by Hazel Parker
I rolled my eyes, but I knew Mama had it in control. Barber came back just moments later, giving the thumbs up.
“Where were they?”
“Surprisingly, doing nothing,” Barber said. “Dom was apparently texting some girls, but he understands when club business matters. Pork was eating.”
“Breaking news,” I said with a chuckle. “Do me a favor, actually.”
“Hmm?”
We had never done this before, but then again, we also had never had a threat like the Sinners before. No one had the audacity to attack us in broad daylight, and certainly not with guns like this. Individual threats had been made, and individual attacks had been carried out, but rare was the moment when the entire club faced a crisis like this. This was something that we had to take care of now.
“Get all of the members and have them meet in the room,” I said. “If we’re going to have everyone involved, then everyone needs to be there.”
* * *
It took less than an hour to have everyone on-site.
At the table, of course, I sat, with Barber, Mama, Pork, and Dom in their usual seats.
But now, around the table, not yet officers but full-fledged members, were about ten others from the club. We had never gone above fifteen—the only time we brought in new members was when someone else left or died. So far, that had only happened twice; once was when one of our original members died of a drug overdose, and one was when someone had to move back to the East Coast to be with their family.
It was just a rare occurrence; the brotherhood we had built was too strong for me to ever go above fifteen, though I didn’t mind the occasional rumor floating outside the walls that we had as many as a couple dozen or so members.
“Thank you all for coming,” I said as I looked around the room. “For those of you who were just told to haul ass over here and not told what happened, the Degenerate Sinners attempted a drive-by attack this afternoon while Mama, Barber, and I were kicking back in the back room here.”
No one seemed fazed by that. It was just as well, too—we didn’t recruit members who were easily scared. Many people in the room had military experience or had rough backgrounds growing up; the prospect of getting shot at not only didn’t scare them, but it was likely just something they had grown up with and gotten comfortable with.
“The good news, obviously, is that we had the proper protections in place to prevent us from getting hurt, and so Mama, Barber, and I stand before you unharmed.”
“Except for this haircut, which isn’t done yet,” Mama growled.
I let the moment go without a laugh, though I did have to fight the urge. I knew if I laughed, so would everyone else, and the gravity of the situation would die.
“The problem is that we need to figure out how to strike back at the Sinners without turning this into a battle of attrition,” I said. “You all know I have always sought to keep this club small and exclusive. This has enabled us to grow into what we are, especially with The Red Door. It minimizes the threat of betrayal and minimizes the number of names I have to remember. But I always knew that if we got into a situation like the Savage Saints my brother ran and my niece married into, we’d be at a bit of a risk. Unfortunately, that risk is now present.”
A few of the members had started to light up cigarettes. I generally didn’t smoke, but I did have a glass of scotch before me to help with the frustration and stress.
“So, we need to create a plan to do a strike against the Sinners’ base,” I said. “We have plenty of weapons here, including some machine guns, some grenades, and even an RPG, although for obvious reasons, I would like to avoid drawing too much attention to ourselves. Let’s keep in mind that we have a good reputation in this city, and I don’t think turning it into Iraq is going to do much good.”
A couple of men went from excitedly hopeful to disappointed when I mentioned the RPG. That was honestly more of a cool gift than something I had ever intended to use as a weapon; Dom’s military connections meant that we had a bevy of black-market weapons that a civilian should probably never have access to. But I was smart enough to know that all it took was one bad piece of press or one civilian killed during a shootout to completely ruin the goodwill we had. The city of Las Vegas may have liked us, but I recognized that the phrase “MC” was not well-trusted in a lot of corners. More than a good chunk of the city wouldn’t hesitate to turn on us if shit went to hell.
“Barber, you’re our sergeant. What do you say?”
Barber cleared his throat.
“At the risk of pissing off a lot of people here, we need to strike on a Tuesday or Wednesday.”
“Man…” Dom started, but Mama’s glare shut him up real fast.
“The Sinners aren’t stupid. Well, they are overly aggressive, but they aren’t stupid enough to miss out that those are the only nights we don’t have Walker manning the front door. They might think that those are the nights that we aren’t active and alert.”
“You want us to wait until Tuesday?” I said, arching an eyebrow. “Today’s Friday. The murder happened just a few days ago. That’s a big window for the Sinners to cause more trouble.”
“Yeah, it is,” Barber said, looking defensive. “But the Saints are going to be alert for a counter. Tuesday might be just enough time for them to think that we’re going to try and remain above it and let their guard down.”
I took a sip of my scotch as a few others used the opportunity to take a puff of their cigarettes. I let the scotch settle in my mouth as I took my time to think about it.
“I’m not against the idea,” I said. “I just hate that the fucking Sinners are going to run free for a few days.”
“At the very least, it can’t be today or tomorrow,” Barber said. “I don’t think we want to be getting into drive-bys on prime tourist times.”
“Well, that’s a given,” I said, even though I knew to a lot of people in the club it wasn’t. More than a few of the more aggressive members would have yearned for immediate retaliation; that was, in fact, part of the reason why I hadn’t elaborated on the basis for the emergency meeting. “Easiest way to do this is to put it to a vote. You know how we do this here. Collective members have one vote. Officers have one vote each. I will abstain unless I feel strongly about something, and here, I don’t.”
This was another break from tradition—members typically didn’t have a say in the decisions the club made. Even within our club, it was rare for the members to attend, as such meetings rarely discussed topics heavy enough and concerning enough to bring them in. Actually, a vote was rare in itself too; the five of us were usually on the same page.
“Members, yea or nay on the Tuesday attack?”
About eight hands shot up for yea. Perhaps this was a vote that I’d had false expectations for. Or, maybe, you just don’t want to get involved in battle at all. You’re trying to hide your fear of turning the Saints into a violent crime organization by pretending to come up with reasons for why you should wait to attack.
“Alright, we have one vote in favor of the club striking on Tuesday. Let’s go down the row. Barber?”
“Yea,” he said.
“Pork?”
Pork sighed.
“Nay.”
“Why?”
“Barber—”
“No, it’s fine,” Pork said. “No one got hurt. I don’t think this will be as big a deal as we are making it to be.”
That’s what you say when you chase our girls, you dimwit. But, OK. You got a vote, and you used it.
“Mama?”
“Yea, are you fucking kidding me?” she said. “You’re gonna let some assholes shoot up your place and just not do anything about it? Hell, the only reason I don’t go down there right now and castrate all those assholes is because they know my face.”
I… didn’t even know how to respond to that. So I just ignored it after letting her words hang in the air for a few moments.
“And, last, Dom.”
“
Well, doesn’t really matter right now, does it?” he said with a smirk. “But to be clear, I would have voted yea.”
“Got it,” I said.
I was surprised. I wasn’t afraid to attack; I was just more afraid of this turning into a cycle. Ideally, Mario and the police would have taken care of this, but to go to the cops about a drive-by was not the way the outlaw world handled business.
“I will leave the operations and planning to Barber then,” I said. “For the rest of you, carry on with your day, but stay on high alert. Be careful about wearing your Savage Saints cut in public. Don’t make yourself a target any more than you have to.”
Maybe most clubs would have flaunted their cuts even more after what had happened—and I knew some of the fifteen in this room would still do that—but that just seemed like arrogance to me. I wasn’t about to let that happen, not if it got my men killed. Better to just look like a normal, bearded man with some tattoos than someone associated with a club that’d had a drive-by that afternoon.
“Alright, get the hell out of here. I’ll see some of you tonight.”
The members slowly streamed out. Dom and Pork said they were getting food, while Barber and Mama stayed behind. I waited to see if anyone needed anything and stood up when it seemed like that wasn’t the case…
“Wait,” Mama said. “Barber, give us a moment, would you, dear?”
“Of course,” Barber said, stepping outside to the burlesque stage and shutting the door behind him.
“Richard, I know you got a lady on your mind,” she said.
Ah, shit, this talk right now?
“But you had better be damn well careful to stay focused on this. You better damn well think with the head on your shoulders and not the head on your dick.”
“Mama, I know, I—”
“I’m serious,” she said, her eyes flaring. “You like this girl. I could see it when you walked in and how you dealt with her last night. Look, you don’t have to talk to me about her at all if you don’t want to, I get it. But I’m not going to let my best friend fall under the spell of pussy while the Sinners have decided to make some really fucking stupid decisions. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“When is your date with her?”
“How—”
“I’m not stupid, Richard. I know how you are when you see a woman you like,” Mama said with a head shake. “When is it? Where is it?”
There was no getting away from an inquisitive Mama.
“Tomorrow night at the Bellagio.”
Mama nodded.
“Romantic,” she said. “Not something you usually do with your dates. Which only further proves my point.”
“OK, I get it—”
“No, actually, I support it. If a man took me to the Bellagio for a date, I’d blow him in sync with the fountains there. And it’s a public place, so you’re not likely to get in trouble with the Sinners. Just be smart, you got it?”
I knew Mama had my best interests at heart. I just wished that I could be as detached and objective as her.
“I got it, Mama,” I said. “Thanks, beautiful.”
“You can say such a thing when my hair looks like this?” she said. “Christ, just get Barber in here so he can finish the job before I look any more embarrassing.”
I laughed as I went to the door and called Barber back in.
“Jesus,” Mama said. “I’d rather shampoo my hair with clay from Red Rock than have to leave my hair like this. Remember what I said, Richard.”
For the next twenty-four hours?
She’s all I’m going to think about. I did what I had to for the club.
Now it’s time to turn my attention to Natasha.
Chapter 8: Natasha
Getting out of my father’s request to come to the house that night didn’t prove as difficult as I had feared.
I was right that it was just old friends from my father’s college days coming to visit. When I declined, explaining that I had plans with friends, my father, though disappointed, didn’t fight the matter and just told me to take Antonio. I considered it briefly, but I didn’t want to go that route tonight. Though I was dressed in a nice white dress with white heels, I didn’t want to look too over the top—if Richard saw me pull up in a limo, while he knew I was wealthy, there was having wealth and flaunting wealth.
One was healthy, the other was showmanship. I definitely did not want to put Richard in a spot where he felt like he was dating a spoiled brat.
Instead, I called the highest-end Uber possible, getting in the back seat and reading the very brief text messages that we’d had so far over and over again. I went through the search results for the Savage Saints again, doing as much research on it and The Red Door as I could. The Red Door, instead, turned up a bunch of results for some dress shop in Atlanta; even searching “Red Door Las Vegas” returned only a few useless results.
They’re good at their privacy. They’re really good.
The Uber got to the Bellagio and dropped me off, and I walked through the casino toward Prime Steakhouse. I always enjoyed these trips to the casinos, something that didn’t happen that often. Even though my father was getting into the casino business, and Sokolov Industries had an office here, I almost never walked the floor of the casino. If we wanted to gamble, my father could get us a private table, and when we visited for business, it mostly took place in back offices and the like.
Being out in the open, though, felt like being in an adult amusement park. The decor of the Bellagio and its foundational colors looked luxurious even to someone with my background. The red carpet, complete with Chinese patterns, made me feel like I was on the Hollywood red carpet. Hearing people yell “fuck yeah!” and “that’s what I’m talking about!” whenever they hit their card or won their roll brought a smile to my face. Money could buy many things, but that momentary thrill of beating the house was something that came whether someone had bet five bucks or five thousand dollars in a hand.
All of that faded, though, as I approached the entrance to Prime. I felt the heat in my stomach rise, my legs began to feel weak—almost quiver—and my smile became impossible to wipe off. When Richard saw me, he’d see a happy lady, but hopefully he wouldn’t also see a nervous woman.
I saw the sign for Prime, but not Richard himself. I was curious to see how he dressed—he had always worn his Savage Saints cut when I had seen him, but underneath that cut, he had always been impeccably dressed. Would he wear the cut here? Or would that go against decorum?
I got to the front, where a nice woman in a business suit greeted me. I quickly checked the time on my phone—just a minute after seven, the time when we’d agreed to start our date—and looked back up at her.
“Hi, I’m supposed to be meeting someone here? A Richard Peters?”
“You called?”
I turned suddenly to see Richard standing before me, arms held out for a hug. He had on a sleek jacket, a blue button-down shirt, and black slacks. He didn’t have on his cut, but the jacket made him look even sexier. It was as if he was saying that he could play both the rugged gentleman at The Red Door and the civilized, suited-up man out in public.
I fell into his chest, smelling his nice cologne, feeling his tight body, and snuggling against his racing heart. I could get used to this.
“You have a thing for making dramatic entrances, huh?”
“Nah, it’s just worked out that way so far, although I’m starting to think I could make a trend of it.”
He motioned to the waitress, who escorted the two of us back… and back… and all the way back to the table closest to the fountains, one that was actually outside. The temperature was perfect for the setting—it was hot, but not so hot that I would be sweating and dying to go inside. Richard went around, pulled my seat back, and let me sit down before he returned to his.
“Such a gentleman,” I said with a smile.
“I figured you had someone do it for you all your childhood; the least I could do wa
s try and match it,” he said.
“Oh, stop,” I said. “It’s not like we have a bunch of butlers and maids doing everything for us.”
“Wait, really?” he said, genuinely surprised. “I thought that you had butlers who would move your jaw for you to chew your food.”
“Oh my God,” I said while laughing. “I thought you were serious there for a second! Well, we did have a few butlers and maids growing up, but I don’t have any at my current home. I like to take care of things myself.”
“Interesting,” Richard said. “Usually, women in your spot are on the brattier or more spoiled side. They expect everyone to take care of them.”
“Yeah, well, I like to think of myself as a little bit different than the typical heiress.”
The waiter came by and handed us the wine and food menus. Richard quickly ordered a scotch while I declined a drink. Richard looked at me askance, but my rationale was simple. I wasn’t against having a drink, but I wanted to make sure I got the right impression of Richard while sober. Even if things got heavier later on, I wanted them to happen because of my sober decision making. As it was, it was hard enough to stay focused without letting my mind drift.
“So, Natasha Sokolov,” Richard said.
I smiled as I folded my hands and rested my chin upon them. I loved the way he said my full name, as if it was the most exotic taste he’d ever had in his life. I prayed that for as long as we knew each other, he would continue to do just that.
“What was the upbringing of an heiress like? It’s a life that I don’t know anything about other than what you see in the movies, and I would love to know more.”
“Oh, well, aren’t you a curious little bugger.”
“That’s what we’re on the date for, is it not?”
I just smiled and playfully shrugged.
“For the most part, it wasn’t anything special. I just had more opportunities. I went to an outstanding school in Russia, traveled a lot, went to Harvard—”
