Oscar couldn't quit thinking of that one saying—about not burning bridges because someday you might want to be able to cross them again, or some shit like that.

Maybe there was something to it, but as he thought about all of the things he'd been through with the gang... All of the good times versus all of the crappy ones, and money, and relationships, the more he was pretty sure that there are absolutely some bridges you should burn. Otherwise, after time has passed, and you think back on things, you might come to the conclusion that someone is worth your forgiveness and loyalty again. But in the Rejects' case, that just wasn't fucking true.

He never wanted himself—or them—to forget the sting of disappointment when he realized just how worthless he was to most of them. He never wanted to forget the smell of the charred corpse of his beloved bike. No one who really considered themselves your family would murder your best friend.

He didn't need a "family" like the Rejects.

He was perfectly happy with still being a danger to polite society, a disappointment to whoever was upstairs, and a fucking good time to whoever was down to roll with him on his own. Perfectly happy with being a menace. With being himself. And with the new gang he was forming.

But Max...

Where did the hot, rich, mafia prince fit into that? They were such a wreck together. Their worlds mixed as well as oil and water... Or, rather, like liquor and a flame.

Brief, and really heated.

But unlike everyone else Oscar had ever known, besides his Nan, Max wanted to be in his life. Max found him. Hunted him down...and Oscar loved the chase.

He glanced over his shoulder at the mafia prince. Max was sitting on the hood of his car, ankles crossed, casually smoking a cigarette as the flames from the blaze Oscar had started in the Reject's club house grew—reflecting streaks of color against Max's bronze skin.

Max noticed Oz was staring, and he smirked, blowing out a stream of smoke. "You look cute as an arsonist."

Oscar grinned and flipped him the bird. But flirting aside, the Rejects would be here soon. And Vick had better be among them. Oscar had other things he wanted to do tonight besides this...

It wasn't long before the unmistakable growl of chopper engines coming down the road caught Oscar's attention.

"Show time," he said as he hit shuffle on his playlist and drew his gun.

For a moment, everything felt like it got quieter just before the iconic, rhythmic guitar intro of Blue Oyster Cult's classic started blaring, competing with the semi-automatic gunfire as Oscar and Max started mowing down the incoming biker gang.

"All our times have come... Here, but now they're gone..."

There wasn't going to be any talking. No threats. No cool one-liners. Just a shootout, with only one outcome, that would be vaguely recounted on the morning news before the weather and the morning commute. The kind that "normal" people would listen to, 'hmpf' at, and probably make some comment about 'the problem solving itself', but that was fine with Oscar. Because whatever happened next, at least he didn't have any regrets.

"Seasons don't fear the reaper... Nor do the wind, the sun, or the rain..."

And at first it was going well, really well. They had the element of surprise. The first five men to ride in were dead before they even had time to get off their bikes. But after that, all the rest of the gang was well aware that they were under attack. They broke their riding formation and now it was a class-A cluster fuck as the Rejects ditched their bikes and ran for cover. Well, most of them. One must've watched too many of those Viking shows, because he just charged towards Max and Oscar on his bike, swinging a chain in the air like a maniac. He was dead before he got even close to using the damned thing, and fell limply off his ride, which continued a few feet without him before falling over.

"We can be like they are... Come on baby, don't fear the reaper...Baby, take my hand. Don't fear the reaper..."

Oscar was actually having a lot of fun. Not from the killing. Honestly, that wasn't really his vibe, but the threat of his own demise was very real. The sound of bullet's peppering the side of the car, the shouts from the gang members as they tried to negotiate, only to be answered by the bark of Max's magnum...

"We'll be able to fly. Don't fear the reaper..."

Oscar was getting high off it. At least, he was...until a molotov came sailing right through the window.

"Get out!" Max yelled, shoving him, but Oscar already had his door open.

"Baby, I'm your-"

Their victory song cut abruptly as the speaker was sniped right off the dash, and the two of them were flushed out into the open.

"Go! Go! Go!" Oscar shouted, maybe more to himself than to Max, as they dove behind one of the maintenance sheds next to the burning clubhouse.

"Ahh! Shit! Fuck..." Oscar heard Max groan, and was horrified to see that his prince was doubled over, clutching his side—bleeding.

"No!" Oscar's mind reeled. "Ooooh no-no-no-no-no-"

Was this what it felt like to actually be afraid of something? This wasn't the type of fear that he was used to. This was something truly, gut wrenchingly terrifying. This was something heart stopping. World ending.

"I'm alright," Max hissed, clutching his side as he tried to assure the punk, but Oscar was still frozen by shock and fear.

"Oz? Jesus—OZ!" Max was barely able to shoot the Reject who was coming up behind Oscar. "Focus!" the mafia prince snapped. "Shit!"

That had jolted Oscar back to reality. Back to the horrible heat and smell coming from the blazing building beside them—the horrible sight of Max's handsome form covered in his own blood...

"I'm sorry!" the punk blurted out.

"What?" Max looked bewildered. "Now's really not the ti-"

"I'm sorry I never said I loved you, but I do! I love you! I'm so sorry! Don't die, Max! Don't leave me!"

Max looked stunned for a long minute...

...before he burst out into laughter, catching Oscar completely off guard.

"Owwww! Ow-ow. Heh. That's great, Oz." The pain that jolted through his torso from the motion the laughter caused, was definitely not so great, but- "I'm fine. Really. Kinda need you to pull yourself together though, please."

Oscar's terrified look dropped into one of complete embarrassment."You're sure?"

Max pulled Oscar to him and planted a super quick kiss against the punk's cheek. "Very. It just grazed me. Now we need to fucking move!"

Oscar nodded and sprung to his feet, following Max around the side of the building. The next Reject he saw, got a few extra bullets for no other reason than that it made Oscar feel a little better. And just after that, was when they heard the sound of engines again, but these weren't bikes. Instead, they were muscle cars and hot rods—most of them sporting the Royals' trade mark purple and gold.

Now the Rejects were outnumbered, and those who could, and had the good sense to do so, were fleeing. Deshawn's HellCat pulled casually alongside Max and Oscar—back driver's side window smoothly sliding down so that they could see Deshawn himself.

"Starting to get the impression trouble's on you two like tooth decay on a crackwhore," the nightclub owner commented aloud.

"You could say that," Oscar remarked.

Max nudged Oz. "We need to wrap this up... Police won't turn a blind eye forever."

"Not until I find Vic."

Deshawn motioned for them to join him. "I think mine picked that cat up trying to ditch. Get in. Just don't bleed all over my seats, Gallagher."

Deshawn's guys were waiting in a vacant parking lot behind a storage unit near one of the old runways that the airport hadn't used in over a decade.

Two muscle cars with wide rims were there—their headlights illuminating the silhouette of the man they had sitting on the asphalt—hands zip tied behind his back.

"Heh, so the Italians couldn't even kill you right... Figures," Victor coughed and spat blood out of his mouth.

Oscar wasn't surprised. Vic wasn't the type of person to beg for his life, or apologize, or admit he was wrong... He'd keep that stupid arrogant look on his face probably even after he was dead.

"Looks like I'm just a pain in the ass for everyone," Oscar said with a shrug while he checked his magazine. Still three bullets. That would have to do. "Any last words?" Oscar wondered as he raised his gun.

"Seriously? Are you just stalling so you don't have t-" Vic's answer was cut short by a bang, and then he fell forward...

"Sorry, I just realized I didn't care..." Oscar said callously as he put the gun back in his waistband. "Looks like I owe you again..." he said, tipping his head to Deshawn.

The Royal shrugged him off. "You just paid in full, far as I'm concerned," he replied, motioning with his chin to Vic's lifeless form before adding. "For the ride, that is. Rent on the warehouse will still be due when it's due, but I'm sure you're good for it," he said, glancing past Oscar at the mafia prince, who just grinned in return.

Oscar smirked and then turned to look at Max. "Mind if I crash at your place tonight?"

"Not at all," Max said simply before sliding out his phone and sending a few quick texts.

Before Deshawn and his crew had left, Max had bummed a blunt off them, and once they were alone, he and Oscar took a stroll together down the runway, stepping over cracks with weeds growing in them, and watching the first signs of the sunrise starting to shift the colors in the sky. Kingsport was just a mass of dark rectangles and lights in the backdrop, and after taking a drag and suppressing a few coughs, Max let out a contented sigh, hooking his arm around Oscar's waist.

"So... You wanna go over that thing you said earlier again?" he asked with a playful lilt to his tone. "There was a lotta noise, and my adrenaline was still kinda goin', so I don't know if I caught all of it..." 

"Hey, I thought you were dying, okay?" said the punk, though it did little to distract from the tinge of red growing across the bridge of his nose and cheeks.

Max just chuckled, flushing a little as well. "But...you meant it...right?"

"Yeah... Yeah, I did."

And done~! It's crazy, but this is our first completed stand alone novel, not a part of a series! So this one feels like a special accomplishment, as silly as that might sound! xD

Shout out to ALL OF OUR READERS!!! Thank you soooo much for going on this wild ride with us!!! 😭💖 Nick and I hope you enjoyed Oscar and Max's story as much as we enjoyed writing it! 🖤🖤🖤

Wait! Before you go~
A few quick questions (because we care a lot about what you think)🙏:

1. What was your favorite thing about The Punk's Mafia Prince? Did you have any favorite characters or chapters?

2. Did you have any least favorite chapters, characters, or was there anything you would change if you could?

3. If we were (no plans as of yet) to turn TPMP into a series, what would you want the second book to be about?

4. Would you consider reading more contemporary romance from us (not related to this one) if we decide to try another one in the future?

5. Would you be interested in purchasing a paperback copy of The Punk's Mafia Prince if Nick and I were to make one available? 👀

Thank you so much again, and we hope to see you with our next project!