by Hazel Parker
Marcel started to speak, but I cut him off. I needed to say my piece.
“After last night, I just assumed you’d never want to see me again, and why would you? I acted like a hot mess in front of all of your friends and your club. I got you thrown in jail. How are you even—”
“Procedural error, and they didn’t really throw me in jail. Long story.”
“OK, well, that’s good. But the point is, the people around me usually get hurt. I have a destructive orbit. I—”
“No, you don’t.”
Marcel smiled.
“Sorry, but I have to cut you off there. I chose to drive. That’s on me. You didn’t force me to do anything. Drinking alcohol isn’t good for you. OK, we agree on that. Doesn’t mean that because you drink, I suffer. Far from it. You know I got my shit. It’ll follow me. Last night was me driving buzzed and suffered as a result.”
I didn’t believe that entirely. I was certainly better in the head than I was this morning, but I hadn’t fully embraced that notion yet. Still, for Marcel to say it as he did went a long way to making me feel better.
“Well, anyway, I just decided if I was going to be such a bad influence, I might as well make money doing it. But being around that asshole…”
“You realized that you don’t, actually, that it was just a reaction of sorts.”
I nodded.
“Look, here’s the reality, Christine. I like you; you like me. Things are never going to be perfectly settled in our lives. You need to figure out if you want the calmer life in Brooklyn, or if you want the money of Manhattan. I need to figure out how to balance my love life, my daughter, and the club. But I do know this. You’re someone I like. I want to keep you around. I want to see where things go. You’re funny, you’re sweet, and you get me. You know what it’s like to have fucked up in the past, and you know what it’s like to work at it.
“Funny, isn’t it? I think neither of us were looking for love when I first saw you at Egg, but…”
“Here we are, having found it,” I said. I went up to him and gently put my hands on his sides. “I came out here to try and get over what had happened. But I think I can do that better with you. So—”
“Let’s get out of here and get back to my place?”
I didn’t need to say yes for him to know that’s what I wanted. I reached up, kissed him, and nodded in the direction of the subway. He took my hand, and we were off, all but sprinting to get home.
* * *
There was no thought of “what does this mean” as I got back to my apartment. There was no questioning what was happening. I just wanted Marcel, and Marcel just wanted me.
The front door was barely open when he smothered his lips onto mine. I took him in, jumping into his arms as we stumbled to the bed. There was no place I felt safer and happier than in Marcel’s arms, especially since I knew he was forgiving of what I had done.
And that was the biggest part of it, wasn’t it? Forgiving myself and allowing myself to make mistakes didn’t mean I had to make mistakes. It meant that I had to strive to be the best kind of person possible, and then, if I slipped up, I could forgive myself. It didn’t mean that I just said: “I am weak, therefore, I will make mistakes.”
And I had Marcel to thank for that. Marcel made me feel safe with that realization. Marcel took me back in without hesitation. Yeah, we had a lot of things to work on. Yeah, we were still new to each other.
But knowing that we could make it work—would work to make it work—went a hell of a long way to making me feel much better about my life.
Once we crashed onto the bed, the clothes flew off. I was down to my underwear in two swift motions, and Marcel was down to just his boxers seconds after that. I reached for his thick, hard cock and started to stroke.
But Marcel pulled back.
“This time, dear, you’re coming first,” he said with a smile. “And don’t tell me you won’t. Because I’m going to be down there until you do.”
I tilted my head back as he planted kisses on my stomach and worked his way down my body. I was ready for him to give me that orgasm. There were no first-time jitters; there was no confusion about what we were. Both sides had laid out all their baggage.
In short, there was no obstacle to making it. I just had to relax, close my eyes, and—
He bit my underwear, yanked it down, and then, with my underwear not yet fully off, pressed his tongue into me. I gasped and arched my hips into him.
“Just relax and let me work,” he said. “You don’t think about orgasm. Just let it happen.”
“Easier said than done,” I said with a laugh.
But with Marcel, the gap between saying it and doing it wasn’t as big as one might have thought. I put my hands on his head, rubbed his bald dome, and did my best to relax my body as pleasure coursed through, bringing me the delightful sensation of rising tension in my sex.
I don’t know if he had just learned well our first time or if he really was focused on making me come in a way he hadn’t before, but this time felt much different than the last time—and that was saying something because the first time had truly felt fantastic. He was getting me there. He was going to make me come.
I felt a sudden sharp tension about six minutes in, and I immediately knew what it was.
“Don’t stop, Marcel, please don’t stop.”
He doubled down on his efforts. His hands, currently cupping my ass, squeezed harder. His tongue, flicking across my clit, increased in speed. He moaned louder as he went to work on me.
And then, like a shower suddenly turning on, a rush of pleasure spread all over my body. My hips arched uncontrollably, shaking as if trying to push all the pleasure to as many parts of my body as possible.
I had come.
When I finally came down from the pleasure, I grabbed Marcel by the cheeks and pulled him up into the most passionate, loving kiss we’d had yet. I rubbed my hands on his face, smiling when I pulled back and looked into his eyes. I knew now, for better or for worse, I was linked with him. There was no getting away from him.
And you know what? That was perfectly fine with me. He and I had been through so much in such a short span, and we’d seen the worst in each other. Most relationships—pretty much all other relationships—would have never gotten off the ground in that spot.
But because we’d survived that tumult and turmoil, because we’d forgiven ourselves and each other, because we’d picked up from our mistakes and moved forward… who knew how long this could go?
Hopefully… forever.
“Marcel, baby,” I said, stroking his face. “It’s your turn, by the way.”
But I didn’t mean him being inside of me.
I flipped him on his back and returned the favor, sucking on his cock until I felt it stiffening to the point of climax. Marcel begged to go inside of me, and it wasn’t so much that I was against it as I was wanting to pleasure him as he pleasured me. I’d also be lying if I said I didn’t get off a little bit from watching him beg—it was a little bit of a thrill.
“Please! I’m about to come!”
I gazed up at him, shrugged, and kept bobbing my head.
Seconds later, unable to form full words any longer, his cock exploded in my mouth, filling it with the sour taste of cum. I swallowed every last bit of it with pleasure, draining him until he had nothing left to give. Then, and only then, did I let him out of my mouth. I licked my lips and swallowed the remains.
“I wanted to be inside you!”
“And in twenty minutes or so, you can be,” I said. “But after what you did to me? it was your turn to not have to do any of the work.”
He chuckled.
“You say that as if I don’t enjoy doing work with sex. It’s all a pleasure to me.”
“Well, shall I say, the pleasure was supposed to be all mine in this case.”
We chuckled as I came forward and cuddled up against him.
“Good news, though,” he said. “I think you and I ar
e going to be sharing pleasure a whole lot more in the coming days.”
“Oh yeah?” I said, my heart racing.
“Yep,” he said. “For everything we’ve been through, to wind up back here… I think we were meant for each other, Christine. Or at the very, very least, we’re meant to see how long this can go.”
“Let’s go with the former,” I said with a kiss and a giggle. “It’s much more romantic.”
Marcel laughed and kissed me back.
That was what we had become, after all—a couple of laughter, kisses, and romance.
It was pretty damn hard to top that.
* * *
“You’re sure?”
I woke up to Marcel’s voice in the other room. It felt like deja vu, although his voice didn’t sound nearly as panicked as it had the last time. That quelled a little bit of my fear, though I would be lying if I said the similarity didn’t leave me feeling a little nervous.
“Damn, Uncle, you’re the man.”
Uncle? What did he do?
“Let’s talk more in person. Thank you so much. I guess we’re official now.”
My heart stopped racing so much when I knew it was Uncle and not his ex or some other woman he was speaking to. Marcel entered the room seconds later with a big goofy grin on his face.
“What?” I said, a little nervous but also getting a feeling of rising excitement.
“Our property was going to be seized under eminent domain,” he said. “But not anymore. Uncle took care of some things. And so…”
“And so?”
Marcel beamed.
“There’s nothing that’s going to shut us down right now,” he said. “The Savage Saints officially have a sustained chapter in Brooklyn.”
And I officially have a sustained relationship with you, Marcel.
“Sounds like that’s cause for celebration, eh?” I said, slowly sliding the covers of the bed down to expose my naked body.
Marcel took a breath, laughed, and stepped forward.
“With you, I’ll always celebrate.”
Epilogue
“It sure looks good, don’t it?”
I stood outside the building that was now officially ours—and ours for the foreseeable future—with not “Brooklyn Repairs” on the sign, but “Savage Saints Shop.” It lacked the official Savage Saints logo—Uncle suggested we not use it for a multitude of reasons—but it sure felt a lot more like what I had envisioned than when we first bought the building.
And the best part? I wasn’t saying those words to Uncle, Biggie, or anyone else in the club.
“I don’t know how the hell you pulled it off, but I know you pulled some shady shit,” Kyle said.
I looked at him. The little stick of a guy just looked so mad. It was too funny.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.
In a way, that was true. Whatever strings Uncle pulled, I had kept myself deliberately in the dark on.
“Don’t even bullshit me. I know what you did, even if I can’t prove it.”
Kyle spat on the ground.
“This is far from over, brother. Don’t think you’ve seen the last of me.”
“I certainly hope not,” I said with a smirk as I patted him on the back. “I would never want to be without my family.”
Kyle muttered swears under his breath as he moved away like the coward that he was. I waved goodbye to him as obnoxiously as I could, even though Kyle never once turned to face me.
He was right. I would see him again. He couldn’t let defeats go so easily. But I wasn’t worried.
I had my little girl. I had Christine. I had my freedom. If, somehow, someway, Kyle got rid of the Savage Saints building, he would never be able to take away the Savage Saints spirit.
I went back inside to find Fitz doing some work on his laptop.
“Everything all good?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah, right,” he said. “I’m just trying to find ways to help the club. Call it some off-the-clock work.”
“You could start by being a bit more social,” I said with a chuckle. “And not such a dork.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said.
“You do that.”
I patted him on the back as I went to my own computer. I had to say, things were looking awfully good these days. Christine and I had been going for a month strong, and we’d both said “I love you.” We both understood that the kind of love that married couples or longer-lasting relationships had would take time.
But it was love born out of the fact that we had seen each other in some dark times, and we’d come out. So “I love you,” to us, really meant “I support you unconditionally.” Perhaps it would have been better to say that, but, like Christine said, it was a lot less romantic.
And then, of course, I had the Saints. Sarah was letting me see my daughter every weekend now. What more could a man have asked for?
I pulled up my email. I only had one new message, and it had no subject line.
But when I clicked on it, it was obvious it was important.
It had a screenshot of the New York Post article “Copycat club opening in Brooklyn.” Beneath the screenshot were just two lines.
“You’ll never be us. Don’t try to be.”
It was signed “RP and TC.”
I had no idea who, specifically, had sent that message. But I knew what group had sent that message. And I knew now what more a man could ask for.
“Well, well, well,” I said as Fitz turned to me.
“Everything OK?” Fitz said nervously.
“In this exact moment? Yes.”
I laughed then, but I knew that what happened next could go one of several ways depending on how I responded. I guess it was time to prove I was worthy of being a club president.
“But in the future?”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Looks like we got ourselves our rivals after all.”
FITZ
Prologue
Thomas “Fitz” Fitzgerald
No one takes me seriously here. But someday, I’m going to prove them wrong.
“Everything all good?”
I jolted up from my laptop, looking at the president of our brand new club, Marcel Stone, as he entered. Though the club had started on some rocky times, and though Marcel himself had nearly hit some spots where it looked like he could have wound back in jail, he and Uncle had managed to steer the Savage Saints back to stability. It had helped that we had gotten his obnoxious brother, Kyle, off our backs.
But that didn’t mean that the belittling and criticism from the other members would stop any time soon. If anything, it meant that it would quickly intensify. Every club needed a whipping boy, and because I was mostly dressed for my day job and less for the “part-time” job as secretary of the Savage Saints, I was said whipping boy.
“Oh, yeah, right,” I said, trying hastily to make sure I had everything organized for the boss. “I’m just trying to find ways to help the club. Call it some off-the-clock work.”
I was just trying to make small talk with Marcel, but I was also completely serious about trying to find ways to increase the revenue of the club. My day job in investment banking gave me insights into the future of a variety of industries, and the transportation industry was one that was being revolutionized and changed by the day. To say that car repairs for manually-driven vehicles was going to be a viable business in the future was laughable.
Unlike Uncle, who didn’t mind wading into the gray and black areas of business for some unethical opportunities, I tried my hardest to find normal opportunities that would pass an IRS examination. But also unlike Uncle, I didn’t have the admiration of the Stone brothers and our sergeant-at-arms, Niner. This was a club where the more “normal” you were, the more you were going to get mocked.
I didn’t mind it that much. I knew that someone had to take up the role, and without an apparent rival for us to unite against, we had to turn inward. But I did feel frustr
ated that I had not had the opportunity to prove myself yet. So far, the only real problem had been Kyle, and the Stone family had handled that themselves.
“You could start by being a bit more social,” Marcel said with a chuckle. “And not such a dork.”
And so it goes. Leave it to the guy with glasses and an actual collar for his work uniform to be seen as “not dark enough” for the club.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said.
“You do that.”
Marcel sat across from me, opening his laptop. What I would give for a chance to show I’m as badass and tough as these guys. I’d done the research on MCs like ours. I knew that the most likely way to showcase toughness was in a fight or a shootout. We had not organized to raise money for sick kids.
I also knew full well that it was going to create some inevitable conflict with the day job. All of us had seen Fight Club at some point; we all knew that someone who showed up to a white-collar profession with a black eye or a purple welt was going to get questioned by superiors who hated their lives as much as they hated us.
But if I had a solution to that problem, I would already have gotten out of this predicament, wouldn’t have I?
“Well, well, well,” Marcel said.
I turned to Marcel. His look had shifted from cocky and self-assured to forced confidence. He was doing a good job of projecting authority and strength, but he hadn’t said “well” because he saw something fun.
“Everything OK?” I said nervously.
Visions of Kyle striking back, a police investigation, or an enemy gang threatening a strike danced in my head. Funny how it’s easy to want a chance to be so badass, but the moment that you get the opportunity, you start to get fearful. You want to be a part of this club, or are you going to be another white-collar wuss?
