by Hazel Parker
By this point, as far as I was concerned, I fully believed that Kyle had either killed his uncle or had ordered the hit somehow. I fully believed that Jack and Jack’s brother were the next in line. And I fully believed that there was a half-decent chance that I would fall somewhere on that list.
I began to feel the onset of a panic attack. I took a few deep breaths to try and control myself, but I was genuinely scared that Kyle was going to kill me. He was going to find a way to hunt me down.
“Ma’am?”
I hadn’t even given the fucking cab driver an address.
“Just, drive forward,” I said. “Get me away from that man.”
The cab driver nodded, at least having the courtesy to go three blocks without charging me before he asked me where I wanted to go. Slowly collecting myself, I gave him the address to my home. It took a lot more effort than I cared to admit to calm myself enough to share the address.
I pulled out my phone to try and text Jack about what had happened, but my hands were shaking so much that I couldn’t type out a message of any kind. Eventually, I just fucking gave up and stared out the window at downtown Brooklyn.
When the cab driver dropped me off, I basically just threw money at him. I think the trip was less than fifteen bucks, but I just tossed a twenty at him and hurried out of the car. I ran up to my apartment, locked it, and examined the room to make sure there were no assassins.
Crazy? Not after dealing with Kyle Stone this morning.
Still in a rushed state of alert, I went through all my social media accounts and blocked Kyle on all of them. I blocked his email address and phone number from reaching out to me, even as Kyle continued to text me warnings. I screamed and threw my phone onto the couch when I finally confirmed that I had his number blocked.
And then, finally feeling safe and free from him, I began to cry.
I didn’t know how the hell I had gotten in this spot. I didn’t know why I had ever been so stupid as to let myself get sucked into Kyle’s world like this. But now, nothing could be spared in attempting to extricate myself from it.
And, unfortunately, right now, it sure seemed like what I had with Jack was in some serious danger as a result.
Chapter 13: Biggie
Brooklyn Repairs never opened on Monday, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t without a lot of the Savage Saints.
We treated the day as essentially one long, heavy mourning period. By this point, the police had come and taken Uncle’s body, and though there would be headaches with that, Niner apparently had enough contacts still in his good graces that we didn’t have to worry too much about the police hanging over our heads right now.
With his body gone, people felt a lot more comfortable coming and going in the office. Different members came by to pass on their condolences or just to talk, but for the most part, it was just Marcel and me sitting in there, trying to numb the pain of losing Uncle. I can’t even say that we did a good job of that, either; in a weird way, both of us were in too much of a funk to have any alcohol.
We’d announced around five that we would be having a club-wide meeting where Marcel would deliver a few words. I was quite glad that he was the one doing the talking, because if I had to get up there, there was no way that I would be able to hold it together. Tears would be inevitable.
Throughout it all, I knew that I owed Lilly a text of some kind. But every time I pulled out my phone to send her a message, it felt like the right words just eluded me. If I said something that was sincere, I worried it would overwhelm her. If I said something that was too plain, then it wouldn’t feel honest. I just couldn’t get the words out of me.
The result was that when the clock struck five o’clock, I hadn’t said a single word. I knew I wasn’t doing her any favors. I certainly wasn’t doing myself any favors.
But I mean, for fuck’s sake, my uncle was dead, killed either by Kyle himself or by orders of Kyle. How the hell was I supposed to focus and be on top of what I needed to be on top of?
Usually, such meetings at least had a few people cracking a stray joke here and there. Guys like Niner and Fitz were always bound to keep to themselves, but almost everyone else in the club usually had a guy that they traded jokes with, shared a sarcastic remark on, or generally just kept up with. But today, it felt like a funeral.
“Good afternoon,” Marcel said.
He didn’t need to raise his voice. Even the vehicles passing by outside had quieted, almost like the world needed to go silent to listen to what he had to say.
“By now, you all know why we have gathered,” he said. “Uncle, whose real name was Reggie Stone, was murdered late last night. I don’t need a detective to tell me that Kyle, Biggie’s and my brother, had a hand in the murder. It’s bad enough that he killed an officer of the club. But that he murdered his actual uncle as he did…Kyle is a sick motherfucker who needs to be stopped at all costs.”
He took a deep breath. This was not a rah-rah speech. This was not even an encouraging speech. This, I knew, was just a speech to keep heads held as high as possible. No one was going to pretend that there was going to be any silver lining today, and no one was going to say that this was anything other than a loss and a defeat. But we didn’t have to wallow and cry on each other’s shoulders any more than we already had.
We didn’t need to give Kyle any further help than he already had.
“I want you all to know something,” Marcel said. “There is a temptation to go out and lash out at the world because of this. There is a temptation to be the hero, to find Kyle in the streets, and to shoot him. While that would be mighty satisfying and rewarding, I am here to ask all of you not to do that. Trust me, we will respond aggressively, and justice will be swift. My brother will not survive as a result of his decision. But we cannot fall apart as a club like this, and if we commit a sloppy hit in public, we are going to pay the price for it.”
Now this was a little unexpected.
“We are all going through a hard time, a trying time. Emotions are high. Revenge is high on the mind. You all should be feeling that way. I know Uncle could be annoying as hell, but he also cared for everyone in this building as if they were his own brother or son. You can say many things about the man, but you cannot say that he didn’t care about this club.”
The underlining feeling that pervaded the club was still absolutely one of grief. It could not be said that Marcel’s speech was going to do anything other than give some kind words to Uncle.
But slowly, the looks on the men’s faces shifted from despair and hopelessness to inspiration. No one was ready to go out into the streets and fight back, but no longer were people looking as if the club would end because of what had happened.
“And the best way that we can honor his memory is to be there for each other and to care for each other,” he said. “You care for each other right now not by going out and being a vigilante, but by staying by each other’s side and making sure no one gets hurt. One funeral for violence is a funeral too many; I do not need to bury any more of you because of a brash and poorly thought out decision.”
He cleared his throat. Marcel never seemed on the verge of tears, but what he had just said had seemed to get him the closest. Nevertheless, with clearing his throat, he returned to his stoic self.
“There will be no party this weekend. We are currently trying to schedule Uncle’s funeral for later in the week. We will not strike until we have laid him to rest, though we will defend ourselves as necessary. We will open the shop as normal tomorrow and have normal operating hours. The officers and I are going to retreat to the office to share drinks and commemorate Uncle. Anyone is welcome to join.”
That, I didn’t know, but it was a welcome addition to the day. Marcel patted me on the shoulder as he walked by, squeezing my shoulder for emphasis, before moving past. But just before he got into the room, he sighed and faced the crowd once more.
“For many of you, this is family,” he said. “Just remember what matters most.�
��
My brother. My good brother, right now.
Fitz and Niner, standing by the door, walked inside. I looked back out on the crowd of members and prospects. They looked to me as if waiting for the OK to move.
With a sigh, I made way for the office. Just remember what matters most.
My brother.
But Lilly…she might someday.
Maybe you should say something.
It was much, much later than I should have sent something. But I supposed it was better late than never. Quickly, I sent a text off, telling Lilly, “Sorry for silence. Uncle is dead. Dealing with a lot. Let’s meet soon, though.”
It was a lot of weight that I was carrying on my shoulders, and the last thing I needed was for her to feel like she had to carry any of it as well. I didn’t know if what I did would do any good in keeping her at enough ease to know I was thinking about her, but hopefully it was better than nothing.
I then walked into the office and shut the door halfway. Inside, Marcel sat in a chair and collapsed back as if it had taken all of the energy of the week for him to just deliver that speech. I returned the favor and patted him on the shoulder, but I don’t think either of us had much in the tank to converse.
“Good speech,” Fitz said.
The fact that Marcel just gave a half-nod instead of responding with words confirmed it. We were both exhausted.
Niner, eventually, stood up, went over to the refrigerator, grabbed four Bud Lights, and passed them out. We all cracked ours open before Niner held his out.
“To Uncle,” he said. “Helping make this possible.”
“Amen that,” I said.
A brief silence came as we all took a sip of our beer. Someone had to break the ice in talking about Uncle. If all the members and prospects just heard a room of complete silence, no one was going to come up and say a word, let alone converse and talk with us.
“You know…”
Fitz started to speak, pausing, I think, to make sure no one else was going to say anything. When I motioned for him to continue, he did so.
“I first met Uncle when I was just out of college. I was a fresh kid, thinking I could conquer New York City. Uncle was about fifteen years my elder, and damn, he was the same way then that he is now.”
Some polite chuckles came. Most noticeably, Marcel emitted a short laugh. I smiled, but that was expected of me; Marcel expressing emotion was encouraging.
“But true to form, he took me under his wing. He introduced me to the realities of the world. I can remember one time, maybe at the end of my first month on the job, he took me out for drinks. Just the two of us. We got hammered as hell. And Uncle, at one point, grabs me and goes, ‘If you ever think any of these banks are gonna make you rich, fuck ‘em and fuck yourself for thinking that. If you happen to get rich, great. But they’ll look to cut you to save money as soon as they can.’ That moment was probably one Uncle just forgot, but for me, it made me save my dough and start to look for what I really like. Which…well, that’s why I’m here.”
“Salute to that,” Marcel said. “Uncle could be a real shithead, but he was always a real honest shithead.”
“Yep,” I said. “You ever remember how he and Dad used to get into fights?”
“Oh, shit, are you kidding me?” Marcel said with a laugh. “It’s a goddamn miracle that we didn’t take after him!”
I laughed, trying not to say out loud the fact that Kyle, unfortunately, probably followed in the footsteps of our father and Uncle. But this wasn’t the time to think about Kyle; this was the time to think about Uncle and all that he had done for us.
“I don’t think I’m ever going to forget him coming and agree to help fund the club,” Marcel said once he had quieted down. “I think I was at your place, Biggie. I’m not sure, but I can tell you why I’m not sure. The asshole came barging in just at the crack of dawn and told me I needed to get my shit in gear. Kept telling me that starting a club like ours had no operating hours; it had no closing time. It just was open and that was it. At the time, I thought he was just being a fucking prick, but now, I think I see what he means.”
“He was a wise man,” Niner said.
That was probably going to be the extent of Niner’s eulogy. That just left me.
Uncle was someone that I’d always had complicated feelings about. Saying he could rub people the wrong way was like saying that boiling water could scald skin. It was just a fact. There was also little doubt that even when Uncle was helping people, he tended to do so in such a way that ensured they would never ask him for help. I couldn’t think of a better example than Uncle trying to reach out to Kyle.
But I wasn’t one of those people who could bury the dead with the truth. I had to bury the dead with the good memories. I was no man of honesty when it came to eulogies. Perhaps that was a mark against my character, but it’s not like failing to speak ill of Uncle would somehow have a detriment to the club.
“You know, Marcel,” I said, leaning back in my chair, letting a small, nostalgic smile cross my face. “When you were in prison, Uncle kept talking about how someone needed to kick your ass. But he’d do so while he went to check in on Lilly. He’d do so while making sure I could take care of myself. He’d do so while making sure that you had something waiting for you when you got out of jail. I don’t think he ever imagined it would be an MC like we have, but I can promise you he wasn’t going to let you just starve.”
“Really,” Marcel said, although I suspected he knew more than he was letting on.
“Yeah. And that’s what made Uncle great. He was always working behind the scenes, doing whatever was needed to get certain tasks taken care of, no matter what. He wasn’t going to let anything get by him, even if he couldn’t physically be present.”
“I’ll cheers to that,” Marcel said.
We all took a sip of our drinks.
With the burden of having everyone speak, the words started to flow more freely. Marcel and Fitz, especially, seemed to have an endless supply of stories. Niner, not surprisingly, didn’t have any, but me not speaking was a bit of a surprise to the others. I just couldn’t bring myself to say anything.
A couple hours in, I was starting to feel a little drunk and a little buzzed. The laughter came much more easily, and the smile stayed a little bit longer.
“I can tell you this much!” Marcel said, feeling a little more upbeat than I was. “If Uncle knew he was going to die, and he saw how we’d react, he wouldn’t have told us to whine and cry over him. He’d tell us to do exactly what we’re doing right now.”
“Get drunk and have a good time?” I said, finally letting loose something that resembled my usual, loud laugh.
“Amen,” Marcel said. “To having a good time in Uncle’s memory.”
Again, we clinked glasses. But this time, just before we took a sip, a club prospect came in. He looked wide-eyed, though not necessarily distressed. I didn’t know his name—he was one of the newest additions.
“You guys,” he said. “Come look.”
We all nodded and rose at once. We got out to the repair part of the shop when the garage door opened.
What followed was something unlike anything I had ever seen.
In the front, a row of bikers, all wearing the Savage Saints cut, with patches across their chests, stood, their arms folded. I recognized some of them from the time that the Vegas Saints had come to collect their cuts.
Behind the Vegas group, about a dozen men stood. Behind the other group, about two dozen men stood.
Every single Savage Saint in America was standing there before us.
Richard and one other man, a young, muscular but lithe guy about my age, walked forward.
“Gentlemen,” Richard said. “This is Trace, president of the original Savage Saints.”
“I heard what happened to Uncle,” Trace said, stepping ahead of Richard. “When one Savage Saint falls, we all suffer for it. Whoever has done this is going to suffer the full wrath of the Sav
age Saints. You have my word that we will not leave until the person responsible for this is also dead.”
Marcel and Trace shook hands. I couldn’t shake my eyes from the army of bikers that I saw in front of me. I didn’t know how they’d all gotten here or where they were staying, but one thing was for sure.
We weren’t just a club anymore. We were an army.
And Kyle was done for.
Chapter 14: Lilly
“Sorry for silence. Uncle is dead. Dealing with a lot. Let’s meet soon, though.”
I stared at that text message for what felt like an hour, my cheeks still stained from the tears that I’d shed earlier. I tried not to fault Jack for the lack of communication and the too-concise message. I tried not to feel mad at him for what I had gone through with his little brother.
But damnit, my emotions were running high too. I had to run away from Kyle by hailing a cab and telling the cab driver to just drive away, as far away as I could get, from the younger Stone. Kyle had almost certainly killed his uncle, and while I wasn’t sure if Jack knew, he sure seemed nonchalant about the fact that he wasn’t talking to me.
It was late. I knew that it was unlikely that Jack would come over right now. But I was scared to leave my apartment, especially considering that Kyle wasn’t some out-of-town dalliance who would fly home tomorrow. If Jack was serious about wanting to be with me, then he needed to see me now. At the very least, I needed some acknowledgment that what I was going through was one of the most fucked up things possible, something that no sane person had to go through.
“Jack, I need you here now. Please.”
I had much more I wanted to say—why I needed him now, how much sorrow I felt for him, how much confusion I felt—but I just needed to get to the point. Besides, the more I said, the more Jack might find a reason to keep asking questions that would delay his arrival. I was a little fucked in the head, but it could never be said authors weren’t a little bit crazy.
