Saved by the Outlaw: Motorcycle Club / Hitman Romance (40 page)

L
ess than an hour later
, I'm pressed up against him as we push through the door to his apartment, my hands tearing at his shirt while my lips are devouring his.

I hardly paid attention to where exactly we'd gone — we were all over each other on the taxi ride here. All that catches my eye is that it's an upscale penthouse not too far from the club.

He leads me through the richly-furnished living space to his bedroom, a platform bed with rich, cream-colored sheets waiting for us as I work his tie off and tear at the buttons of his shirt while his jacket slides off.

I've already kicked my shoes off, and his hands are working my dress down my body, feeling my slender frame as they go. My underwear isn't nearly as fancy as I'd like, but then again, I never expected to be going home with anyone when the night started.

But I can't concentrate on that, because the man's shirt is off now, and I can't help but stare at him as my mouth opens involuntarily.

His body isn't just strong, it's impossible.

Muscles that ripple down his arms meet at massive, rock-hard pecks that I brush my fingertips against in awe, not paying attention to what he's doing with my bra until I feel it fall to the floor and my breasts spill out before him.

The desire I see in his eyes drives me wild, my heart trying to pound its way out of my chest. I press myself against him, wrapping my arms around his neck as I feel the bulge in his pants pressing against my waist. His own heartbeat feels just as hard.

"I need this tonight," I breathe, need in my voice as I grind my hips into him. I let my hands slip down from his shoulders and slide to his washboard abs, biting my lip. "God, how are you even real?"

There's a smile on his face as his hands unfasten his belt while he kicks his own shoes off. "Me? You're the one with the eyes like a siren's."

I slowly lay back on the bed, watching him strip while I wiggle out of my thong to let my fingers go to my lower lips freely, and I gasp at how ready for him I am already.

"You know what sirens do to men, don't you?" I tease, but my heart flutters in my chest again when he pulls his trousers down to reveal a massive, thick cock, already stiff and immediately hardening completely as his hand wraps around it gently.

"If this is a test of my willpower," he plays along, kneeling down on the bed and putting an arm on either side of me to loom over me, "then you've already won."

He lowers himself onto me, and I melt into his kiss, letting his tongue delve into my mouth ravenously.

He pulls back from it, and I put my hand behind his neck to beg him back to me, but instead his lips dive for my neck, and I let out a silent gasp as his teeth graze the sensitive skin.

His cock is stiff and grinding against my wet cunt, hungry to delve into me, but as he starts to move it to impale me on it, I gently push him back from me, despite the protests of my body.

"Something wrong?" he asks in a husky voice as he come to a stop.

"Condom," I breathe, my hands going to my nipples to make up for the pause in stimulation.

I see his thick arm reach to the nightstand and pull a drawer open, but all I can focus on is the heat of his body. His muscular legs are brushing against my sensitive inner thighs, and I want to beg him to hurry up.

I watch him tear open the little package he withdraws and slip the thin material over his massive, bulging crown, enveloping the thick girth of the cock down to the neatly trimmed base.

"Don't keep me waiting any longer," I urge him, every tense moment of the past few months eager to melt away under him, and he obliges.

The man I met earlier this evening lowers his stiff cock to my pussy, and the tip presses against the outside. A gasp escapes me, and I realize how badly I want this.

I grip the sheets hard as he teases me, rubbing the dark crown against my needful clit. I let my head lie back on the soft sheets, and I feel his powerful hands gripping my ass, the huge cock making its way into me gently.

"You're mine, tonight," his voice growls, that deep, accented rumble sending warmth through my body and up to my face.

"Prove it," I dare him, and the next moment I let out a scream of ecstasy as he pulls me up and himself into my cunt, the fiery heat of his cock filling me like it was what I'd needed for ages and never realized.

He drapes my legs up on either side of his shoulders, broad hands on my hip and the small of my back as he starts rocking himself into me.

I can already feel the tension in my body letting loose, the man's cock sweeping it away with every gentle thrust into me. Conscious as he is of me, I feel his hands under me and realize he's in complete control, almost holding me up with his arms alone, able to move me around however he likes.

I'm so tight around him, and I try to move my hips in rhythm with his as best I can, but there's so much of the muscular figure surrounding me that I feel like a plaything in his hands as his thrusts start to get faster.

Harder.

I take silent cues from the gentle motions of his hand beneath me tells me when to twist my hips just so, and each time I heed him, the new angle works a side of me I hadn't even realized was tense, and his rhythmic breaths are punctuated by my irregular gasps of pleasure.

What am I doing? I abandoned the club, I left Natalie on her own, I-

My guilty thoughts are cut off as the man leans forward, pinning my arms down on either side of me and rutting into me furiously now.

The feeling of his shaft pumping in me at a faster and faster rhythm, the man looming over me totally controlling my every move even though I don't even know his name. Owning me for one night. Making me his.

Tension winds up in my stomach as I feel muscles contracting. My pussy is already tight around him, but my abdomen tightens further as I clench my eyes at the unstoppable wave of what's to come.

My every reflex wants to jerk away from the sensation, to just come and quickly ease myself out of it like when I touch myself on lonely nights at my apartment, but this man isn't letting me.

I'm a complete puppet to his desires, to his hunger, and I feel his breath hot on my neck as his bucking gets even harder and starts to become less and less regular.

My orgasm bursts through me like floodgates crashing open, and I let out a long, relieved gasp of pleasure and release even as I can feel the man's condom filling up inside me, the electric sensation rippling through both our bodies as he continues to ram himself into me.

I'm able to crack my eyes open through the feeling, and even through the truly overwhelming stimulation I can read on his face, there's focus, like he's pressing on and denying his own body the reflex to recoil that he's denying me.

Our bodies let themselves drop into relaxation after a few moments, and as he lowers his hot body onto me, his chest brushing against my sensitive nipples and hot breath washing over my neck, my legs tremble as our intense orgasms start to ebb, his shaft still totally submerged in me.

"Oh...my God," I manage between breaths, "you don't know how...how much I needed that."

He lifts his head, and his fingers gently guide my chin to turn my head and look at his chiseled, smiling face.

"Believe me," he says before bringing my lips to his for a long kiss, "I can tell."

I let a long breath out, feeling utterly exhausted and defeated on the bed, but his cock is so hot inside me, and still so hard. Any motion I make makes me gasp as the sensitive skin moves around his member.

My hand goes to his face, and he lets me touch it as if I were examining a piece of art, particularly as my index finger brushes his soft, thick lips. I can feel his hand stroking my side.

The only pang of remorse I feel is when he finally draws himself out of me, getting up off the bed and stepping to the bathroom.

"I'm going to wash up," he calls over his shoulder as he steps inside, "you're welcome to stay the night."

I blink and turn my head to look at the clock.

3:00 AM.

"Fuck," I whisper to myself.
I wasn't around to close the club!

I don't wait a second longer than the man closes the bathroom door to spring out of bed. Or try to, at least, as I almost fall to the ground on wobbly legs. But I power through it as I scramble to get my clothes on.

The club never closed. Natalie is surrounded by partiers. She's gonna quit tonight. The club is in ruins. It's actually on fire. It's already been bought by someone, there's broken glass and rubble everywhere, oh my God!

Those thoughts race through my head as I rush for the door. I pause for just a moment, casting a glance that lingers on the bathroom door where that statue of a man is running a hot shower.

I don't let myself dwell on the thought of how good it would feel to dive in with him, and I make a beeline for the door and call a cab back to the club.

A few minutes later, the driver is pulling up to the curb, and I see Natalie locking the front doors and strolling down the walkway, twirling the keychain around her finger.

Her face brightens into a cheery smile as she sees me clambering out of the taxi, flustered.

"Nothing fell to pieces while you were gone," she chimes before I can say anything, meandering over to the curb where I'm standing, the taxi still running behind me. "The partiers got drunker, they eventually wandered off, and your VIP lounge emptied out almost as soon as you were gone. We made a killing."

At this point, I'm opening and closing my mouth trying to protest something. What, exactly, I don't know. Natalie reaches me and rests her hands on her hips, smiling smugly in knowing I don't have a thing to legitimately fret about.

"So? How was it?"

I let out a defeated sigh and lean back against the cab, looking up at the sky as I cross my arms.

"Great. Fantastic, even." I turn my eyes to look at Natalie sidelong and add with a guilty tone, "You didn't happen to, uh, catch his name, did you?"

Natalie bursts out laughing, and I join a moment later as she playfully slaps me on the shoulder.

"Oh my
God
, Katy!"

"I know, I know, shut up!" I run a hand through my hair, embarrassment showing in the color in my cheeks even as I laugh. "But really," I start again, giving Natalie a genuinely grateful smile, "I needed a night off. Thanks, Nat."

"Just keep an eye out for him when he swings by again," she teases with a wink at me, "and get his damn number next time! Come on, I'll walk you to the cars."

As the sounds of our heels clicking on the asphalt of the parking lot echoes through the street, my smile fades before too long.

Even if Natalie can help me come to grips with the fact that I can't work around the clock, I can't deny the fact that I can't even look at this club of mine without feeling a pang in my stomach.

I don't know what the feeling is. Dread? Worry over the fact that, for all Natalie's protests, I can't do this every night? The feeling that I'm trapped keeping this place running? Yeah, probably all of the above.

Even as I watch Natalie's motorcycle pull out of the lot and I start the ignition of my own car, the vibration sending a shiver of a reminder of the night up my body, I can't help but think about how uncertain the future is. I might own a club, but this place is only scraping by month to month. The only thing keeping it up is my hard work.

The work never runs out.

And debts are due soon.

I
t's been
three months since I let myself take a night off with the suited stranger at my club. I dressed up the night after, even if I didn't want to admit I was doing it consciously, but all it earned me was a few compliments from the regulars. He didn't show.

The same thing happened the next night, and the next, and so on, until I finally stopped counting and figured he regretted something about the night.

I'm fine with it. I'm not the kind of lady who likes any more commitments than she has to take on, and right now, I have enough pre-existing commitments to worry about as it is.

The rain is pattering on the glass floor-length window of my apartment. "Floor-length window" being singular — my place isn't half as ritzy as most of the other club owners' in Brooklyn.

It has a charm of its own, though. Cozy, hardwood floors, and a decent view of a park below from where the windows face out onto the streets of Brighton Beach. It's no dump, but it's easy to find better places to call home on this side of town.

None of them are anywhere near my price range, though.

I'm padding around the apartment barefoot with Natalie, making a mental checklist of some of the junk I have laying around the place and writing them down on the tablet in my hand.

I raise an eyebrow at a couple of old art pieces I bought a few years back, now hanging on the light cream-colored walls near the windows.

"Aw, come on, Katy, the room's gonna look like a hospital without a
few
odds and ends to make it seem lived in," Natalie protests when she sees me eyeing the pieces. "You couldn't get much for 'em, anyway."

"Right now, each of them doesn't mean much more to me than its price tag, honestly," I reply flatly.

I stroll around the house, perusing a few other odds and ends.

"Let's see...that old computer could be sold for scrap parts, probably. And these old car speakers, I don't even know why I have those laying around in the first place. Some dusty college textbooks I never got more than a few weeks' use out of, those are definitely going."

I'm selling my stuff. A lot of it. As much of it as I can live to part with, in fact. Just as I'd had to cough up for my debts three months ago, and each month after that, the time is here once again to pay my dues. My dad’s old debts on top of the ‘protection money’ which just means they won’t rough me up, add up to a lot.

And I don't have the money, I admitted to Natalie just a few hours ago over the phone. I stop taking inventory a moment to flop down on the couch — which I can also probably part with too, I decide.

Natalie is frowning at an old lamp in her hands.

"Tch, seriously Katy, you've paid your dues on time every month since this stupid debt fell into your lap. Won't they, you know, cut you a little slack? It's not like you
can't
pay, it'll just be a couple more days."

When Dad passed, I inherited more than just the Amber Room. Dad liked to gamble, and the Russian mob in Brighton Beach ran all the rackets. Turns out, Dad wasn't such a lucky guy.

"It's the mafia, Nat," I let out in an exasperated breath, "being late on payments is first on the list of things not to do."

Up until now, I've been able to scrape by. Barely.

But the debts are due soon, and I realized too late that I'm short. So here I am, pawning off my old stuff on my tablet and silently hoping that Natalie is right.

Hidden expenses rack up, running a night club. Sure, it seems like it's just a matter of balancing the monthly bills with the income from drinks and cover charges, but maintenance fees start building up in waves. Every few months, someone breaks a barstool or a window or there's a problem with the sound system and not only do you have to shell out for that but also the DJ you hired won't work under these conditions and you have to scramble to pay another one last-minute and...

My thoughts are spinning like car tires in mud, and I clutch my head, holding back the sobs I feel welling up in my chest.

"I can't live like this," I say in a thick voice to Natalie, refusing to let myself cry in front of her. I can feel her eyes on me, though. "Hell, I don't know if I
will
live like this when the mob finds out I won't be able to make my payments."

Sitting up on the couch, I fold my legs beneath me and reach for the glass of cheap wine I have on the coffee table. My eyes wander across the room to an open box of old sports paraphernalia. A few signed baseballs, team pictures, postcards, mostly Mets stuff.

Can't sell any of that. Those belonged to Dad.

I stand up and make my way over to the box, pulling out a baseball and tossing it up and down thoughtfully.

You piece of shit, why'd you leave me to clean up this mess? You knew Mom and Steve weren't gonna be around to help me with this. You really couldn't find one of your goddamned Good Ol' Boys to help you out with money? Nobody owed you any favors, really?

Maybe I should just sell this crap.

But tears start to well up in my eyes at the thought, and I tear my eyes away from the box, pushing it under the couch so Natalie won't bring it up later.

Unfortunately for me, she proves adept at finding sour memories on her own.

“Tragic accident?” pipes up Natalie from across the room. My heart sinks as I glance over to see her poring through a stack of wrinkled old newspapers. “Wow, August 27, 2012. Why do you still have this stuff? You pack rat,” she adds with a giggle.

“Uh, it’s just some personal stuff,” I say hastily, and step across the cluttered floor to try and take the pile of papers back. Natalie cocks her head and I can see the little cogs turning in her brain as she puts two and two together.

She puts a hand on my shoulder and gives me an apologetic look. “What is it?”

I tuck the newspapers under my arm and turn away. I knew this would come up eventually. I just didn’t expect it to be now, while I have so much else going on. But when it rains, it pours, I suppose.

“I was in class when it happened. A summer class — intro to biology,” I begin quietly. The memory comes trickling back into focus. I was nineteen then, just starting out in college and totally absorbed with sorority life, with studying and partying in equal doses. “A cop came into the lecture hall and interrupted the professor to ask for me.”

“Oh no,” breathes Natalie.

“Yeah. They drove me to the hospital and I waited in the surgical ward for hours. All three of them were there. My mom, my little brother Steven, and my dad,” I say slowly, swallowing back the lump in my throat. It’s still hard to think about, even after a few years. Sometimes when I close my eyes I can still remember the smell of the hospital.

After a moment I continue. “Well, my dad was driving when the brakes went out on the bridge. He swerved so he wouldn’t hit the car in front of him but the car spun out and hit the railing on the left side. My mom was in the passenger seat and Steven was in the back behind her. They got the worst of it. Obviously, Dad pulled through after some stitches and a concussion. But my mom and brother… they didn’t make it.”

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Katy. I met your dad shortly before he died. He’s the one who hired me, and he was a great guy. But you know better than I do, he was all business. I had no idea what kind of stuff you guys went through.”

I shrug, rolling the newspapers up and out in my hands — a nervous tic I’ve developed. I always have to keep my hands busy with something. I know I’m strong, but I guess all that trauma has to come out some way or another.

“Yeah, Dad and I have that in common,” I admit lightly.

“Hey,” Natalie says with a gentle faux-punch to my arm, “you’re a tough kid. And maybe I didn’t know him for very long, but I can tell you without a doubt that he would be
so
proud of you.”

“Thanks, Nat,” I reply. But it’s hard for me to believe her words, knowing how close to falling apart I am, so close to losing everything my dad worked so hard for.

She sits down on the floor cross-legged and picks up a black binder full of baseball cards and photographs. A grin spreads across her face and she looks up at me.

“This all his stuff, I imagine?” she asks.

I nod and sit down across from her. “Yep. Dad was a huge baseball fanatic. I was eight when Steven was born and I remember my dad trying so hard to get him to say “Go Mets” as his first word.”

Natalie laughs. “But that’s two words!”

“I know! That’s what my mom said, too,” I reply with a chuckle. “But his first word ended up being ‘Kate,’ much to my father’s disappointment.”

“That’s adorable. You must’ve been his hero, Katy.”

“Yeah. There was a pretty wide age gap, you know. Eight years. But he was still like my best friend in a lot of ways. We used to quote cartoons at the dinner table to annoy Mom and Dad. They could never figure out what we were talking about. I miss him a lot,” I say with a sigh.

“I can’t even imagine,” Natalie says.

“It helps being busy all the time, you know,” I reply, trying to brighten my tone.

“Well, running the club definitely keeps you on your feet.”

“That’s for sure,” I murmur. “I just hope I can keep it afloat. I kinda feel like the club and I are both running on fumes at this point.”

“Owning a business is a lot of pressure, Katy,” she replies, shaking her head. “But you gotta realize that you’re not alone in this, okay? We’re all here for you. I know it sucks that all those guys quit when your dad died because they couldn’t handle working there without him around. I get that. I can’t really blame them. They were all good friends and some people just can’t cope very well. Just know that they didn’t leave because they wanted to abandon you, alright? And either way, you got me, Ashton, Charles, and the rest of the crew on your side. We won’t let you or the club go down without a fight.”

“I know. I’m lucky to have you guys around,” I answer, beaming. Despite the burden on my shoulders and the dark cloud of an unpaid debt looming over my head, it really did feel good to know that my employees were in this for the long haul.

“So, weird question: is this on the list of things to sell?” Natalie asks, holding up the binder of baseball cards. I stare at it for a long moment, pondering what degree of guilt I would suffer if I were to sell my dad’s beloved memorabilia.

“I don’t know,” I answer uncertainly.

“Because I can tell you right now, some of these cards are probably worth a pretty good amount of money at this point. Nothing too insane, of course, but it could help,” she explains. “But that’s only if you’re okay with it. I know it’s hard to let go of stuff like this sometimes. No judgment if you decide to just hold onto it.”

I bite my lip and shake my head slowly. “I might have to put that on hold.”

“Totally understandable. We’ll put it in the “not today” pile.”

I start looking through the online auction pages on my tablet, checking the competition. “Maybe I could sell my body parts on the black market,” I muse aloud.

“I hear kidneys go for, like, ten thousand each or something,” Natalie says, playing along.

“Oh, that’s perfect. I don’t need my kidneys anyway. What have they ever done for me?”

“And ten thousand is enough for, what, two months? Best idea yet.”

“What about my liver? Surely I can do without that.”

“Katy, you own a club. Where alcohol is served. Your liver is very important.”

We both laugh and I get to my feet. “On that note, do you want any more wine? I know I could really use something to make this a little less depressing.”

Natalie yawns and slides her phone screen open, squinting at the digital clock. “Aw man. Actually, I think I need to head out. I’m supposed to meet my mother for dinner, unfortunately.”

“Oh, that sounds like a good time,” I say from the kitchen. I hear Natalie scoff in disagreement. I open the refrigerator and pour myself another glass of wine.

“Yeah, listening to my mom list the many reasons why she’s disappointed in me is always a real party,” she retorts, and I can almost feel her rolling her eyes.

“Do you want a shot or something before you go, then?” I offer, only half serious.

She laughs and waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t tempt me, Katy. The last thing I need is for her to accuse me of being an alcoholic, too!” She gets up and opens her arms to hug me before she plucks up her bag and sweater.

“Good luck with all this,” she says to me before she leaves.

I shrug. “I got it. No big deal. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yep. I’ll be the one behind the bar.”

And with that, she walks out into the hall and gets into the elevator. I plop down on the couch again, swirling my glass of wine absentmindedly. Looking around the room at all the memories strewn about, I heave a sigh, realizing that I still don’t know what the hell I’m even going to do. I start researching how much I could sell my couch for, when suddenly there’s a sharp knock at the door. I glance over in confusion. It’s eight o’clock at night.

Then it hits me. It’s probably just Natalie. Maybe she forgot something — or perhaps she’s decided she wants to take that shot, after all. I smile to myself as I cross the room to answer it.

When I turn the lock, I'm knocked back from the door as it gets shoved open, and I hear the voice of the man in the back greeting me through my sharp cry.