Savage Saints MC: MC Romance Collection

by Hazel Parker

  “Bout damn time,” he groused. “I wasn’t going to be able to hold out much longer if you kept working me like that.”

  “Aww, what a shame,” I said with an eye roll. “You mean you would have come like I did? Imagine. The horror!”

  “I sense some sarcasm,” he said as I came forward and hovered over him.

  “Me? Never.”

  I chuckled as I rubbed up and down his hard cock, feeling it grind against my pussy. Oh, how good that felt. Oh, how good that was going to feel when he got inside of me. Oh…

  I slid him inside of me.

  Oh!

  Oh, how fucking amazing that felt. I knew what his size was, but it wasn’t until he was inside of me that I began to appreciate how much girth he had.

  “Fuck, Lane,” I groused. “They call you Niner cuz of how big you are?”

  “Not exactly,” he said with a chuckle. “But I like that version better than the real one.”

  “Which is?”

  He bucked me forward and lifted his hips.

  “I’ll tell you after you come again.”

  And with that, he slapped my ass, squeezed my cheeks, and pounded me from the bottom. My breasts pressed into his face as I arched my neck back, giving him free access to lick and suck. I closed my eyes at the multiple points of pleasure, barely believing how good all of this felt.

  Seriously, I was never going to let Lane go. It was going to take hell on Earth for me to ever get rid of him, and yeah, emotions were running a little high right now. But when you knew, you knew. And I sure as fuck knew how I felt.

  “Good…God! Lane!”

  He was past the point of verbal communication. I just heard a whole lot of grunts, moans, and everything in between. Occasionally, I think he tried to say something, but it just came out as gibberish grunts.

  For a good twenty minutes, we switched positions and we switched who was active, but we never turned off the feeling of escalating pleasure. I came when he put me in doggie and he railed me while I pleasured my clit; I came again when I was on the bottom and his hips pressed into me.

  And then, finally, after I had come in missionary, he came, announcing the whole way the progress he was making toward the immense pleasure of orgasm. I took my own sort of orgasmic delight, if not quite as physically pleasing, when he unloaded his cum into me. I kissed him on the cheek when he finished, taking a few moments of downtime to recover.

  “When do we get to do that again?” I said.

  Lane was just reduced to laughing, barely able to make words still.

  “Soon as I recover,” he said. “So, like, fifteen minutes.”

  “My God,” I said, kissing him again. “You are going to be the right kind of trouble for me.”

  “The only kind of trouble I’ll ever be for you,” he said as he lifted his head just enough to kiss me.

  The right kind of trouble.

  As he pulled out and I rolled over to cuddle him, I thought about the thoughts I’d had as I was in the middle of pleasure. I’d had a lot of extraordinary thoughts about the future with him, some of which might have been a little ambitious. Maybe in the morning, I would feel differently.

  But for right now, I didn’t regret what I felt. Because even if they would not come to fruition, even if something happened that somehow split us apart, the feelings that I had in these moments were very real. I had little doubt that this would happen again—maybe not forever, maybe not more than a couple months, but they were certainly moments that I wanted to last forever.

  And I felt pretty certain that that feeling would never go away.

  * * *

  We went at it again. And again.

  And again.

  It was four in the morning when we finished. By that point, I had all but drained Lane dry; he even said that he would need until the following night to recover. I had a minor “fear” that I was going to be walking around bow-legged the next day, but with Lane, that was a sort of mark I’d be happy to wear.

  I started to fall asleep when Lane’s phone rang. He kissed me, rolled over, and answered it half-awake.

  “Hello?”

  I couldn’t hear what was on the other end of the line. But the way Lane stood up, I knew something had happened.

  “I’ll be right over.”

  Oh, no. What now?

  Chapter 11: Niner

  While I struggled to understand how to treat Carrie, I had little doubt about how I felt about her.

  I liked her a lot. So much so, in fact, that…well, I couldn’t quite bring myself to say that. I might have been able to say it in the sense that she had made such a difference in my life, but even if I explained that to her, saying it would still sound creepy and uncomfortable.

  But when club business called, especially club business of this level, I had to leave.

  And so as soon as I hung up, I walked to the front door and opened it, leaving Carrie behind in her bed.

  “Lane!”

  Shit. I almost kept walking out; the urgency of the situation at hand could not be overstated. Just as I wasn’t going to leave her for some club meeting, I couldn’t ignore the club just for a quick conversation.

  That was doubly true after what had happened to one of our members.

  “Lane! What’s going on? Where are you going?”

  I had thought she was just surprised, but when I listened to the tone in her voice, I heard something that my ears hadn’t attuned to at first—fear. Perhaps the fear that I was treating her as a one night stand, or perhaps the fear that something was going to drag me into danger.

  No, I couldn’t spare a long conversation and explanation. But I could explain something quick.

  “Something bad happened at the club,” I said as Carrie, still throwing on her bathrobe, walked to me, putting her hand on my chest. “Real bad.”

  “That bad?”

  I couldn’t spare anything else.

  “Look, I like you, and last night is not the last you’ll see of me. But I need to go.”

  I bent over and kissed her but pulling away was the hardest part. It didn’t help matters that she tried to keep me there for kiss longer than a peck on the lips. But nothing short of her collapsing from a seizure would prevent me from leaving right now.

  “I’ll be back, I promise!”

  “Lane!”

  I was already out the door by this time. I didn’t turn to face her, knowing that if I did, it would only make life worse for me. It would make it that much harder for me to get out of there.

  As soon as I got to my bike and the engine roared to life, though, breaking the stillness of the early Monday morning, awakening many a neighbor and riding into the start of a new duty, though, the feelings for Carrie went back into the recesses of my mind. Nothing could make me stop…liking her as much as I did.

  But nothing could get in the way of my job right now.

  * * *

  “Jesus,” I murmured.

  I hopped off the bike. Several of the Savage Saints were standing outside Brooklyn Repairs, their hands over their mouths, their eyes watering. Marcel had his arms folded and kept shaking his head. Cop cars surrounded something—or, as I knew from the call, someone.

  I walked over, ignoring the glares from members of the NYPD I used to work with. It didn’t matter if they called me ever slur and ignominious term in the book; I wouldn’t hear them. I at least, wouldn’t process their words.

  Lying on the ground was one of our own, a prospect named Tommy, with about a dozen bullet holes in his torso, the bullets spelling out a very poorly formed “B.” The Bloodhounds.

  “Called you as soon as I found out,” Marcel said, coming over to me. “Prospect found out first. Apparently was doing some clean-up work here last night when the Bloodhounds just dumped his body here in the middle of the street. Just fucking sick.”

  “Yeah,” I said quietly.

  I took a few steps forward, trying to see if I could spot anything else of note. Tommy had a slit across his t
hroat, but it wasn’t in the middle of the throat. It was right under the chin, a mark that told me exactly who had done this. I didn’t know which had come first, the knife or the bullets, and frankly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  But I did know who had done this, and that fact was building up a lot of uncontrolled rage inside of me.

  “Niner,” Marcel said. “You were on the force. How do you handle things like this?”

  That was a bitterly tough question to swallow. Had the cut on the throat not been there, I might have been able to answer that question fairly and rationally. I may not have been able to say that I was completely calm, but I could have at least projected serenity and given a stoic answer.

  But knowing Damon was behind this…knowing that, almost certainly, Kyle was behind this…knowing that my failures had led to this very situation…

  “I’ll tell you guys in the office,” I said.

  I took a breath so that I wouldn’t lose my goddamn shit in public, much less around police officers I used to work with.

  “The answer is I don’t.”

  * * *

  The meeting took much longer to take place due to police procedures and interviews that needed done. It didn’t help at all that some local news stations came by, at which point I ordered everyone in the club inside. This would give us a bad enough mark in the media; we didn’t need one of us to blurt something stupid out that would get us in even more hot water.

  Inside, some of the prospects milled about. Two tried to leave—I let them, but only with the warning that if they spoke to the media about anything that happened in club walls, they’d be out on the pavement too. I wasn’t actually going to kill anyone, but the spook tactic did the trick.

  And in any case, this wasn’t like a chess club that had gotten shot up. This was an MC. We had to get used to violence, and while I wasn’t going to say there was a silver lining to be had in the death of a club member, there was a reality check that many of the club members needed.

  The Stones seemed to have good heads and weren’t that naive, but until one had seen death with their own eyes, it was really difficult to fully understand the severity of it. A shot to the foot? Easily overcome. Drama with the brother? Resolvable.

  Death? There was no coming back from that. I firmly believed I could live a thousand years and humanity would never figure out the secret to immortality or preventing death. Death was as much a part of life as birth was; every attempt to undermine it would get thwarted by nature.

  There was something so final, so inevitable, so undefeated about death that it sobered even the hardest of men, even the most optimistic of men. And the Stones needed that right now.

  Unfortunately, I did not need to know that Stone was back in the game and causing us real nightmares.

  “So let me get this straight,” Fitz said, trying to be the calm one here. This was not the place to do that—Fitz might have worked wonders in a negotiation, but he was the last person I wanted leading the discussion for a response after death. “Tommy was just dropped outside? No one saw him get shot?”

  “No, but we damn well know who did this,” I snapped, jumping straight to aggravated and frustrated. “Damon. The leader of the Bloodhounds. That fucker is a true sociopath and will stop at nothing to kill anyone and everyone associated with this club. This is not something that we can wait upon.”

  “Agreed,” Marcel said. “Niner, you are the only one of us who has been around death. You’re the only one that knows how to respond—”

  “We’re going to respond immediately and swiftly,” I growled. “Marcel, you’re going to have to tell everyone here to buck the fuck up and get ready to strike at the Bloodhounds.”

  “We don’t even know where those assholes are,” Uncle groused. “We can find out soon enough, sure, but right now, we’re just a public—”

  “So we fucking find out where they are!” I yelled, slamming my fists on the table.

  Uncle and Fitz jolted back. Good. Couple of rich boys needed to learn that sheer violence was sometimes the right answer.

  “I can guarantee you two things,” I said, gritting my teeth. “Damon oversaw this murder. And Kyle is the one that gave them their resources.”

  I paused for half a beat to see if Uncle, Biggie, or Marcel would be stupid enough to defend the evil Stone. None of them so much as looked my way. It was easy to hate on a family member when things were low stakes, but it was amazing how quickly feuding brothers and family members became strong defendants when an arrest or accusation of serious weight was made.

  “I haven’t seen Damon in years, so I don’t know where he is,” I said, words that were among the most painful I could admit. “But we know where Kyle is. I need to have a fucking word with him.”

  “OK, let’s not be stupid, Niner,” Uncle said. “Kyle is going to be working in an office, in some ugly suit and tie, and smirking at us. If he knows one of us is on the way, he will welcome the chance to talk to us, because he’ll run circles around us. He will use his political maneuvering to cause—”

  “Then fucking go around those maneuvers and do whatever it fucking takes!”

  Uncle again jumped. I knew there was an element of truth to what he was saying, but this wasn’t the fucking time. There was a chance to stop Damon and Kyle together, and I wasn’t about to let the group’s indecisiveness cause us to miss it.

  “Niner.”

  “What!” I snapped at Biggie.

  “A word.”

  The group went silent as Biggie took me out of the office. I put my hands in my pockets, bit my lip, and steadied my breathing as best as I could. I didn’t do this for Biggie’s sake—I did it because otherwise, I was going to have a goddamn aneurysm.

  “Niner, I know what’s going on,” Biggie said. “I know you’re thinking about Damon because of the past. But we need you to be clear-headed and even-keeled. We can’t have you pounding the table and demanding to have things happen a certain way. Otherwise, we’ll make a really poor and rushed decision, and we’ll all suffer for it.”

  “We’re going to suffer anyway,” I growled. “And you all need to know what’s it like anyway.”

  “Hey, woah, easy.”

  Biggie was normally the most cheerful and enthusiastic person in the group. If he got aggressive back at me, that was a sign for me to slow my roll.

  “You don’t think we don’t know what death looks like?” Biggie said, but he caught himself. “I know you’ve seen more of it. I know you being in the NYPD means you’ve seen shit none of us have, or at least you’ve seen more of it. But remember, several of us have been in prison before. We’re not just all a bunch of soft pussies. We’re guys who have seen some tough times and can adapt to it. OK?”

  He was right. I had let my judgment get clouded by Damon’s presence, and I had assumed that if people hadn’t seen what I had seen, they couldn’t understand. But maybe they had just seen it from a different perspective, and I had been the one to judge far too quickly. Maybe I had been the one at fault here.

  “OK,” I said. “But we can’t sit on our laurels.”

  “I don’t think we need to,” Biggie said. “At least not with Damon. But Uncle is right. We go chasing after Kyle…our fight with him has to be different, Niner. We can’t use force on him. We have to get smart and creative, and we’re not in a position to think about that right now. Let’s focus on fighting Damon first, and then take care of Kyle. OK?”

  God, that sucked. Taking out the middle man—a strange thing to call Damon—was just like cutting off a hydra’s head. Kill one, and a few more would pop up in its place. We had to be smarter than that.

  But it sure would feel good to cut off that specific head. I would not mind in the slightest if that were the first head that we cut off to get to the body.

  “OK,” I said. “Got it.”

  Biggie patted me on the back. When we got inside, it was as if time had frozen. No one was speaking. Uncle and Marcel were smoking a cigarette. Even
Fitz was having a drink. But there was no productive dialogue happening. Maybe they are relying on me to figure this out.

  “Look, you all need to know what we’re dealing with here,” I said. “I told you Damon is leading the Bloodhounds. But he was the reason that I’m not in the NYPD anymore.”

  I then recounted the story in painful but unfiltered detail, sparing nothing in describing the nightmare that Damon was to my life. It probably wasn’t an exaggeration to say that he was the reason for where I was, and while I was happy to serve the Savage Saints, I couldn’t precisely say getting kicked out of the NYPD was a source of pride for me.

  “So the person you’re dealing with,” I said upon wrapping up the story, “is a true sociopath. Marcel and Fitz, you would do well to make sure you are not seen in public with your women until this is done. If they find out you have any connections in the town, they will exploit those.”

  The same could be said for Carrie. You need to make sure you don’t see her out in public either. No more trips, not even to New Jersey; not until this shit is done.

  “I am not going to let him break up another brotherhood. I will not rest until he has no pulse and draws no breath. Understood? I cannot make myself clear enough on this.”

  Everyone nodded.

  “We have to act as one in order to strike back,” I said. “So far, most of the battles we’ve fought have been violence-free. Aside from Marcel’s foot injury, we’ve avoided bloodshed. That’s not possible anymore, though. We have to be precise. We have to be fast. And we have to be lethal. No more games. I need to make sure everyone is settled in on this before we start planning something.”

  No one said a word, but everyone nodded their heads. If the moment seemed too big for them, to their credit, they didn’t show it. They simply nodded and awaited further instruction.

  “Alright,” I said. “The first thing we need to do is gather more information on the Bloodhounds. See where they are hiding out. Even if Damon is not with them, we can take one of their members captive and get more information out of them. We also simultaneously need to pursue all leads on Damon. That means we need to talk to anyone who knew Tommy. We have to treat this as a professional investigation. And then, once we figure out everything, we need to strike with brutal, quick efficiency.