Grave Diggers MC: Solo

by Lynne, Carol

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Grave Diggers MC: Solo Copyright © 2014 Carol Lynne

  Trademark Acknowledgement

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  The Biker’s Milkmaid by Landry Michaels

  www.stiffrainpress.com

  Grave Diggers MC

  SOLO

  By Carol Lynne

  Stiff Rain Press

  http://www.StiffRainPress.com

  Grave Diggers MC: Solo

  Copyright © 2014 Carol Lynne

  Edited by Christine Allen-Riley and Jessica Berry

  Cover Art by Reese Dante, www.reesedante.com

  Published by Stiff Rain Press

  1093 A1A Beach Blvd, #146

  St. Augustine, FL 32080

  Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-62344-023-7

  Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Electronic Release: February 2014

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the author, Carol Lynne.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Carol Lynne. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers.

  Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Nova:General Motors LLC

  Harley:H-D LLC

  Honda Accord:Honda Motor Co., Ltd

  Starbucks:Starbucks Corporation

  Toyota:Toyota Jidosha Kabushiki Kaisha TA Toyota Motor Corporation

  Walmart:Wal-mart Stores, Inc.

  Spiderman:

  Jack Daniels:Jack Daniel's Properties, Inc.

  Glock: Glock, Inc.

  Smith & Wesson:Smith & Wesson Corp

  Led Zeppelin:

  Sam “Solo” Braun lives by one truth, the Grave Diggers Motorcycle Club above all. The creed has served him well, giving him the only real family he’s ever known. He would die for his brothers and them for him, but they don’t know he prefers men over women. Coming out to a group of men who fear no one isn’t high on Solo’s priority list, especially because he’s never indulged in more than one night stands.

  Everything changes after one night with Eric James. For the first time, Solo can’t stop thinking about a single night he’d spent with a man. When fate intervenes, Solo comes face to face with his blue-eyed obsession only to find out Eric is a cop. Solo hates cops, and so do his brothers in the club. However, Solo decides to gamble everything and spend more time with Eric under the guise of getting information.

  Falling in love with a cop is a very dangerous proposition for a man in Solo’s position, so why can’t he walk away?

  Dedication

  To my dear friend, Kristina. Thank you for your continued advice and support.

  Chapter One

  Sam “Solo” Braun leaned against the bar at Lucky’s and stared at the candy store laid out in front of him. He didn’t fit in with the rest of the patrons, which made him stick out in a good way. Men who were interested in sweet words, long walks or cuddling didn’t give men like him the time of day. Nope, those sweater-wearing assholes looked at a man like him for just one reason, they wanted to be fucked and fucked hard. Letting some corporate do-gooder ride his pole for an hour or so was all he was after, and he rarely had to wait long before the one he chose approached him.

  Case in point: Solo had spotted the black-haired, light blue-eyed piece of ass the moment he’d walked in. Whoever the hell he was, Solo had never seen him in Lucky’s before. He would have remembered. Shit, the bastard making his cock hard was a snack wrapped in a package of snug blue jeans and a black T-shirt.

  Those fucking eyes. He shook his head. He’d never seen anything like them. Light blue wasn’t quite the right word to describe them; they were the color of soft faded denim. Yeah, that’s exactly what color they were.

  Solo lifted his beer to his lips, but kept his gaze on the prize. He didn’t approach guys, ever. All he had to do was watch them until they eventually realized they had eyes on them and turned to find out who was staring.

  Blue Eyes threw his head back and laughed at something his friend said, flashing a twin set of fuck-me dimples.

  For a brief moment, Solo considered fucking the guy more than once just to see those fucking dimples again. “Christ,” he groaned.

  Before he could get too far into thinking once might not be enough, Blue Eyes pushed back his chair and stood. He grabbed the empty pitcher on the table and turned toward the bar.

  Solo knew the moment Blue Eyes spotted him. One minute he had a grin on his face, and the next he’d stopped dead and met Solo’s gaze, his smile falling away in an instant. Solo continued to wait.

  Blue Eyes set the empty pitcher on the bar. “Another one, please,” he told the bartender as he dug out his wallet. He glanced at Solo three times before eventually speaking. “Hey.”

  Solo dipped his chin in reply.

  “It’s really crowded in here,” Blue said.

  Solo shrugged and finally gave in to his needs. “There could be a thousand men in here, and I’d still have seen you.”

  Blue’s cheeks flushed as he handed the bartender a twenty. “You wanna dance?”

  Solo shook his head. Instead, he pushed out the stool beside him with his booted foot. “I don’t dance.”

  Blue bit his bottom lip and glanced over his shoulder at his friends. “Would you wait for me to take this to the table and hit the restroom first?”

  “Fair enough.” Solo watched Blue go. He could always follow him and take care of business in there, but he wanted a closer look at those damn eyes, and the lighting above the urinals was all kinds of bullshit. No, he’d wait until he gotten his fill of Blue’s eyes before fucking him.

  * * * *

  Eric James stared at his reflection in the mirror as he washed his hands. “What the hell are you thinking, James?” he asked himself. A man like that is trouble and you know it, he continued silently.

  “Fuck!” he spat, knowing he was going back to the bar regardless of how long he tried to talk himself out of it. Despite his misgivings, the man was too hot, too dangerous, too tattooed not to explore for a few hours. That Goddamn shoulder-length dark brown hair and those wicked brown eyes had attracted him, but that fucking black widow spider tattoo on the side of the guy’s neck had made him hard the moment he’d spotted it.

  The door opened, and the biker walked in. “Thought maybe you’d changed your mind,” he grumbled, his voice so low it made Eric’s balls vibrate.

  “There was a line,” Eric
lied. He turned to face the biker. “I’m Eric, by the way.”

  “Solo.”

  Eric knew most bikers had street names, but Solo seemed odd for the tough sonofabitch backing him against the wall. “Like the cup?”

  Solo stared down at Eric as if Eric had lost his damn mind. “Why the fuck would I let people nickname me after a fucking red cup? Solo because I prefer to be alone.” He pressed his much bigger body against Eric. “Most of the time.”

  Eric felt a moment of panic but quickly pushed it back. Christ, he hadn’t realized how big Solo was. At five eleven, he knew he wasn’t qualified to play professional basketball, but he’d never before felt so damn small. There had to be at least a six inch height difference between them, and he had no clue how many pounds Solo had on him. Not fat by any means. From what Eric could tell, Solo’s body was rock-hard perfection. He rested his hands on Solo’s chest. Oh, hell, yeah, there was hard muscle under his palms. Fuck.

  “You wanna get outta here, Blue?” Solo cupped Eric’s ass. “We can go back to your place or grab a hotel room down the street.”

  Eric wasn’t sure he cared for either option. He didn’t know Solo enough to take him home, but a hotel seemed so…seedy, but, damn, he liked the nickname Solo had already given him. “What about your house?”

  Slowly, Solo shook his head from side to side. “My place’s off limits.”

  Eric’s entire body went rigid. Fuck. He’d known it was too good to be true. He’d been in this situation before. “You married?”

  Solo grinned. “Nope. No wife, no girlfriend, no pussy of any kind, but it’s not uncommon for people to stop over at all hours.” He squeezed Eric’s ass. “Your place or a hotel?”

  God, please protect me, Eric prayed. “I live a couple miles from here.”

  “Good.” Solo released Eric. “Did you drive?”

  Eric shook his head. He’d been drinking, of course he didn’t drive. “Cab.”

  “You can ride with me,” Solo grunted before opening the restroom door.

  “Have you been drinking?” Eric asked. He had no doubt there was a big motorcycle waiting for Solo in the parking lot, and he wasn’t about to hitch a ride with a drunk man, regardless of how sexy he was.

  “Two beers, but I was born drinking whisky from my wasted mom’s tit, so I’m good.” Solo curled his right hand around the back of Eric’s neck as they made their way through the crowd.

  Eric caught his friend’s gaze as they passed the table and nodded toward Solo. No doubt he’d get raked over the coals by John later, but that didn’t deter him. He was going home with a sexy badass. All the years of fantasizing had finally come to an end.

  The warm July air hit Eric as soon as they stepped outside. He opened his mouth to comment on it, but snapped his jaws shut without a word. They weren’t on a date, and he needed to remember that. He was going home with Solo for one reason, and that was to fuck. It wasn’t as though he was new to one-night stands, but he’d always preferred to spend a couple of carnal-filled days with men before parting ways. He glanced up at Solo. No way that was happening. Solo didn’t strike him as the kind of guy who would stay the night, much less the weekend.

  Solo dug a set of keys out of his jean pocket before straddling the bike. He jerked his head, motioning for Eric to climb on behind him.

  Although they didn’t live in a state with strict helmet laws, Eric was uncomfortable riding without one. “No helmet?”

  Solo reached behind him and dug into a soft-sided saddlebag before producing a black half-helmet. He held it out to Eric all without uttering a single word.

  “Thanks.” Eric put the helmet on before tightening the strap under his chin. He threw his leg over the bike and settled on the seat behind Solo. “Down to Wabash and take a left. I live at thirteen twenty-nine Grant Avenue.”

  “Hang on, Blue,” Solo grumbled. He reached back and pulled Eric closer.

  Eric wrapped his arms around Solo and rested his cheek on Solo’s broad back as his cock pressed between them. He hoped the wind would sober him up enough to remember every last detail of the time he and Solo shared.

  * * * *

  “Solo!” Switch bellowed.

  Solo stilled his pool cue and glanced up at the Grave Diggers Motorcycle Club Prez. “Yeah?” Hours earlier, Solo had delivered the custom bike he’d built after working on the damn thing night and day for nearly a month. It was the first chance he’d had to relax and kick back, and Switch knew it, so why the fuck was he interrupting his game? He handed his stick to his best friend Rowdy before approaching the Prez.

  Switch held up a small plastic bag of weed. “I thought you took care of this shit!” he yelled.

  “I did. Beat the motherfucker selling it so bad he won’t be sitting upright for weeks.” Solo snatched the bag out of Switch’s hand. “This isn’t Stevie Boy’s shit. He always puts a black mark on the corner of his bags.” He studied the bag before handing it back to the other man. He had no doubt the bag had contained more of the meth laced marijuana they’d run across lately. “Where’d you get it?”

  “BlackJack, over at Turner High dropped it off. He said it was knocked loose from someone’s pocket during a fight in the hall this morning. He found it under the drinking fountain when he cleaned up the mess.”

  “If you talk to him again, tell him I’m on it.” Solo handed the weed back to Switch, knowing it would probably go right into the pipe Switch kept in his office.

  Turner High School was in the affluent section of town. No way could a dealer make money on laced weed anywhere else, but those rich high school fucks were stupid. Luckily, they had BlackJack. Sometimes, it was cool having a member entrenched in the local schools. Once he’d been ready to step back from the club, BlackJack Stevens had taken a janitorial job at one of the local high schools. It was the way of the club. When a brother got too old to fight, he turned his attention to other things the club had going. In BlackJack’s case, he helped with the Keeping it Clean project the MC spearheaded. Solo had come up with the idea nearly eleven years ago after his baby sister, Jessica, had overdosed in a high school bathroom stall during her lunch break. Working to keep assholes from selling drugs in a four-block radius of the schools sure as hell wasn’t easy, but the club had supported the idea and still did.

  “Find out where that shit came from, and take care of it,” Switch ordered before walking away.

  Fuck. Solo glanced at Rowdy. He doubted the motherfucking dealer was still standing on the street at eleven o’clock at night, but it was worth a shot. He grabbed his cut. The black leather vest was like a second skin to him most of the time, but the air conditioning in the club had gone to hell in the last week. “Let’s ride.”

  Rowdy laid the pool sticks on the table before following. They reached the parking lot behind the MC, but instead of heading to their Harleys, they walked straight to Solo’s black, seventy-three Nova. Words didn’t need to be exchanged for the two of them to be on the same page. Rowdy had patched into Grave Diggers the same year Solo had, and the two of them had clicked immediately. Yeah, Rowdy was his boy, and Solo couldn’t think of a better man to watch his back.

  Keyed up and pissed off, Solo tore out of the parking lot. How the hell had someone snuck under his radar? He glanced at the healing scabs on his knuckles from the beating he’d given Stevie Boy the week before. He made a right onto Lowell Avenue and kept his eyes open. It wasn’t a secret among the dealers that the Grave Diggers watched the area, which is why Solo opted for the Nova. One rumble from his Harley and the little fuckers scrambled like cockroaches.

  When he hit Brookline, Solo slowed the car to a crawl. If someone was out selling, he knew he’d look like he was buying.

  “There. Up and to the right,” Rowdy said, pointing his finger at two shadows huddled together under a low-hanging branch.

  “Got ‘em,” Solo replied as he inched the Nova toward the men. The moment he pulled to a stop, the two men took off in different directions. “I’ve got the
one in the hoodie,” he yelled to Rowdy as he threw open his door and took off. His heavy black boots ate up the pavement in pursuit of the crazy motherfucker. Who the fuck wore a hoodie in August?

  Solo made a sharp right as the scum in the jacket disappeared between two houses. When he rounded the corner of the white two-story house, he slowed. Shit. The weasel was nowhere in sight. A dog in the neighbor’s backyard was barking its fool head off, so he had no doubt the scumbag was still close, probably hiding. He heard the backdoor open and quickly stepped back into the shadows as the dog’s owner started yelling. Although he was trying to catch a fucking dealer, Solo was sure the homeowner wouldn’t believe him. With his above average size and wearing the cut, most people he encountered were scared shitless whenever he approached them.

  After several moments, the homeowner got his dog inside and shut the door. Unfortunately, the dealer was probably long gone. Irritated, Solo blew out a breath and turned back toward the Nova.

  Solo made his way onto the street and jogged toward Rowdy, who was currently in a fistfight with the second man. He knew Rowdy didn’t need help, but Solo enjoyed watching punks get the shit beat out of them so he stopped several yards away.

  In their scuffling, Rowdy and the second man had moved out from under the tree as they went blow for blow. Solo crossed his arms over his chest and settled in to watch the fight, impressed with the bastard’s ability to take a punch and stay on his feet. When the overhead streetlamp gave him a glimpse of Rowdy’s opponent’s face, he went still.

  Blue.

  Solo’s breath hitched at the sight of the man he’d fucked weeks earlier. It had been one of the best he’d had in a very long time, and on more than one occasion, he’d considered knocking on Blue’s door for a repeat.