Devil's Hitmen MC Pt. 01

Hey Peoples,

I hope you all have been enjoying the deluge of reading material. I've been getting all of my stories up on Lit--even the ones I forgot about. Ehem, like this one.

A tiny bit of context. This was a lifetime ago in another world where I decided to try my hand at MC romances because who didn't go through the MC romance phase? But I never shared it anywhere. And I mean ANYWHERE.

But I'm older now and I guess wiser and can look back and shrug and laugh and say, "It's a story of its time."

So, I invite you to read my (yet again, unedited) MC romance with Kit-Kat and Solomon.

Best,

RSP

--

Chapter One

Kat pushed open the swinging doors of the only other place she called home and was greeted by the smell of fried foods, tobacco, and the grim faces of every member of the Devil's Hitmen Motorcycle Club.

It's true. Kat could see it etched in the faces around the bar, members that had been with the club since their president, Jamison, had formed it over ten years ago. She could see from the tightly wound muscles, drawn faces, and watery eyes of every member. Well, almost every member. As always, Solomon Parker was the exception.

Despite knowing that he was dangerous and about as good for Kat as a root canal, she was drawn to him. Drawn to blue eyes the color of rainwater, hair as black as night, and a body tightened and muscled with the sort of strength you didn't find at a gym.

Solomon Parker, number one suspect in Jamison's murder. Kat growled into her mind as she was engulfed in her first--but not at all last--hug of the night.

"He's dead, Kat!" Mindy, Jamison's wife, wailed as she wrapped tightly in a fierce hug and dampened her gray t-shirt with tears. "Jamison's dead! "

Kat embraced the woman back just as fiercely as every eye in the bar looked to her, seeking her out. They wanted a leader--needed one who would continue on with the traditions Jamison had set out for them. They looked at her, because they knew she was that person.

However, Kat's eyes remained on Solomon, following his every move, taking note of everyone he talked to. She might have a serious case of lust for the guy, but Kat wouldn't let that impair her. Solomon had made it clear he didn't like Jamison, made it clear that he had a specific vision of how the club should operate, and made it very clear where he thought Kat belonged.

On a shiver, she closed her eyes and relaxed into the next hug. Solomon had made it very clear that he wanted to be president of the Devil's Hitmen and he wanted her wrapped around him, screaming his name, fucking him with an abandon only a man who knew his power could give her.

But it was wrong--he was wrong. Kat reminded herself the same thing she had reminded herself nine years ago when she joined the gang and first saw Solomon. The man was trouble with a capital T, and if she wanted any hope of calming her club members and becoming the new president, she'd stay away from him.

***

Kat splashed cool water on her face and rubbed at her eyes. She was physically and emotionally exhausted. Not only had she dealt with Jamison's grief stricken wife, but every single member of the Devil's Hitmen. They'd all turned to her, seeking her out.

It wasn't like Kat had ever been a warm and fuzzy person--she wasn't. She preferred being out on the range testing out the latest firearms than consoling anyone. Kat didn't really do people, as strange as that was. She was--at her core--an introvert and independent to boot.

Relationships were not her forte, especially the romantic kind. Kat much preferred to pick a guy up at a bar, have hot, sweaty sex as his place, then hightail it home to catch the last few minutes of whatever late night talk show there was. Sex was a stress reliever. It was fun, exciting, and necessary for Kat. But, that's all it was.

Sighing loudly, she reached for a paper towel but her hand came up against a hard male body instead. Wayward fingers traced over rock hard pecs before Kat could control herself.

She'd know that body anywhere, had watched the man straddle a bike like he'd been born riding, watched him use women like tissue papers and climb his way up the ladder any way he could--by fair means, or foul.

"Solomon Parker, " Kat blew out as gusty breath as she pulled her hand back and wiped them off on her jeans. Screw paper towels!

"Kathy Sullivan, " Solomon returned in that slow southern drawl that lit a girls panties on fire. Kat had the same accent, but it didn't have anywhere near the same impact on the ears.

"Want to tell me why you're in the ladies' restroom?" Kat turned away from the sink and arched a wet brow at him.

A slow laugh was his only response as he took a step closer to her and made Kat tilt her head up. She wasn't short, but Solomon was a large man. At six foot five the whole damn world was short to him.

"I wanted to say how sorry I am that we lost Jamison. He was a good man." A good man, but a mediocre leader.

Cocking her hip against the sink and hearing the metal of her gun meet the porcelain, Kat crossed her arms and looked him square in the eye. "You kill him?"

Stormy blue eyes met hers as Solomon took another step closer and leaned down until Kat could feel his breath tickle her lips. "I wouldn't tell you even if I did, Kit-Kat."

"Stop calling me Kit-Kat!" Kat snapped as her eyes sparked with indignation. Nine years later and the bastard still called her that nickname. He was the only man in the club who'd given her a nickname even though they'd never slept together. Usually men liked to call her "sugar" or "baby" after they'd fucked and at that point Kat would already be out the door and three steps away from her bike.

"The minute I stop calling you Kit-Kat is the minute I've licked you, sucked you, and broken you." Solomon pressed closer, the hard bulge in his jeans resting against the tautness of Kat's stomach. "But you'd like to be broken by me. Wouldn't you, Kit-Kat?"

Kat locked her jaw and stared back at him. There was scarcely any space between them, hardly any room to suck in air that didn't smell like Solomon. She was torn. Torn between knowing that what he was suggesting would likely ruin her and the Devil's Hitmen, and knowing that if she didn't at least try it once, give them both what they wanted, she might never get the chance again.

No one made her feel the way Solomon did. No one made her question her sparse principles and rules the way the man standing in front of her did it just by existing. If Kat was being honest with herself, every time she went home with a man, every time she climbed on top of a some guy with a working cock and fucked him, she imaged he was Solomon.

In that moment, there were only two options Kat saw: Solomon or the Devil's Hitmen.

Before Kat could make the decision it was taken out of her hands. Solomon's lips came crashing down on hers, stealing her words with his tongue. Kat didn't hesitate, didn't think past his mouth and body pressed hard against her.

They were done talking, and she was okay with that.

Solomon's hands reached under her, grabbing her ass and lifting her up onto the sink. The faucet stabbed at the small of her back, but Kat couldn't care too much because Solomon was right. She did want to be broken by him. It was a novice feeling to want a man so badly, to feel that lust and desire so keenly that she thought that she couldn't help but give herself completely to it.

There was no finesse in their fucking. No long languid kisses, or soft strokes to get the fire going. The fire was now in full blaze and when Solomon tore his lips away from her, pulled her away and flipped her body so she could feel his cock straining against her ass, Kat was ready. So. Fucking. Ready.

"Hurry the fuck up!" She panted as she fumbled with the button of her fly. Solomon pushed her clumsy fingers away and tore at the zipper, yanking her pants down and leaving them wrapped around her ankles. A second later she heard the similar sound of metal sliding against metal, cloth against cloth, and then he was there.

Thick, hard, and throbbing against her. Kat didn't even realize her panties had been yanked down along with her jeans until she felt his cock against her. Solomon's hands were at her waist pulling her back, positioning her hips.

"Hold onto the sink," he commanded in a voice that Kat had never heard him use. It was rough, sexy, completely overpowering.

Using his fingers, he spread her lips wide and played between her thighs tracing her labia and circling her clit. "Fuck me!" Kat ground out as she thrust back against him and felt one of his fingers slide into her, then another, then...

"Holy Hell!" The wind smacked her words as Solomon thrust into her, stealing the breath from her lungs and the sanity from her mind.

The man was built, and Kat could feel every ridge, every vein, every throbbing, heated fucking inch of his dick as he drove into her. Biting her lip, Kat gripped the sink like it was a raft and she was sinking. Fingers tight, jaw clenched, thighs shaking and...

"Ugh!" Kat reared back, stretched up on her tiptoes and her nails scratched the air as came. It was just so quick, so explosive that she couldn't even scream. Only the smallest sound escaped her as her entire body shuddered and exploded around Solomon, with him.

Kat could feel him a few heartbeats later, breath laboring, fingers digging into her hips as his thrusts became erratic and then stopped for a heartbeat. His body convulsed against her as he let out a loud satisfied groan and emptied himself into her.

No! Kat realized too soon that Solomon hadn't worn a condom. She felt him, so unlike any other man she'd ever had. However, he wasn't just any man.

Kat couldn't help the half crazed laugh that escaped her as Solomon released her and she fell to the bathroom floor. Solomon wasn't just any man; he was the one trying to take over the Devil's Hitmen, the one who--most likely--killed their president, the one who--against all her better judgment--had just taken her in the bathroom of a biker bar and came inside of her.

Stormy blue eyes met Kat's as she realized how utterly fucked she actually was.

Chapter Two

"Thank God I'm home," Kat sighed as she collapsed onto her bed and kicked off her shoes.

Every muscle in her body ached, and she felt wet and sticky courtesy of Solomon Parker. Kat wasn't sure how she had gotten home after their session in the bathroom. Perhaps it had been instinct that had picked her body up, but whatever it was, getting out of the bar had been anything but easy.

For a few brief seconds in time, Kat had forgotten about Jamison's death, forgotten about being the prime candidate for presidency, forgotten that Solomon Parker was suspect number one of her list of suspects and the man running against her.

Sex was the simple part; it was everything else that followed after that was complicated.

Dragging her body to the bathroom, Kat turned on the shower and stripped off her clothes. Staring in the mirror at her naked form, she noticed bruising around her hips and a few hickeys beginning to deepen in color around her neck.

There was no denying that she'd fucked Solomon, and no matter how much she just wanted to pretend it had never happened, the bruises wouldn't let her.

Climbing into the shower, Kat soaped up her body and ducked her head under the scalding spray, flinching as the water burned her. But Kat had always liked it hot, like that edge to everything she did in life. Hot showers, hot men, and hot bikes. One of these days, she was going to burn herself.

And when that happens, I'll deal with it. Kat reminded herself for the hundredth time, the words sounding like a broken record.

Turning off the water, Kat heard a harsh knock and paused half way out of the shower. She waited a heartbeat but didn't hear anything and instead reached for her towel. A second later she heard a thud that sounded like a body slamming up against her door.

"What the fuck is going on?" Kat whispered as she ducked and grabbed the gun hidden under her sink, one of many hidden weapons in her apartment.

Securing the towel tight around her, Kat removed the safety and held the gun firmly at her side between both hands as she exited the bathroom. With another shuddering thud the door gave way, and Solomon Parker tumbled through, kicking the door shut with his foot as he did.

"Kit-Kat," he smiled widely at her, his eyes slightly glazed.

Kat calmly raised the gun and pointed it at Solomon's chest, a strained smile on her lips. "Solomon, what an unpleasant surprise. Mind telling me why you're breaking into my apartment?"

Smiling wide, Solomon walked calmly over to the small kitchen in Kat's apartment and plopped down heavily on a bar stool. "I just missed you."

"Go home," Kat said with a roll of her eyes as she lowered her weapon. "I don't trust you enough to give you a repeat performance. So get!"

Turning her back on him, Kat walked to her bedroom and was about to close the door when a rigid, hot male body hit her back, strong around wrapping around her instantly. In that moment, Kat realized her mistake. She'd thought Solomon was piss drunk, and he'd certainly played it that way, but the man had barely a hint of alcohol on his breath.

"Do you think I killed Jamison, Kit-Kat?" Solomon's breath was hot on Kat's ear, but he made no move to take her towel or feel her up.

Gritting her teeth at her own stupidity, Kat tried to move her gun hand, but found it trapped at her side. Best she could do was shoot him in the foot, and that was only if her aim was perfect, otherwise, she'd be the one with one less toe.

Kat weighed her options. She could scream and call for help, but if the club ever found out they'd label her weak, a prime example of her sex, and Solomon would be the next president and get everything he wanted. She could try to fight, but given Solomon's size Kat was pretty sure she'd lose in a heartbeat. Weapons were her only friend and even they were useless at the moment. Her only consolation was that if Solomon had wanted to rape or kill her, he could have done it already.

"Did you kill Jamison?" Kat asked, still wracking her brain for a way out of her predicament.

Solomon nuzzled at her neck and she felt the pressure around her from his arms ease up a tiny bit. "That's the question of the day, isn't it?"

Taking a huge risk, Kat relaxed her body and fell to her knees, rolling away from Solomon and lifting her gun up as she did so. "It is; and you have the answer."

Turning his head, Solomon appraised her like she was a new species, and from the look he was giving her, he liked what he saw. Too late, Kat realized that in her mad tumble her towel had slipped off.

Damn! Kat cursed herself as she kept the gun trained at him but gained her feet. Being naked didn't bother her, but being nude around Solomon did. The man made her absolutely crazy, turned her into a woman that she never thought she'd be; a woman who wanted a man so desperately that she still slept with him even when she thought he was a murderer.

My life is so fucked up, she groaned in her mind as she remembered the handcuffs in the drawer next to her bed.

"Go to the bed," Kat instructed and clocked the gun for good measure. "There are handcuffs in the top dresser drawer on the right."

Solomon cocked a brow at her, but followed her instructions. "I'm not into bondage, Kit-Kat. But for you..." he's blue eyes heated as he traveled up the length of her body. "...I'm willing to make an exception."

Snorting, Kat waved the gun at him. She trusted Solomon as far as she could throw him, and, truth be told, she probably couldn't even pick him up. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...

She let the thought trail off as Solomon reached for the first drawer, and Kat's eyes went as round as saucers. "I said the--"

"Oh. Been missing me, have you?" Solomon purred as he wagged her purple silicone dildo at her.

Shaking her head, Kat tsked softly and motioned to the dresser again. "I'd hate to shoot you, Solomon, my aim's a little bad so I could miss and hit something--" she narrowed her eyes at the large bulge in his pants and redirected her gun. "--important."

Long seconds passed as he finally got the handcuffs out of the correct drawer and secured himself to the bed. It took all her power not to smile at him and call him an idiot. While the sex had been good, Kat had decided sometime in between leaving the bar and him breaking into her apartment that the Devil's Hitmen were her family, and she wouldn't do anything to jeopardize them. Even if that meant she'd have to give up great sex with a man who could give as good as he got, she'd deal with it.

Families stayed together; lovers split apart.

Once Kat was sure Solomon was firmly in place she turned and walked over to her closet, laying her gun on a shelf as she did so. "Are you going to tell me you killed Jamison? If you're honest with me now, I can help you out with the club--make sure they don't kill you."

Grabbing a pair of underwear, Kat was just slipping them on when she heard a creak from the bed and then felt Solomon push her deeper into her closet into her hanging clothes. "How did you--?"

"He was a useless leader, Kat!" Solomon yelled, shaking her a little. "I'm not going to tell you shit, because you've already made up your mind. I say that I did it and you believe me, I say I didn't and you think I'm lying. Either way, it's going to be pinned on me."

Kat knew Solomon was right. And for a second she realized how correct his statement was. It wasn't as if Solomon hadn't made his intentions known from the start. He's wanted Jamison's position from day one, wanted to turn the Devil's Hitmen into something they weren't.

It wouldn't make sense to kill Jamison if everyone was going to suspect you anyway, so then if Solomon didn't--

Hard lips crushed against hers, stealing Kat's reasoning. She'd forgotten how vulnerable she was, naked in front of a man she'd just fuck. It didn't make sense that she'd forget that blaring fact, or that Solomon breaking into her house and kissing her wasn't creepy and dangerous. The man was dangerous, and yet strangely, she didn't feel scared.

It wasn't that Solomon couldn't hurt her, he had the power both emotionally and physically to do so, but his actions weren't the actions of a crazy, dangerous man, but a desperate man. Solomon knew the moment that everyone had stopped thinking of Jamison's incident as an accident and instead murder, all eyes would turn to him.

Solomon Parker was a dead man walking, and everyone knew it. They were all just waiting for someone to call him out on it, someone powerful, in control--their leader. The club wanted to see her to label Solomon a murderer and put him down.

Kat felt the silk of Solomon's tongue as they kissed, felt the heat of his hands on her naked body as they touched. Everything felt more raw, like this kiss or that touch could be the last. Desperate, it felt desperate.

Ripping her mouth away from his, Kat put aside her reservations and gave them both what they wanted. She knew that after this night, that was it. She'd go into the bar tomorrow, talk with people she considered friends and family, and if the majority thought it was Solomon there was only one thing she could do.

"Raw," Kat growled as she turned and braced her hands on her closet wall. "Give it to me raw. I don't want to forget a single second."

Solomon Parker was everything Kat had been told to stay away from. The man was known to hang out with drug lords, pick fights with anyone who looked at him twice, and use women like napkins. He had a sheet longer than her legs, and was the very definition of tall, dark and dangerous. Kat had never been attracted to men that she knew would only hurt her, but with Solomon it seemed like it had all been inevitable.