Throttle's Seduction: Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 7) (22 page)

He heard the bathroom door close and he sneaked a peek out of the closet door. Straining to hear over the AC, he relaxed as he realized she was taking a shower. She’d be clean for him; he liked that. The door squeaked open and he stood still, watching her even though he knew he was taking a big chance that she’d see him. He couldn’t help it; she was luscious and so pretty, her skin pink from the warm shower and steam. The close-trimmed strip of hair on her tantalizing mound made him reel.

Then she opened her dresser’s top drawer, and he held his breath. She took out the sexiest bubblegum pink hip-hugger panty that he’d ever seen. When she slid it on, the floral lace hugging every curve, he nearly exploded. She stopped for a moment, her body stiff, as if she sensed something. He stepped back, his heart racing so fast he thought he may pass out. He quietly took a few steps to the side and hid himself among her many dresses. The scent of spiced vanilla curled around him, grabbing hold of his hard dick.

Several minutes passed, and then the light from the bedroom window flooded inside; she was so near, and his level of anticipation was off the charts. He swallowed, hoping she hadn’t heard him. She grabbed a hanger and her fingers almost touched his chin. She placed some clothes on it, hung it on the closet rod. “Damnit,” she said aloud, then turned around and bent down. She wore only a T-shirt, and the cheeks of her butt escaped the skimpy fabric covering it. Not being able to stand it another minute, he pushed out, grabbing her from behind, his large hand clasped over her mouth.

His victim kicked back with her feet, but he’d already anticipated it so he was prepared. Being the hunter always gave him advantage over the hunted, and he liked that
a lot
. She thrashed, pushed against him, and screamed loud when he had to use both hands to subdue her. She twisted around and her eyes bulged, her muscles rigid. “You? What the fuck?”

He smiled and shoved her over to the bed, slamming her down hard. He used those few seconds of shocked recognition to overpower her, sitting on top of her as he tied her hands and feet securely to the bed, duct taping her mouth. He rose up and leaned over to grab her gun on the nightstand, taking out the bullets and slipping them in his pocket. She squirmed, pulling on the rope. She was so pretty; he’d always thought so. Slowly he ran his fingers down her face, marveling at the softness. “They’re secure. You’re not going anywhere.” Her brown eyes pleaded with him not to do what he had to.

He breathed out, knowing they had time—a lot of it. She had two full days off, and that was more than enough to satisfy all his fetishes and cravings. With a detached, cruel smile, he inched up her T-shirt.

*     *     *

Detective McCue chewed
his gum vigorously as he stared at the lifeless body of Deputy Manzik. A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed it down, a sudden coldness hitting him and spreading through his body. He’d really liked her, and to see the life strangled out of her hit him hard. As many homicides as he’d worked, he still never got used to seeing the dead eyes of the victims.

Murder wasn’t the norm in Pinewood Springs; the last homicide had been a year or so before, when the Pinewood Strangler had killed several young women. Since that case, the town had been pretty much homicide-free. He’d been a homicide detective in Denver before relocating to Pinewood Springs, and had seen his share of violent murders. It was at his wife’s insistence that he’d traded the smog and noise for fresh air and muted sounds. At first he’d missed the action, the pulse of the city, but in time, he came to appreciate the slower pace of life. A big kudos was that he didn’t have to see the opaque eyes of homicide victims very often. After the Pinewood Strangler case was put to rest, he didn’t think anything would strike the town again, but he was wrong. What started as a man who peered into women’s houses had escalated rapidly in the past couple of months to rape, and now murder.

McCue exhaled. Even though he was a seasoned detective, knowing the victim just punched him in the gut. Sharon was only thirty years old, and she’d had her eyes on being a detective; she would’ve made a damn good one too. He was proud of how hard she’d worked while always maintaining her compassion. She’d been on the force for five years and had recently completed her degree in criminal justice, a must if she wanted to make detective.

He shook his head. He just couldn’t believe she’d become a fucking statistic. Life shouldn’t end in violence. Blinking rapidly he turned away, surveying the room. That time, the sonofabitch made a huge mistake—he’d killed someone close to McCue. At that moment, the detective made a silent vow to Sharon as they wheeled her out that he’d find the goddamned killer and make sure he paid for what he’d done.

Seeing the body of a fellow cop, a woman he’d known and guided, was the worst. The previous day, he’d laughed and talked with her, and now she was gone—all the laughter choked out of her. She’d been so excited over having a couple days off, and now she left her home in a body bag. With his jaw working overtime on the gum, he rubbed his eyes, then watched the nondescript burgundy van take away the body of Deputy Sharon Manzik.

K
imber sat staring
at her phone, wondering why she gave a shit that Throttle hadn’t contacted her in the past several days. She knew the score; she wasn’t an ordinary citizen who glamorized bikers, yet she let herself get sucked in
again
. Give her a broad-shouldered, tattooed man with long hair and earrings and she weakened at the knees every damn time. Maybe when she was eighty she’d learn to steer clear of hot bad boys.

She pulled her hair up in a high ponytail to let her neck cool off. It was another scorcher and she knew she should go inside her cool house, but she loved sitting on the front porch, watching how life played out one small step at a time. Her phone alarm rang, tipping her off that it was time to go to work. On lazy summer days, she didn’t feel like doing anything but sip on iced tea and sit on her front porch; a good book in her hand was always an extra treat. If only she had enough money to take a trip somewhere—anywhere. She hadn’t even been to Denver since she arrived in Colorado. She’d driven through on her way to Silver Ridge, but that didn’t really count. What was it about the summer that made her so restless for something new and exciting to happen? She’d thought she’d found her summer fling, but the way Throttle was dissing her now only made her want to kick him in the balls. Hard. Very hard.

She reluctantly stood up and went inside to fix up before going to the shop.

When she arrived at work, Hawk was in a heated discussion with another man who, from the patch on his cut, was from his MC. As she scooted past them, she overheard them say something about the Demon Riders—Chewy’s club.
What the hell do the Insurgents have with them?
She knew the Riders had a chapter in Denver, but as far as she could tell, they didn’t have any presence in Insurgents’ territory. After changing into her uniform, she walked over to the mini fridge, took out a large can of sweet tea, and made her way to the service garage.

While the music pulsed around her, she buried herself in fixing a rice burner. Normally, they didn’t get too many bikes that weren’t Harleys, but when they did, she wasn’t too crazy about working on them. They didn’t have the powerful feel of her beloved Harley-Davidsons, and she always wondered why anyone would buy anything but the American-made bikes. Singing along to “Born in the USA,” she worked on replacing the motorcycle’s belt. Halfway through the song, she noticed her phone shaking on the work table. She wiped her hands on a towel and picked up her phone, opening the text.

Throttle:
Babe. U good?

She rolled her eyes even though her stomach fluttered. So he finally contacted her. What she should do was ignore him and go right back to replacing the belt on that bike, but the memory of his lips on hers was too powerful and delicious.

Kimber:
Ya. U been busy?

Throttle:
Yep. Work & planning road trip to Denver 4 bike expo. Ur coming with me.

What the hell was he talking about? She didn’t remember him telling her about a motorcycle expo. And why in the hell wasn’t he asking her if she wanted to go?

Kimber:
U asking or telling?

Throttle:
If ur answer is yes, then asking—if no, then telling.

She laughed aloud.

Kimber:
Need to know more about it.

Throttle:
Let’s talk tonite. MC going to Steelers. I’ll pick u up @ 8.

Kimber:
Again ur not asking.

Throttle:
U don’t wanna go?

Kimber:
I do.

Throttle:
Then what’s the problem?

She shook her head, a smile whispering on her lips. The whole asking versus telling was inconceivable to him, and she wasn’t in the mood to educate him, at least not at that moment. But she was dying to see him—her body ached for him—and she missed talking and hanging out with him.

Kimber:
No problem. See u @ 8. Gotta get back to work.

For the rest of the afternoon, she hummed and sang along with all the songs on the rock station as she made the rice burner purr like it was brand new. Excited that she wasn’t going to spend the night with her computer and leftover Chinese food, she glanced at the clock, wishing it were six o’clock. Closing time couldn’t come fast enough.

She was so fucking hooked.

*     *     *

The jangle of
voices greeted them when they arrived at Steelers Bar and Grill. The place was hopping, and the hard rock music jumped and danced in the biker bar. Throttle had his arm around her waist as he wound around warm bodies, making his way to the other side of the bar where all the Insurgents were gathered. She noticed how many of the women checked him out blatantly, like she wasn’t there, and winked or giggled at him when they’d catch his eye. He just kept plowing forward until they reached the Insurgents’ group.

“Let’s get a beer,” he said in her ear, his hot breath sending shivers up her spine.

They leaned against the bar, and a burly man with a red, bulbous nose came over and greeted Throttle. His eyes dropped for a brief moment at her low-cut neckline, but then he spun around and poured two beers in large frothy mugs. Kimber touched the hair lying on the shoulder of her black mesh dress, the pink tips a beacon of neon against the dark fabric.

As they approached the gathering, she noticed several women drinking and laughing at two tables that had been put together. Other than Hawk, Cara, and Throttle, she didn’t know anyone, and she felt a little bit out of place.

Throttle cupped her chin and kissed her lips softly. “You look beautiful.”

She stroked his cheek. “You already told me that when you picked me up.”

“I know, and I plan on telling you over and over all night.” He squeezed her shoulders and kissed her again. She laughed and laid her head on his shoulder.

“You gonna introduce me to your date?” Rags asked while Rock nodded behind him.

“This is Kimber, and these two losers are Rags and Rock.”

“Hi,” she said as she tried to avoid their raking eyes.

“Are you the woman mechanic at Hawk’s shop?” Rags inquired. Throttle scowled.

“Yes. If you ever need a tune-up or anything, just come on by.”

“What does ‘anything’ include?” Rock asked, a wide smile on his face.

Before she could answer, Throttle’s beer mug crashed to the floor and his fist met Rock’s jaw, who reacted by throwing a punch in Throttle’s face. In a matter of minutes, the two men were cussing, throwing punches, and breathing heavily until Rags, Chas, Jerry, and Jax pulled the two men off one another.

“What the fuck is up with you two?” Jerry asked as he slammed Throttle against the back wall. “We got our old ladies here. Fuck, if you wanna kill yourselves, take it out back.”