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

by Chiah Wilder

  The two women, flushed with arousal, looked confused. “You’re going? Now?” the redhead asked as she sat up and leaned against the headboard.

  Sighing, a deep sense of regret coursing through him, he nodded. “Yep, and you both gotta get your asses outta here. Like now.”

  “Don’t you want us to wait until you get back?” the blonde asked as she squeezed her tits.

  He groaned. “I don’t know what I have to do. I don’t like people in my room when I’m not here.”

  “We’re not just any people. Right? Can’t you bend your rules?”

  “Baby, you two are some hot chicks, but there’s plenty of hot pussy around here. Now get going. Dress fast. I gotta go.”

  The women cursed under their breaths but put on their clothes while throwing Throttle dirty looks. “You said we could party with the brothers tonight.”

  “That’s the way it goes. Go back to Rusty’s. You won’t have any problems finding another biker who’s horny. Leave your numbers. I’ll call you when we have a big party. Sound good?” He walked over and squeezed the blonde’s tits and the redhead’s ass. The women laughed, then wrote out their numbers and walked out with him.

  Rock smiled broadly at Throttle, his hungry gaze checking out the two women. “Sorry to have disturbed you, but you know how it is when the president wants something.”

  “No worries. Hey, these two chicks still wanna party. You doing anything?”

  Rock’s black eyes lit up as he shook his head. Throttle leaned in. “The redhead has lips for sucking and an ass made for fucking, and the blonde’s pussy is tight and her tits are damn big.” He winked.

  “What’re you two guys whispering about?” the redhead asked, batting her eyelashes.

  “My brother here, Rock, is the Sergeant-At-Arms of the club, and he was telling me how hot he thinks you two are.”

  “Are you telling us the truth? You’re really the muscle of the club?”

  “Yep.”

  Throttle shook his head, marveling at the way the biker groupies acted like the officers of an outlaw MC were like gods or something. “He loves pleasing women. You think you can take care of my brother while I’m away? If you’re still here when I get back, we can have a foursome. Would you like that?”

  The women’s eyes shined as Throttle stood before Banger’s door, ready to knock. Tucked snuggly under each of Rock’s arms, they waved to him, telling him to hurry back as they disappeared in the stairway. Laughing, he knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” Banger’s voice boomed.

  Throttle walked in and stood in front of his president, who was seated behind his desk. “Rock said you wanted to see me?”

  “Yeah. I need you to go over to Hawk’s shop and see if he’s done with my Harley. He’s had the bike for over a week, and I’m getting fuckin’ antsy to ride it.”

  Banger pulled me away from a luscious ass to check on his goddamned Harley? Is he fuckin’ serious? “You can’t get a hold of Hawk?”

  Banger narrowed his eyes. “If I could, I wouldn’t tell you to go over to his shop, would I? He’s not at the shop, and he’s not answering his phone. Probably in some damn country club tasting the food for his upcoming wedding. Fuck, he’s turning into a real pansy-ass.” Banger and Throttle chuckled. “Anyway, I want to go on the charity poker run next week, so I need my damn bike back. I’ve got a ton of shit to do here.” Banger waved his hands over the papers scattered on top of his desk.

  “Sure, I’ll go. You want me to call when I’m there?”

  “No. When you get back you can let me know what’s goin’ on with my Harley.”

  “That it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Cool. Later.” Throttle ambled out of the office, stopping to have a quick beer before he jumped on his bike. Why he couldn’t finish fucking that sexy piece of ass before he went on this errand was beyond him. Remembering that the two women would still be at the clubhouse when he returned, he revved his engine and blasted out of the parking lot, eager to finish quickly so he could have some fun with Rock and the sexy girls.

  Chapter Two

  When Throttle entered Hawk’s shop, a blast of cold air slapped him in the face and he sighed in relief. It was damn hot outside, and he looked forward to the cool nip in the air that autumn always brought to the high mountains.

  A lanky teenager sat behind the cashier’s counter, his head bent down as his fingers flew over the keyboard on his phone. Throttle recognized him as Banger’s nephew; he’d seen the kid at a couple barbecues he’d gone to at Banger’s sister’s house.

  “Hey, do you know anything about Banger’s Harley?” Throttle looked through the closed door’s glass window at the service garage.

  The teenager raised his head and smiled. “Hey. Your name’s Throttle, right?”

  He nodded and drummed his fingers on the counter. He wanted to finish fast so he could get back to the horny chicks he’d left at the clubhouse. “So, do you know what’s going on with your uncle’s bike?”

  “Not really. Hawk just asked me to watch the place and check customers out while he was gone. He said he’d be back in a couple hours.”

  “I got somewhere I need to be. I’ll ask one of the mechanics.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  Throttle clenched his jaw in exasperation and headed to the bays. When he stepped into the repair area, oil and gas fumes curled around him. He loved the smell; it always made him think of the ride and the wind wrapping around him. Damn, being on his bike, going a hundred, was better than sex most of the time. It was total freedom, and when he was soaring, it was like an out-of-body experience. He’d never found anything in the world that compared to it.

  “Hey, Throttle, what brings you here? You got problems with your 1250?” asked Dwayne. He was the manager of the shop, and he’d been working for Hawk for nearly ten years.

  “Nah, my baby’s good. Banger sent me here to see if his bike’s almost ready. He’s going crazy without it. Besides, he’s got a poker run coming up soon.”

  Dwayne wiped his brow with a dingy cloth and jerked his head to the right. “I think it’s almost done. Go ask the mechanic.”

  Throttle walked over to the third stall and saw a short, slight mechanic bent over Banger’s Harley, turning a wrench. The mechanic’s back was to him, and Throttle noticed a full sleeve of tats and slightly rounded hips. Hard rock blasted from the radio on the shelf next to the stall. Surprised someone so slight could handle a powerful bike like Banger’s, he took a few steps forward and said in a loud voice, “You almost done with this bike?” as he turned the radio down.

  The mechanic spun around, and Throttle’s eyes widened when he realized that the dude was a chick. “Uh… sorry, I thought you were the mechanic. Get the guy who’s fixing this bike to come here. I need to talk to him.”

  She looked confused. “What? I’m fixin’ this bike. Is it yours?”

  Fuck, I don’t have time for someone playin’ a joke on me. I bet Banger and Hawk are in on this. “Look, darlin’, I got something I gotta do, so I don’t have time to play this out. Be a nice little girl and bring the tech. Now.”

  Her blue eyes flashed and she placed her hands on her hips, her chin jutted out. “I’m the tech, so fuckin’ deal with it. And I’m not ‘darling’ or ‘little girl.’ I’m Ms. Descourt. The bike will be ready tomorrow by five o’clock. I’m replacing the alternator. It took a while to get the part in.” She smirked. “You can close your mouth now.”

  “You’re the fuckin’ mechanic who’s been working on the president of the Insurgents MC’s bike? I don’t think so.”

  She laughed dryly. “I don’t remember asking you what you thought. I’m busy, so move it outta here. Hawk will call Banger and let him know.” She turned around and cranked up the radio, the hard rock beats reverberating off the walls.

  Throttle narrowed his eyes, anger crawling over his skin. The bitch had a mouth on her, and she was pretending to be a mechanic. There was no fuckin�
�� way Hawk hired a chick to do a man’s job. No way the VP would have a chick with a wrench near any Harley. Throttle stormed over to Dwayne and motioned him to follow him back into the shop.

  When the heavy metal door closed, Throttle said, “Who the hell is fuckin’ around on Banger’s bike? Man, aren’t you watching what the shit’s going on in the bays?”

  Dwayne scrubbed his face with his fist. “Whoa, there. What the hell are you talkin’ about? I have a damn good mechanic fixing his bike.”

  “You have a bitch fixin’ his Harley. What the fuck?”

  Dwayne burst out laughing. “Is that what this is all about? Kimber’s a damn good mechanic. You know how picky Hawk is. He wouldn’t have hired her if he didn’t think she’d do a good job.”

  “Hawk hired her? There’s no way I want her near my bike if it ever needs fixin’. What the hell do chicks know about fixin’ bikes?”

  “Kimber’s better than some of the younger guys we have for the summer.”

  Before he could answer, the metal door banged open and Kimber walked in, throwing a smile at Dwayne and a grimace at Throttle. She slid between the two men and walked up to the counter. “You got some cold bottled water, Patrick?” She propped her elbows on the counter and rested her chin on her hand.

  “Yep.” The teenager bent down, then stood up and tossed a large plastic bottle at her.

  She straightened up and caught it, then grinned at him, causing his cheeks to redden. “Thanks.” She unscrewed the top and took a long, deep drink. Throttle watched the way her shoulder-length black hair spilled out from her baseball cap. The tips of her hair were colored a bright pink. He hadn’t noticed how snug her blue coveralls were, especially around her small hips and firm ass. She glanced at him. “What the hell are you lookin’ at?”

  Hot sparks rose in him. “Not you, that’s for fuckin’ sure.” He turned to Dwayne who had a goofy smile on his face, one Throttle wished he could smack off. “I’m outta here. I’ll tell Banger that his bike will be ready tomorrow.”

  “It will.” Kimber wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Amid the grease on her fingers, a splash of neon purple filtered through. One of her arms was covered in colorful tats of flowers, butterflies, and crosses. It seemed the chicks always went for the frilly shit.

  “I wasn’t talkin’ to you.”

  “You should’ve been, since I’m the one working on the bike.” She tossed the empty bottle in the trashcan across the room, and, much to Throttle’s chagrin, it made it in. Smiling smugly, she brushed past him and went back to work behind the metal door.

  By the time Throttle arrived back at the clubhouse, he was fuming. Who the fuck did the little bitch think she was? He ought to teach her a lesson about disrespecting an Insurgent. And what the hell was Hawk smoking? Hiring a chick mechanic. Cara had definitely brainwashed him, and he was thinking with his cock instead of his brain. Fuck it! He slammed the club door behind him and went to Banger’s office.

  “When’s my bike gonna be ready?” Banger asked as Throttle slumped into the chair in front of his desk.

  “Tomorrow at closing. Did you know a bitch is working on your Harley? Can you fuckin’ imagine that? What the hell was Hawk thinking?”

  “You mean Kimber? She does damn good work. Bruce over in Silver Ridge recommended her. Seems she was workin’ there for a couple years.”

  “You’re cool with this?”

  “Yeah. I don’t give a shit if it’s a baboon fixin’ my bike, as long as it’s done right.”

  They’ve all become fuckin’ pussies now that they got old ladies. One more reason not to have an anchor around my cock.

  “Does it bother you?” Banger asked, an amused smile playing on his lips.

  “Yeah, it sure as shit does. You can let her get her nail-polished fingers all over your bike, but she’s not ever gonna touch mine. I’m gonna make sure Hawk is clear ‘bout that.”

  Banger shrugged. “Rock was lookin’ for you a few minutes ago.”

  “Thanks.” He pushed himself out of the chair and sauntered out. He was still pissed as hell when he bumped into Rock coming down the stairs.

  “Good, you’re back. Fuck, why didn’t you tell me how hot those two bitches are? We’ve been having a good time, but the redhead is anxious to have your cock up her ass.” He chuckled. “And it’s a very sweet one.”

  “I don’t know. I’m not really into it right now.”

  Rock stared at Throttle. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m just pissed as hell. Did you know Hawk hired a chick as a mechanic?”

  He shook his head. “When did he do that?”

  “Fuck if I know. And she’s got a real mouth on her.”

  “Is she hot in her little greaser outfit?”

  Throttle glared. “She’s a bitch. I mean, she looked okay, but she doesn’t have any tits, at least not the big ones I like. What the hell am I sayin’? Even if she had humungous tits, I’d never be interested. She’s a smartass, and she’s got pink shit in her hair. No way is she ever touching my bike.”

  Rock laughed. “I gotta check out this chick who’s got you all riled up.”

  Throttle crossed his arms across his muscular chest. “She hasn’t got me riled up. I don’t give a fuck.”

  “Really? You coulda fooled me. Let’s go and have some fun with the horny bitches in my room.”

  What the hell was wrong with him? When he left, he’d been anxious to get back to the two women’s pussies, but now he was too pissed to even get it up. It was all her fault. What was her name? Something like timber. Oh yeah. Kimber. Well, fuck her!

  When he and Rock came up to the third floor, Throttle went to his room, shrugging off a surprised Rock. Since Throttle had been elected Road Captain for the club, he had been moved from his room in the basement to one of the officers’ rooms on the third floor. He liked being closer to the club whores who had rooms in the attic; it made it easier when he was horny as hell. Since he’d patched in with the Insurgents fifteen years ago, he’d always lived at the club. He never saw any reason for moving away and getting a place of his own.

  He slammed his door and peeled off his T-shirt, anxious to take a cool shower to wash off the sweat of the day. After an hour, he sat naked on his bed, a glass of Jack Daniels in one hand and a joint in the other, staring at the TV screen, watching the images of the world’s disasters play out on the international news. The sound had been muted—he rarely listened to what the establishment said—and the image of Kimber leaning over the counter with her uniform tight across her ass floated front and center in his mind. Why the hell he was thinking of her pissed him off immensely. He’d have to put her in her place. Tomorrow, I’ll go to Hawk’s shop and set her straight. Show her not to mess with me. A faint tingle of anticipation pricked at him, but he crushed it with another large glass of whiskey. He didn’t have time for that. She wasn’t even his type. Hell, it looked like she had mosquito bites for tits. Besides, she was a chick who was a mechanic. In his world, that concept didn’t make any sense.

  Fuck her—cute ass, pink hair, smart mouth, and all.

  Chapter Three

  Kimber Descourt laughed aloud when she heard Throttle’s Harley peel out of the parking lot. What a chauvinistic asshole. I bet I fix a Harley way better than he does. I probably ride better too. She smiled and went back to fixing Banger’s motorcycle. Since she’d decided to earn a living as a mechanic, she’d run into all types of guys, but the worst, by far, were the bikers, especially the old-school jerks like Throttle. She loved yanking on their chains, confident in her abilities as a class-A Harley tech. She had her dad to thank for that.

  Kimber paused and took a deep gulp of air; oil, gas, and grease filled her lungs. Her dad had often told her that the smell of exhaust fumes and earth were the best scents in life because they symbolized freedom. A small ache pulled at her heart; she missed her dad. Even though he’d died seven years before, the pain was still raw, and she missed talking to him, riding with him, and wor
king with him, side-by-side at his repair shop in Johnston, Iowa.

  At twenty-three years old, she’d felt lost, even though she and Chewy had still been together. They had gone back about five years. They’d met at a motorcycle rally, and he’d tried really hard to impress and catch her. When she finally let him in, they were inseparable until she was hooked and hopelessly in love with the tall, tattooed biker. After that, club parties until four in the morning had been the norm for him, and when she’d threatened to move on, he’d calm down only to start it all up again when things had smoothed over.

  She’d suspected that he’d been fucking the club whores at the parties, but she couldn’t pin anything on him, and none of his brothers would ever have breathed a word. When she’d found the neon thong in his back jeans’ pocket, she’d been livid and had been ready to shove it in his face when she’d received the call that’d changed her life: her father had been in a life-threatening motorcycle accident. Chewy’s late-night partying with his brothers, his drug use, the scent of cheap perfume, and the neon thong paled in comparison to what she’d been told over the receiver.

  After a month on life support, she’d made the toughest decision of her life—letting her father fly free to join her mother, who’d died when Kimber had been three years old. She’d had to admit that Chewy had stepped up to the plate and had been there for her, holding her close while she’d wept inconsolably, supporting her decision to set her dad free and holding her up at his funeral.

  Chewy had told her he wanted them to get serious, so they’d rented a small house together, and he’d given her his patch. She’d been thrilled to wear it, and she’d even begun dreaming of having kids. She’d stopped her studies at the local college and threw herself into running her dad’s repair shop, even though she’d have to lock the door to his office several times during the work day to hide her tears of sorrow. It’d seemed so incongruous.