Savage Saints MC Series: The Complete Box Set

by Hazel Parker

  “Not right now, Alyssa,” I said. “My job right now is to be a good dad—”

  “And do work in the club, I know, I know, ugh,” she said.

  Damnit, I really hate that she’s that good at impersonating me.

  “Dad, we’ve been over this already. We discussed it last week!”

  “I know, I know, ugh,” I said, imitating her back, but she wasn’t nearly as amused by it as I was of her.

  “You can’t dodge it forever, Dad,” she said. “I appreciate you being there tonight, but I want to see you happy. Truly happy. When you’re not watching me in plays or accomplishing anything… I feel like you’re not truly happy.”

  Those words stung.

  Not just because they were painful to hear, but because it was the truth.

  I hadn’t felt truly happy since Olivia died. I’d smiled, I’d cracked jokes, I’d hugged, I’d kissed, I’d had sex, but I had never felt the sense of contentment and joy that Olivia brought me. The only thing I could think of that would release me from this pain that had haunted me for the last decade and a half was to tell the truth about what had happened.

  But how could I put that on Alyssa? How could I tell her that her father was the one responsible for her mother’s death? How could she ever love me or focus in school when she knew her father was the cause of so much pain? I stole her mother from her.

  I’d told her a version of the story when she turned eight years old, just old enough that she could understand on a general level what had happened but not so old that she could grasp all the implications. That story had told her that we were driving around Los Angeles when a bad man hit us, hurting her mother badly enough they had to go to the hospital. At the hospital, the doctors said they had to perform surgery to rescue Alyssa because she was in distress, but that Olivia could die too.

  It was kind of true that Olivia had died because of complications with the birth. By the time all of us arrived in the hospital, the doctors were just trying to save anyone they could. I guess that some details of the story were left out so Alyssa would never develop survivor’s guilt. The accident is what killed her, not the emergency caesarian, or at least that’s what I want her to believe. And really who knows what would have happened.

  I could have lost both of them.

  It most definitely wasn’t true that a bad man had hit us. I had just not paid attention and had hit someone else—and in doing so, had ultimately caused the death of my wife.

  So not only was there the weight of the truth that could have crushed my daughter, there was the weight she had lived with for six years of her life and deflections of the truth for the first eight years.

  Only I knew the truth.

  And here I was, deflecting it once again like the coward I was.

  “I wouldn’t say I’m not happy,” I said.

  “Then what would you say, Dad?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted after a long pause. “I don’t know.”

  Alyssa looked at me in disappointment and shrugged.

  “Well,” she said, heading upstairs to her room. “Even if you weren’t unhappy, I’ll bet you’d be happier if you put yourself out there.”

  I didn’t say anything to that, mostly because I knew she was calling it a night and anything I said would be akin to having an argument about getting the last word in. It was best to just let it go.

  And, apparently, stew on it for a very long time.

  I went to bed around midnight a few hours later, but that didn’t mean I fell asleep. In fact, I tossed and turned in that bed for so long, I’m pretty sure I saw the sun come up at one point. I definitely know that I checked my phone multiple times, the latest time being after three in the morning before I just tossed it to the corner in a desperate attempt to sleep.

  But the arguments in my head about whether or not Alyssa needed to know the truth about her mom kept bugging me. I don’t know why they were especially strong then; maybe taking a step back from the club was the worst thing for me. Maybe, by giving myself space, in theory, to spend more time with my daughter, I had only given space for the issues in my head to flood back to the forefront, to come out of the hiding they were in and to torture me.

  I didn’t have a good answer.

  And what was worse, I wasn’t sure if I ever would have a good answer.

  * * *

  The next morning—or afternoon, since I woke up after one in the afternoon—I woke up to a text from Alyssa letting me know that she was leaving to hang with some of her classmates. In some ways, I almost felt like she was testing me; she was leaving the house before I had the chance to wake up and talk to her so that I could see what it would be like to live in this home without her there.

  I had to smile at the ploy. Alyssa could be a brat sometimes, but she was the brat I had raised as an almost single father. I’d had a nanny for her for some time, but once she turned thirteen, she asked if we could get rid of her so she could have more independence. I was happy to have done so.

  Now, however, I was thinking that maybe I should have had that nanny still keep an eye on her.

  I tried to make do at the house, doing my best not to go to the club. Not surprisingly, there was no reason for me to be there on a Saturday; the car repair shop was being handled by the prospects, and with nothing to do with the DMs or any other external threat, we were reduced to throwing massive parties, hanging with our old ladies, and getting wasted. And by “we,” you mean “them” since you aren’t doing any of those things.

  Eventually, though, I just couldn’t fucking take being in a house by myself. The place had been bought with a family in mind, anyway. It was supposed to be me, Olivia, and at least two kids, not a teenage daughter who got to use the spare bedroom as a working office. The expanse of the space was a different kind of trap—a trap that reminded me that for all that I had here, I didn’t have anyone to share it with.

  And since I didn’t have any interest in sharing it with anyone except my daughter, well, I was kind of at an impasse of sorts.

  I just decided to rev the engine and head to the club. Maybe Sword would want to grab food. Maybe Trace would want to talk more about my decision. He’d asked me to sleep on it, but I hadn’t done any thinking on it. I was still pretty sure that I wanted to take a step back and let someone else become an officer in the club, but this morning may have proven otherwise.

  Nevertheless, I decided I would, like everything else, just avoid the topic until Trace pushed me to discuss it. I drove down the highway, leaning back, going a comfortable pace, ignoring the occasional California honker who felt aggrieved by the fact that motorcyclists were also on the road. I took the exit for the shop and pulled up to about a half-dozen bikes in. It wasn’t an enormous amount, but it was more than I expected.

  I also saw the bikes of Splitter, Trace, and Sword. I was a little nervous—had I missed the invite for a meeting? I quickly checked my phone, but no messages had been sent out, and Trace was usually pretty good about alerting us when we had a meeting to attend. I even checked my email, even though Trace never sent alerts by email. Nope, nothing there either.

  I figured their girlfriends were all having a girl’s day out or something and went into the clubhouse. I came in just as I heard Splitter wrapping up a sentence.

  “… league, but I’m going to do everything I can to enjoy it, man. I just don’t tan, you know? I’m going to come back looking like a fucking lobster!”

  “Now that would be a sight,” Trace said. “The red-in-the-face Splitter getting even redder.”

  He and Sword shared a laugh as the three of them puffed on a cigar. Splitter saw me first, nodding my way. Trace turned and got a look in his eye that asked me if I had made a decision. I ignored it.

  “Gentlemen,” I said, nodding. “Where is Splitter going that will have him burn like a lobster?”

  “Hawaii.”

  I nearly choked when I heard that. Hawaii? Some of the club members had more money than they let on, as P
aul had made sure club members got treated well, but I’m not sure any of us ever went to Hawaii.

  “And… how?” I said, unable to even come up with a good joke in response to that.

  “Amber,” he said. Ah, should have known. “It’s our first vacation together. I told her I couldn’t afford it, but she wanted to take me. So, what was I going to do, tell my hot girlfriend that no, I didn’t want to see her in a bikini?”

  “It’s a shame you’re not sharing,” Sword joshed him.

  “Oh, fuck you,” Splitter said, leading to Trace to laugh and cough from his cigar at the same time. “Don’t be a hater because you didn’t run into North Hollywood to rescue her from a shootout.”

  “Careful, get BK nearby and he might yell at all of us,” Trace said with a hint of a smile. “In any chance, yes, it’s true. Splitter leaves on Wednesday with Amber, and he’s going to be gone for a week and a half. We’d normally nominate a VP, but, well, I decided it wasn’t necessary for this short a time frame.”

  He locked eyes with me and left the gaze hanging when he said that, his message about as subtle as a fly swatter to the face—I would be VP for a temporary spell if I wasn’t so unsure about staying an officer.

  But, that’s a choice I’m comfortable with. I’m too old to be a VP, anyway; the VP needs to be a young hotshot who can learn for many years and take over. I’m the oldest officer on the club, so that shit ain’t happening.

  “You are one fucking lucky bastard,” I said, putting my hand on Splitter’s shoulder. “You better enjoy the hell out of it. Take all the photos you can. Maybe even send a couple to us.”

  “Oh, whatever, old man,” Splitter said. My eyes widened in surprise at that, but it was good natured in any case. “You can go get a girl yourself, you know. We are in Los Angeles, man. Amber’s the cream of the crop, but there’s a whole lot of crops out there that are pretty close to the cream. Ya know?”

  “I… think so,” I said, deciding Splitter’s metaphor was best left without a critique. “In any chance, congratulations, man.”

  I couldn’t lie, as I squeezed Splitter’s shoulder, I did feel kind of jealous. The idea of having someone I could fly to Hawaii with—or, hell, just go to Santa Monica for the day with—was pretty nice. If I were really honest, I’d say Courtney flashed to mind at that moment.

  But the only reason Courtney appeared was because she was the most recent girl I had flirted with, not because she was a good fit. If it had been some other woman, if some lady at a gas station had flirted with me about the bike, if one of the friends of the club had come in and smiled at Sword and I, I don’t think I would’ve thought of Courtney.

  Or are you just dodging the issue again? Are you just putting up a front like you usually do so you don’t have to consider if you actually like Courtney? Was that really practice, or—

  “How come you came down here, Sensei?” Trace asked casually, offering me a cigar.

  I declined, but when he nodded in the direction of the bar, I didn’t say no, sitting down as the group moved to the tabletop.

  “Bored at home,” I said.

  “Really,” Trace said knowingly.

  He knows if I’m bored there, maybe I’ll come here more.

  “Really,” I said.

  Something of a terse silence fell as Splitter and Sword looked at the two of us in confusion. Only Trace had known my plans, and I wanted to keep it that way.

  But what was the point? The second I told Trace that I was taking a step back officially was the moment that the rest of the club would find out. Maybe it was better to tell them from my own mouth instead of letting others dictate the message.

  Nah, just keep quiet. You don’t need—

  No, no, no, stop. This is the shit you know you need to stop, Sensei. You don’t have to confess things with Olivia, but you do need to tell the truth about your current status.

  “Alright, fuck it,” I said. Trace already knew what I was going to say, while Sword and Splitter definitely looked the part of utterly baffled. “I told Trace last night that I was thinking of stepping down as an officer of the club. He asked me to sleep on it. Well, I did, Trace. I still want to.”

  Trace, his arms leaning forward on the bar, bowed his head and let out a long sigh. I hadn’t thought that it would have bothered him so bad, but if I didn’t know him any better, I almost would have guessed that he was crying.

  “What shit are you smoking, Sensei?” Sword said. “You’re taking a step back? What the fuck for?”

  “Alyssa, my daughter,” I said. “The club is in a time of peace. There are no more Devil’s Mercs here. We can—”

  “Bullshit,” Splitter snapped. “You know what my greatest fear is? Me disappearing and shit going down. It’s one thing if a prospect flies home for his sister’s wedding, but if the VP is gone while things happen? I don’t want to fucking know.”

  “You won’t have to,” I said, waving my hand.

  “What the fuck are you talking about!” Splitter said, leaning into the angry side of his personality now. “You know this shit can happen at any moment. We’re not a fucking church of monasteries and priests. We’re the Savage Saints. We always have a target on our backs. The moment we think we’re safe is the moment we get hit.”

  I sighed. Of course, that was true. Of course, there were always going to be enemies of the Savage Saints. Of course, someone could always want to attack us. But if I didn’t leave now, then when? If I didn’t quit now, I’d never quit. I’d be like Paul Peters—I’d die in service of the club.

  And I saw how much pain that caused Jane, his daughter and Trace’s girlfriend. It took her almost a decade to get to the point where she could even come back here, and it took her even longer for her to forgive us. I didn’t want to put Alyssa through anything like that, especially since, if I were to die in the next four years, she would be younger than when Jane lost her father.

  “I appreciate what you’re saying, I do,” I said. “The Saints are a motorcycle club, so what you’re saying is true. But Splitter, I’ve been in the club since you were learning to say ‘motorcycle.’ This is the most peaceful this place has ever been. There is no better time than now to take a step back. I’m still going to be involved. I’m still going to be a member. That will never change until I die. But…”

  “This is bullshit,” Splitter said. “Fuck, I can’t take this. Trace, you’ll see me Monday. I’ll make sure to say hi before I head out. Sensei—use some of that knowledge you have on yourself.”

  Without another word, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Sword looked at me and shook his head.

  “I ain’t ever gonna tell another member what they can and can’t do,” he said. “But you and I have been here almost the entire time together. I know you care about your girl, and I’m glad you’re putting her first. But you don’t need to take a step back. And like it or not, all we got are kids right now. Like the one that just walked out. We got a smart kid running this place, but Trace, you’re still a kid.”

  Trace didn’t seem to disagree. I suppose in comparison to Paul and some of the original officers, who had served until death or until they physically couldn’t ride a bike anymore, Trace was young—young enough that I had taken care to mentor him when he joined.

  But it was wrong to say he was a kid. He was in his thirties. A kid was in their twenties. Trace may have looked young, but he was the furthest thing from that.

  “Whatever you decide, brother, I’ll be behind you,” Sword said. “Just make sure you’re making a rational choice.”

  With that, he walked out too, leaving just Trace and I in the clubhouse. Trace sighed.

  “I’m hesitant to ask if you thought about what I said yesterday,” he said.

  “Truth be told, I didn’t,” I said.

  But I’m not going to say why. At least, I’m not going to say the real why.

  Trace nodded and sighed.

  “This feels weird, man,” he said. “To me, when I joined
, I always looked at you and Paul as like, the old guard. I know Sword is here, but Sword rarely did much for me. You two… you’re like the originals. Paul’s dead, and now you’re gone… fuck man, I don’t know.”

  That’s how it goes, though. The old die or move on so the new can come in and take their place. It’ll happen to you too, Trace. Someday, someone is going to come in and take over your role.

  “You’ll be fine,” I said.

  I then took off my cut, placed it on the table, and paused. This would mean removing the patch “Officer.” Did I really want to do that? Did I want to take that step?

  Trace muttered swears under his breath before placing a knife in front of me.

  “You gave me everything you knew,” he said. “The least I can do is to help you in whatever your goals are.”

  I looked up, nodded, and looked back at the patch.

  Before I could change my mind, I slid the knife under, ground it against the cut and removed the patch.

  And just like that, I was no longer an officer for the Savage Saints. I was just a member.

  “I sure hope you know what you’re doing,” Trace said. “Until we elect a new officer, you are always welcome to change your mind. But once that happens… there’s nothing I can do. I can get it delayed until Splitter returns from vacation, but…”

  “I know,” I said.

  I then reached out my hand to Trace. Even though this wasn’t goodbye, there definitely was a strong element of goodbye. We were saying goodbye to my role in the club to date, that was for sure. Things were much different now as a result.

  “Thanks, Trace.”

  Trace just nodded. I noticed that his eyes were watery, but I didn’t say anything. He needed a moment as much as I did.

  “I’ll see you around, Trace.”

  With that, I left, headed out for my bike, and sat on it.

  For perhaps the first time in my life, though I was still a member of the Saints, I didn’t know what I was doing for the Saints.

  Chapter 4: Courtney