Throttle's Seduction: Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 7) (28 page)

Kimber smiled weakly. One of the pros of being the only female in a traditionally male job was that, after time, she was treated as one of the guys. But it became a con when she was included in all the raunchy jokes, innuendos, and details of her fellow employee’s sex lives—something she could definitely live without.

“I have to go to class. See you tomorrow.” She dashed out of the shop and left the parking lot with a trail of noise behind her.

After her two classes, she went to the student center to have an iced tea with her friends. They talked for a couple hours about classes, the worst professors, and guys. She didn’t reveal that her guy was an outlaw biker, since they’d probably conjure up images of movies and television programs about the outlaw world.

Kimber glanced at the wall clock and stood. “I better get going. I have a bunch of stuff to finish for Donsky’s class. I can’t wait for the summer session to end.”

“Me too. It seems like it’s really dragging. Then when we get out, we only have a two-week break before the fall semester starts.” Carla stood from the table and slung her backpack over her shoulder. “I’m heading out too. I’ll walk with you.”

Kimber gathered her books, then noticed her laptop wasn’t there. She looked under the table, on the floor, and searched her tote again. Her stomach sank when she couldn’t find it. “Does anyone remember if I had my laptop with me when we sat down?”

“I didn’t see it,” Carla replied.

“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” Mitzi said.

“Same here,” Terri and Nikki voiced.

“Did you leave it in class?” Carla asked.

“I must have. I thought I had it in Donsky’s class, but I don’t remember. I have to go back and check.” Kimber stuffed all her things in her tote and threw it on her shoulder.

“I’d go with you, but I have somewhere I have to be,” Carla said.

“That’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow. I have to fly.” Kimber rushed out of the student center and zipped across the campus to the business building. Grateful that a class wasn’t in session, she went into the two rooms she’d sat in a few hours before and searched for her laptop. It was nowhere. Tears stung at her eyes; she had just bought the laptop after saving up for it for a year, and she didn’t have the budget to buy a new one. Her class project was safe since she’d backed up her work, but she had all her music, photos, and other personal stuff on it.

She went to the faculty offices and was happy to see Dr. Redman and Dr. Donsky still in their offices. Another student was there, but she poked her head in anyway. “I’m sorry to bother you, but did you find a laptop after our class? I can’t find mine and was thinking I may have left it in the classroom.” She crossed her fingers.

Dr. Redman slowly shook his head. “No. I didn’t find anything after class, and no one turned it in at my office.” A knot formed in the pit of her stomach, and hot tears burned behind her eyes.

“Did you lose something?” Dr. Donsky came out of his office and stood by her. “I overheard you.”

“A laptop.” Her face held hope.

“No. I didn’t see it. I can’t believe someone would take it.”

Her hope shattered, and she tried not to lose it in front of her professors. “I don’t think someone would do that either, but it’s gone and I can’t find it.” Her voice hitched.

“Check lost and found. If it’s not there, go over to security to file a report. I’m sure it’ll turn up. Did you back up all your work?” Dr. Redman asked.

She nodded, eager to get away before she broke down and cried like a baby. “Thanks for the advice.” She stumbled away, but Dr. Donsky grabbed her elbow.

When she flashed him a confused, pissed look, he quickly said, “I thought you were going to fall. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” she mumbled. “I have to go.” She hurried out of the building and made her way to lost and found.

Twenty minutes later, she stormed to her bike, tears threatening to spill down her face. No one had turned in her laptop; she knew they wouldn’t. Someone probably found it and kept it.
Fuck! This sucks!
She tried so hard to do everything right, but life just kept kicking her in the gut. Throwing her tote in the saddlebags, she jumped on her bike and sped away to the nearest grocery store for a junk food run. She needed macaroni and cheese, chocolate cupcakes with thick dark chocolate frosting, a bag of spicy nacho cheese chips, and a two-liter bottle of regular—not diet—Coke. That should make her feel a little bit better. She swung her bike into the store’s parking lot and went in to execute her plan.

As she sat on her couch, crunching on chips and slugging Coke down her throat, her phone vibrated. She picked it up.

Throttle:
Hey, babe. U wanna hang out? Ribs?

Kimber:
Sorry. Not 2nite. Had a shitty day.

Throttle:
I’ll come over. I can pick up something.

Blowing out a long breath, she bit down on another chip, wiping the fake cheese powder on her napkin. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but she wanted to be alone. She wasn’t in the mood to play girlfriend or lover. She was fucking pissed and upset about her computer, and the only thing she wanted to spend time with was her stash of junk food.

Kimber:
Don’t B mad. Not in the mood. Want 2 B alone.

Throttle:
I’m coming over.

She threw the remote across the table.
He’s so fucking exasperating!

Kimber:
Do u ever take no for an answer?

Throttle:
No. What happened today?

Kimber:
Lost my laptop. Saved up to buy it. Very upset.

Throttle:
Fuck. I’ll see u in 30 minutes.

Kimber:
It’s ok. I won’t be good company.

He didn’t reply, and she knew he was going to come by. Why couldn’t he understand that she wanted to wallow in self-pity, watch a brainless show, and eat her stash?
If he thinks I’m going to be fucked out of my mood, he’s damn wrong. He wants to come, fine, but he better not expect me to play the goddamned hostess.
She reached over, grabbed the remote, and stared at the TV screen.

As she watched a hokey love story, a noise outside caught her attention. She lowered the volume on the TV and turned her head toward the window on the side of her house. There it was again, like something scratching on the wood. And again. That time, it was like something dragging across her screen.
Fuck! It sounds like someone is trying to open my window.
Her adrenaline spiked and her knees went weak as she slowly inched her way to the front door. When she spotted Riley’s cherry-red truck, her hand flew to her mouth, suppressing a scream. She hadn’t heard from him for a couple weeks, so she’d figured he’d finally given up.

Slowly pulling the drapes closed on her living room window, she tiptoed over to the window where she’d heard the noise and stood to the side, looking through the small sliver in the blinds. She discerned a black hat, and knew for sure it was Riley who was trying to break into her house. Cursing herself for forgetting to set the alarm, she rushed over to the alarm box and, with shaking fingers, plugged in the code. Nothing. She had the code wrong. She racked her brain to remember what it was, but she couldn’t.
I better call the police.
As she picked up the phone, she heard the low rumble of Throttle’s Harley. Relief flooded over her, and she breathed again.

From the corner of the curtain, she watched his bike glide to the curb before he leapt off his bike and ran to the side of her house. She flung open the front door and stepped out on her porch. Loud yelling and cussing accompanied loud thuds against her siding. She jumped off the porch and came around the corner; a red-faced Riley sputtered and gasped for air while pinned against the wall by Throttle, who had his hands around his neck.

“Throttle, stop!” She rushed over to him and grabbed his arm, trying in vain to pull him off Riley. “You’re going to kill him.”

“That’s my fuckin’ intention.” He squeezed harder as Riley unsuccessfully attempted to push him away.

“Please, Throttle. Stop.” Her voice hitched, and he looked at her before finally pulling his hands away. Riley rubbed his neck as he inhaled large gulps of air, his face beginning to return to its normal color.

Inches from the cowboy’s face, Throttle said, “I fuckin’ caught you peeking in my woman’s windows, asshole.”

“I was just trying—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Throttle punched Riley in the face.

Kimber crossed her arms. “I’ll call the police.”

“I don’t need any fuckin’ badges around. I’ll take care of this in my own way.” He slammed the cowboy against the house again.

“I didn’t mean any harm. I was only seeing if you were home. I was in the neighborhood—my good friend lives a few blocks from here—and I wanted to say hi. I didn’t mean to scare you, Kimber. Honest. I swear on the Bible and my grandmother’s grave that I didn’t mean any harm. I just wanted to see if there was any hope we could have another try at dating.”

When he said “dating,” Throttle banged him against the house again. Then in a low, cruel voice, he said, “Kimber’s my woman. You stay the fuck away from her. I don’t want anyone messing with her. I don’t want you to look at her, talk to her, or even fucking dream about her.” He slammed him again. “‘Cause if you do, you’re dead. You won’t know where I’ll be or when I’ll come, but I will come for you. Do you get my drift?” Another slam against the wall.

Riley bobbed his head up and down.

Throttle pushed him to the ground and kicked him in the stomach. “Get the fuck outta here before I change my mind and get rid of you right now.”

Riley stumbled to his feet and, with his hand over his stomach, staggered to his truck. Climbing in quickly, he drove away. Throttle watched him leave, then turned to Kimber. “You okay, babe?”

Clutching at her arm, she said in a voice choked with tears, “No.” Then the tears she had fought for so long broke through and flowed down her face. Since her dad had died, she’d tried to be brave, tough, and let life slide off her back, but in that one moment everything caught up to her. Even though she hated crying in front of people—especially men—she sobbed unabashedly. Throttle pulled her to him and looped his arms around her, and she clung to him, never wanting to let go.

He scooped her up and carried her into the house, placing her down on the couch with him. He held her close while she let out all the anger about her father dying too young, her ex beating her, her loneliness, her constant struggle to pay the bills, her fear that the Lingerie Bandit has focused on her, and the loss of her laptop—the catalyst. Throttle didn’t placate her with meaningless words; rather, he held her and let her cry.

When she was spent, he pushed back a little and tilted her chin up, showering kisses on her damp cheeks. “Feel better?” he whispered as he brushed his lips across hers.

She nodded and he reached for the box of tissues on the coffee table. He pulled out some and handed them to her. “Blow,” he said as he swept away the black tendrils clinging to her cheeks. A few minutes later, she looked at him, her eyelids swollen, her nose red, and she kissed him gently on his lips. “Thanks for that.”

He smiled. “Hey, you up for shopping?”

“Shopping? For what?” Her voice sounded nasally.

“A laptop.”

She groaned. “I told you I can’t afford one.”

“I can. Come on.” He put a finger against her lips when she started to protest. “I’m not gonna take no for an answer. I want to do this, so let’s get going, woman.”

She smiled, her heart bursting. Standing up, she went to the mirror in her hallway, trying to fix her hair and look somewhat decent as she reapplied her lipstick. “You believed Riley’s story, didn’t you?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because if you didn’t, he’d be six feet under somewhere.”

He chuckled. “You know me well, babe. Yeah, I believed him. He wasn’t the fucker I chased from your house that night. The asshole was not as tall or broad. Cowboy’s just a lovesick shit who needed some straightening out.”

“I think you accomplished that. Thanks.”

He came over to her and held her close. “You never have to thank me, babe. I’d do anything for you. Remember that I always have your back. And put your goddamned alarm on. I installed it for a reason.”

“Yes sir.” She saluted him, then hugged him close to her. “I forgot the code,” she whispered. He burst out laughing, then went over to her kitchen counter, scribbled down something on a Post-It, and handed it to her. She glanced at it and saw four numbers. “My code, right?”

“Yeah. Memorize it. You gotta use the alarm. Let’s go.” He tucked her under his arm and they walked over to his Harley.

“How are we going to bring the laptop home on your bike? Won’t the box be too big to fit in your saddlebags?”

“That’s what prospects are for, babe.”

She hooked her arms around his waist and kissed his shoulder. He turned sideways and they kissed briefly before his iron machine jumped to life and took off.

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