough to make a decision.

  But, in talking to Splitter right there, I knew what I had to do.

  “I did,” I said. “I owe you an apology, Splitter. I’m not very good at following my advice sometimes. Part of the reason I freaked out is that I worried about the paparazzi catching us in some sort of act. I do my best to lay low… well, maybe that’s the issue; I don’t really do my best. I don’t like the coverage, but I know there are more things I could be doing to avoid the coverage that I get. Anyways, they’re on me more than ever because of my divorce. It’s becoming like a game to see who I date next, and I’m trying to keep that part of my life private. I just… I just panicked that it would get out.”

  Splitter did not interrupt or even go “hmm” as I spoke. He gave me the space I needed to speak, and in doing so, he left me wondering what he would think of that.

  “Let me ask you something,” he said. “If I were, say, a Hollywood hunk or a beloved basketball player, maybe a star or even just a player for the Lakers… would it be easier for you?”

  I could not lie. If I did, Splitter would see right through it.

  “It would be easier in the sense that the coverage would be more… gossipier and less judgmental. I cannot lie to you about that, Splitter. Unfortunately, because you are a Savage Saint, the press would have a field day mocking me and mocking you, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  “Figured,” Splitter said. “Not the first damn time that people have judged us just because of what we do.”

  “But it would not be any easier or harder in terms of whatever happened between us.”

  I tried to imagine myself having said something so… so personal, so romantic, just a few days before, and it was laughable. But there was no stopping myself now.

  “What happened last night… to be honest with you, Splitter, I should be regretting it. I should be removing myself from your case. But I can’t, because I know what you told me, you probably cannot tell any other lawyer. And furthermore, I do not regret what happened. I may regret what is to come, but I do not regret what I did. I’ll tell you that I’m going to move very slowly with you, and it can fall apart at any second. You’re getting wrapped up with a lawyer who just got a very public divorce. If that’s not the world’s largest red flag, I don’t know what is.”

  Splitter gave a laugh that was exaggerated by what I suspected was relief.

  “Well, if you saw some of the things that members of this club do, you’d realize that your red flag is basically pink and the size of a napkin,” he said. “I don’t regret it, either, Amber. In fact, I’m the one who initiated it, so I’m the opposite of regret. I’m prideful of it. Maybe not of grabbing your ass, but…”

  I didn’t want to say that it wasn’t that I didn’t like it, just that it was too much too soon. Now that I had experienced it and survived, though…

  Well, maybe it wasn’t very prudish and polite of me to admit, but I craved Splitter’s touch there. And elsewhere. And oh, yes, so many other places.

  I probably would never feel comfortable admitting as much, at least not in the early stages like this, but yeah, what Splitter was embarrassed by was not shameful.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I trust you, as a gentleman, that you will treat me right, go at my pace, and not do anything that would hurt me or my trust.”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “My mother would murder me before the DMs if she knew I was mistreating a lady.”

  “I’m sure, but let’s stay focused. So, yes, Splitter, I would love to stay on the case with you,” I said. “However, I do need to make clear that we do need a real practice of cross-examination. We need this to actually happen. And we cannot have alcohol.”

  “Aw, man, really? You’re taking away my vices one by one.”

  “Surprise: it’s my plan to make you into a priest.”

  Splitter laughed.

  “Not sure there’s a diocese in the world that wouldn’t burn up at the presence of my s
oul, but hey, good luck with that. I’d be the one drinking all the wine before communion.”

  “Oh my God, Splitter!” I said, feeling flustered at what both of us had said. “Enough of that. Look, let’s plan for a meeting tonight, OK? No alcohol. Nothing. Same rules apply; consider no alcohol a fourth rule.”

  “Alright, fine,” Splitter grumbled. “At this point, might as well make a ten commandments for me. Thou shalt not swear. Thou shalt not drink. Thou shalt not engage in any pleasures that would make a man feel awesome. Have I listed them all?”

  “Don’t forget thou shalt listen to Amber Reynolds completely,” I said with a smirk.

  It was amazing how all of the tension, all of the frustration, and all of the disappointment from the night before had just vanished with what was still a very short phone call. Nothing in me regretted what I had done, and I knew that if my gut and my soul didn’t feel bothered by this—if there wasn’t some nagging voice in the back of my head telling me that I had made a mistake—then I had made the right choice.

  “Only if thou shalt treat Splitter properly after the trial,” he replied.

  “Woah, easy there, bucko, one thing at a time,” I said. “Let’s meet tonight, OK? Nine o’clock?”

  “Sure, works for me.”

  We chatted a little bit easier and about lighter topics for another minute or so before I promised him that I would see him that evening. He ended the call with the sound of making a kiss, which left me blushing and laughing before saying goodbye.

  When I put my phone down, I was struck by how… by how little I cared that what I was doing was something I swore never to do. Yeah, my emotions were a little out of whack from the divorce, but I was well aware of what I was doing. I was conscious of the fact that my actions were not the typical lawyer-client relationship, so I wanted to believe that gave me some leeway.

  In any case, I think because we had acted on our emotions, it would be so much easier for us to be professional and distant in public. We could restrain ourselves and not give each other looks until we got to the clubhouse or somewhere else private.

  Assuming that it keeps progressing. You know every step is going to be harder and harder to commit to. This is fun right now, kissing a biker. What happens when he wants more? And not just physically.

  One step at a time, Amber. One step at a time.

  I opened my email to catch up for about an hour before heading to the office. The soccer star had blitzed me, as usual, with more requests to talk. I did my best to brush them off, but dang were they starting to get annoying and overwhelming. I would never end a relationship because a client was obnoxious in communication, but I told myself I had to put him in his place a bit.

  There were a few media requests that I deleted, a few invitations to speak at law conventions that I stored away for future reading, and a few requests for work that I all answered with, “Sorry, but I am fully booked. Try these lawyers instead.”

  That was true, by the way. I really did need to take a step back, and though I could have probably fit one more client in the schedule, I wasn’t going to add anyone right now with the way my head was.

  Just before I closed out my email, though, I got one from Edwin, the DA prosecuting Splitter’s case. The subject was simple. “Evidence.”

  “Attached is the evidence we have for this case,” he wrote. “Please review as you need.”

  The good news, I realized as I read through everything, was that there was no real smoking gun of hard evidence. There were no fingerprints, there were no casings from a gun specifically linked to him, there was nothing of the sort.

  The bad news was that they had so many witnesses listed that it took up more than one page. I didn’t recognize any of the names, but I knew that for the number of people listed, more than a few had heard or seen the Saints rolling into that warehouse location. And more than a few, it seemed, were interested in pegging Splitter for the crime.

  I had never seen a list so long in my life. I suspected that not all of these individuals were physical witnesses to the crime, but rather were character witnesses meant to disparage the Saints and Splitter specifically. It was clear the strategy of Edwin and the state—they were going to take down the Saints either by winning the case or by creating such bad PR for them that the case wouldn’t matter.

  Cross-examination, then, was no longer just something that was nice to do. It wasn’t staring in the face of a rival gang member and getting him to crack. Oh, no, it was now much, much worse.

  We’d have to get creative in figuring out how we would approach this.

  Creative? What does that mean?

  Are you going to blur ethical lines for the sake of your client? Are you sure you want to do that?

  I barely recognized who I was anymore, even though I had not given any thought to what “creative” meant. Instead, I just realized that I was going to do anything—literally, anything—to protect Splitter.

  And this is why the Bar doesn’t let lawyers sleep with their clients.

  In the end, I decided to do what I always did—I would present all the facts to Splitter and his team at his clubhouse and let them decide what they wanted to do. I would do my job as a lawyer.

  What Splitter wanted to do otherwise…

  I couldn’t say it wasn’t my concern, because I demanded full honesty from him.

  But… well, let’s just say that things all of a sudden were changing a lot for me in terms of what I valued and believed in.

  And though I knew I liked Splitter, I wasn’t sure I liked this part of myself.

  Chapter 11: Splitter

  I had made the call to Amber in the comfort of the hall, with Trace having given me the opportunity to make the call in privacy. In fact, Trace had given me the entire clubhouse to myself. Everyone else was sent home and told to stay out of touch for a few days.

  As for me, I intended to come back here a few times, but that was only because of my legal situation. Trace was going to spend time with his girlfriend. Krispy, Mafia, BK, and Sword would all go to their respective homes. Sensei would probably spend time with his daughter.

  But me? I wasn’t leaving, because how could I? Whether I was in the clubhouse or in a penthouse in Las Vegas, the charges were following me. Only by leaving the country could I escape them, that just was not happening. First off, I was not going to abandon the Savage Saints out of some fear that I’d get convicted of all of these crimes; I would find a way to fight them, I would find a way to get off, and I would find a way to return to the club in good standing. Secondly, I would be breaking my bail conditions.

  I spent the rest of the day mixing in naps with workouts. I tried to kill the time until nine, and while my workouts and my naps did manage to do a decent job of blocking out the outside noise, the actual time spent doing those things was only about four hours combined; that still left several hours for me to think about things. It was more or less the same goddamn thoughts in my head—thinking about Amber, thinking about my luck, thinking about the goddamn DMs.

  Finally, shortly before nine o’clock, I heard Amber’s BMW parking near the shop. I peered out the windows to see if anyone else was coming and took a step outside. I thought about how our first physical interaction would go—a kiss? A hug? Nothing? The conversation this morning suggested that things had gone well enough that I didn’t need to worry about that, that I’d get a kiss, but…

  “Hey,” Amber said as she got out of the car, still stunningly attractive.

  Today, she had on a button-down, no suit, and some white slacks.

  But unlike in previous days, there were a few extra buttons unbuttoned, and her white slacks seemed even more tightly conformed to her body than before. It was definitely a sign that she was trying to show off the goods more than before, and… goddamn, somehow, she looked even finer from my vantage point than she had when I first saw her. And when I first saw her, she was the most fucking beautiful woman I had ever seen.

  They said that men eventua
lly became accustomed to a woman’s beauty, but with Amber, I didn’t know how the fuck that would ever happen.

  “Let’s go inside,” she said as I tried my best not to stare at her chest.

  “OK,” I said, immediately picking up on what she meant. No cameras, no public viewings, nothing outside.

  We can’t be taking any risks associated with us. Even just this scene right here—her coming to me at night, me standing by the door in jeans and a t-shirt—is kind of a bad look.

  I went back in, held the door for her, and waited until the door had shut completely. I wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss me, but I did embrace her tightly.

  The way she fell into me, I knew that everything would be just fine. She hugged me so close it was like we were merging into one person. I swayed gently with her, scratching her hair as she came close.

  When she pulled back, she flipped her hair to the side, stared at me, and gave me a big kiss. It was short, but it was definitely more than just a peck on the lips. She smiled as she pulled back.

  “That was nice,” she said. “Unfortunately, what I’m about to go over with you is probably not going to be nice. The state gave me further evidence today.”

  “Uh oh.”

  I’m fucked, aren’t I?

  “I would normally say to be optimistic, but in this case… uh-oh might be the right response. It’s not a smoking gun, but it’s not good.”

  Amber had me sit at one of the tall chairs by the bar. She pulled out her laptop, typed in her password, and went to her email. I saw her opening an email from someone named Edwin—the name I immediately recognized as that of the district attorney. Already, I was feeling a swell of anger that wasn’t going to get any better.

  She clicked on an attachment and opened a long document that she scrolled through.

  “Most of this is either very weak or just meaningless stuff to you,” she said. “I have to go through all of it, but it doesn’t pertain to you, at least in the sense that you have to worry about it. What we do have to worry about, however…”

  She came to one of the last pages. On the page was a list of over a dozen names, a couple of whom I recognized as DMs. I knew instantly what this meant.