by Chiah Wilder
“You’ll call me, right?”
He nodded as he pushed open the glass doors.
“Now don’t forget,” she said at his retreating back.
He waved his hand up in the air as he walked to his truck. When he started it, he looked at Kimber and her gaze caught his. He put on his sunglasses, backed out, and turned out of the parking lot. He couldn’t even begin to figure out why he blew off Big Tits. She should’ve been in the truck with him right then, and they should’ve been driving to Arrow Lake for some real fun. But he was headed back to the clubhouse, and instead of a busty blonde on his mind, a flat-chested brunette invaded it.
What. The. Fuck?
Chapter Seven
Kimber watched as Riley’s red taillights disappeared into the darkness. He’d wanted to go dancing after dinner, but she wasn’t in the mood, and she had that asshole Throttle to thank for ruining her date. She’d be surprised if she ever heard from Riley again. Who would’ve thought she’d have bumped into him at the diner. The timing totally sucked. And the way he acted, telling her that she was a biker chick and all that crap? He had nerve, that was for sure.
She switched on her Harley and it roared to life, then she exited Jim’s station and headed to her house. Fifteen minutes later she turned off the engine, shut the garage doors, and stepped into her kitchen. She opened her fridge and pulled out a can of beer, popped it open, and took a long pull. The biker looked damn gorgeous in his tight black jeans and muscle shirt, his tats moving whenever he flexed his muscular arms. Fuckin’ stop it, Kimber. Right now! It didn’t look like Riley had any tats on him, but then she’d stopped paying much attention to him from the moment she’d spotted Throttle. She groaned. She couldn’t start something with the dude. The only thing he had going for him was that he was gorgeous. And, yeah… he had a kickass Harley.
She turned on the TV and channel surfed, images of new cars, puppies, buildings, and people flickering by quickly. She’d almost kissed him. She covered her mouth with her hand as tingling swept up the back of her neck. And she’d wanted to. With Riley sitting at the booth, she was ready to play kissy-face with a guy who irritated the hell out of her. How ridiculous was that?
If Riley called her again—and it was a huge if—she’d make it up to him. She had to forget about Throttle and concentrate on her studies, her work, and exploring something with Riley. There was no way she’d let a hot man in leather deter her, even though she’d always been a sucker for leather and Harleys. All she had to remember was what a jerk he was and all would be cool. She took another gulp of beer. She had a handle on it.
No problem.
* * *
Throttle opened the shop door, welcoming the gust of icy air that shrouded him. He waved at Hawk as he came up to the counter. “How’s business?”
“Good. Didn’t expect to see you. You’re not working?”
“Rags is on it this morning. We hired a few guys to help out on that landscape job over in Fernwood.”
“How come you’re not working it?”
Throttle’s skin pricked. “What the fuck? You’re not my employer. I had shit to do earlier.” He pushed his boot against the corner of the counter. “You got a problem with me being here?”
“Not at all. I’m just surprised. Fuck, you’ve come to the shop more in the past couple weeks than you have all year. Just find it curious.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought I’d come by to help you out with all the fuckin’ boxes you had in your office. You told me you needed the help, but I’ll just fuckin’ leave.” He spun around and stomped to the door.
“Dude, calm the fuck down. I could use your help. I’ve an errand I gotta do, so you can man the phones and plug all this shit”—he waved the papers in his hand—“into the computer.”
Throttle turned back and followed his buddy into the office. “Take a seat.” Hawk gestured at the desk chair. “I’ll show you how to put in the inventory on a program I came up with. It kicks ass and makes keeping track of products a whole lot easier.”
As Hawk showed and explained the software, Throttle wondered if Kimber was at work. He was going to ask, but Hawk had made such a big fucking deal about him coming to the shop to help out that he kept silent. He shook his head. Hawk knew exactly the reason he’d come by, and he was right—Kimber. Throttle wanted to see her again, be close enough to breath in her scent. The things she did to him were incomprehensible, and it pissed him off and excited him at the same time.
“So it’s pretty easy. You got a handle on it?” Hawk picked up his keys on the desk.
Throttle nodded, pointing at the stack of boxes on the file cabinet. “You want me to unpack and categorize those for you?”
“Those are from Jerry. Damn, I can’t keep his ornaments in the shop. I’ll take care of it when I get back. I just need you to plug in the items and codes. I should be back in a couple hours.”
Throttle swung the desk chair to face the computer. “See you when you get back.” He typed in the first item. He knew he should’ve been working on the big job he and Rags had landed, but instead he’d hired an extra person to take his place while he sat hunched over typing a bunch of numbers, hoping to maybe get a glimpse of Kimber. Fuckin’ pitiful.
After forty-five minutes of tapping numbers into the computer, he regretted his decision to come to the shop. Knock. Knock. He looked up. “Come in.”
The door opened and Kimber walked in, her hand flying to her throat. “Uh… Is Hawk here?” She moved her head around searching for him in the small office.
Enjoying her discomfort, he swiveled to face her. “No. I’m manning the store. What do you need?”
She stood silent, her gaze fixed on his face.
“So you wanna just admire my good looks, babe? I’m down with that.” He sniggered.
Her face flushed. “Hawk told me he’d leave a part I need to finish up a bike I’m working on. When will he be back?”
He shrugged. “What part do you need? I can help you with that.” He winked at her.
She pressed her lips together. He slid his gaze up her body, admiring the way her blue coveralls encased her hips. Desire teased at his stomach. Looking up at her, he gave her a lopsided, cocky smile.
She fidgeted with the snap on her side pocket, looking everywhere but at him. “I need the iridescent skull. The hood ornament the dude in your club makes.”
“Jerry’s skull is fuckin’ popular.”
“No shit. There was a shelf of them yesterday, and today they’re all gone. I should’ve grabbed one when I had the chance.”
“Hawk got some more in.” He jerked his head to the boxes on top of the filing cabinet. “I think the skulls are in the top box. I’ll help you get it down.” He stood from the desk.
She waved him away. “No worries. I can handle it.” She rose up on her tiptoes.
“You sure, ‘cause you’re not that tall. Why don’t you be a good little girl and let me get the box down for you.”
“I said I’m good.” Irritation crept into her voice as she reached up and grabbed the box. Throttle came behind her just when she pulled hard at the box; it dislodged and came tumbling down. Jumping back, she lost her balance and fell into Throttle’s arms. “Oh!”
He wrapped his arms around her small waist, leaned down, and breathed in deeply her scent of rose and patchouli. “You smell incredible, and your ass wiggling against my cock feels fuckin’ awesome.” She twisted around, trying to get out of his arms. “Fuck. Will you settle down?” Kimber tilted her head back and he drank in her magnetic blue orbs and plump lips, just begging to be kissed. He roughly pulled her closer to him. “Give me your mouth,” he ordered.
Under his firm grip, she relaxed, and then her lips parted and she closed her eyes. He lowered his head and took fiery possession of her mouth, tasting, sucking, and nipping her lips with urgency, his tongue plundering her dark recesses. A soft moan escaped from her throat, and he felt his cock swell in his jeans. Running his hands do
wn her back, he cupped her firm ass, the one he’d been dreaming about since he first saw it. Against him, he felt her tremble as he continued to devour her mouth.
She tangled her arms around his strong neck as she pressed closer against him, the contact of her body heat melding with his. He pulled away slightly, his lips working their way down her jawline to her neck. “You feel good in my arms. I want my cock inside you, babe.” His teeth grazed across her earlobe and he gently pulled it in between his lips, sucking it as she moaned and held him tighter. Squeezing her ass, he whispered, “I want this too.” She didn’t respond, merely gasped, then arched toward his broad chest before she moved back to his lips, kissing him feverishly, making sexy noises in the back of her throat that drove him wild.
I’m hard as a fuckin’ board. There was something about her that made his dick stir. He wanted to tear off her uniform and give her a hard fucking on Hawk’s desk, shove his length into her dripping pussy. She ignited a fire in him so intense he thought he’d explode. He couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman as much as he did Kimber at that moment.
As he plunged his tongue in and out of her luscious mouth, a loud knock broke through their daze of lust. Kimber pulled away. Panting, she rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m busy here. Come back.” Throttle placed his hand behind her head, securing her against him.
“Need your help in front. Patrick’s gone on break, and I’m up to my balls in work that’s gotta get finished today,” Dwayne said gruffly.
“Fuck,” Throttle muttered under his breath before calling out, “I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”
“Just hurry it up.” His retreating footsteps oozed in through the crack under the office door.
Kimber broke away from Throttle and smoothed her hair down, mumbling, “It was a mistake. Sorry.”
“A mistake? There’s no way that was a fuckin’ mistake, sweetheart. We both been wanting that for a while.”
“Speak for yourself,” she said as she finger-combed her hair.
He gripped her wrists and turned her to face him. “You gonna look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t want me to kiss you?”
With a downward glance, she shrugged one shoulder.
“Damn, you’re a piece of work. You can’t even admit you wanted and enjoyed our kiss? Shit, babe. You been eye-fucking me for the past several days, and you know it.”
She raised her eyes, anger flashing in them. “So what? You’re a good-looking guy and I was curious. You don’t have to act like it’s anything more.”
“You can act like it was no big deal, but I know chicks, and sweetheart, you loved it. You’ll be back for seconds. I can guarantee it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “It’s too bad I’m not the betting type. I could use the money.” She pushed past him, flung open the door, and stormed off.
Throttle guffawed, wanting her to hear how he didn’t give a shit if she wanted more or not. He didn’t waste time chasing chicks. The only reason he’d even consider a second round with the smart-assed mechanic was because he wanted to nail her. He didn’t like giving chicks the upper hand. He’d show Miss Know-It-All that he couldn’t care less about her. He gave her a week max before she came crawling back, begging for him in her pussy.
“You comin’ out?” Dwayne said.
“Yeah!” Throttle picked up the iridescent skull that Kimber had forgotten to take and slipped it in his pocket. She’d need him sooner than he thought. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked to the front of the store.
The rest of the morning, Throttle waited on customers and finished inputting the numbers into the inventory software. Kimber stayed in the service garage, sending Jorge, one of the technicians, to retrieve the hood ornament from Throttle. He didn’t want to admit he was disappointed that she was hiding out from him. He knew she felt the charge between them. She was the most stubborn and infuriating woman he’d ever met. Why couldn’t she give in to the feelings that were coursing through her body? The way she kissed and pressed herself against him showed she was hot for him, and he was cool with that because he was hot for her. So what was her fucking problem? He knew later on, in the quiet of the night as he lay on his bed watching the clouds skate across the moon, he’d remember the feel and taste of her. Fuck! This woman is screwing with my head. Damn!
His phone rang and he answered it, grateful for taking his thoughts off her. It was Rags telling him that one of the guys became ill in the heat and had to leave. Throttle told him he’d be there shortly, as soon as Hawk returned.
As soon as he hung up, Hawk walked in. “Hey, man. How much headway did you make with recording the inventory?”
“Finished it. Rags just called, said one of our guys went home sick. I gotta go. I’ll catch you later.”
“Thanks, man.”
Throttle swung his leg over his Harley and turned the switch, making his favorite lady come to life. He adjusted his sunglasses and made a U-turn in the parking lot. When he drove past the shop, he spotted Kimber standing by the window, peeking out at him. Satisfaction radiated throughout his body, and his lips curled into a cocky smile. He revved his engine and blended into the traffic, confident that he’d be between the sexy mechanic’s legs in less than a week.
Chapter Eight
Detective McCue glanced over at the petite, dark brunette who stared at the ground, her nose dripping. He exhaled. At times like that, he hated his job, despised the broken pieces the bad guy left, expecting the justice system to put them back together. The investigator glanced down at his notepad. The woman’s name was Sela Ramirez and she was twenty-five years old. The one-bedroom house was the first place she’d ever lived alone. She had a good job at an accounting firm, made a nice salary, was pretty, and should’ve been having the time of her life, not sitting on her chintz sofa staring at the ground as a team of law officers swarmed around.
McCue trudged over. “Miss Ramirez? I’m Detective McCue, and I have a few questions I need to ask you. May I sit down?” No reaction. He slumped down in a straight-back chair near the sofa. He pushed a couple tissues into her hand, and the touch of his hand against hers appeared to have startled her. She whimpered, her brown eyes searching his face. He smiled faintly, flipped open his notebook, and uncapped his pen.
After a tearful, stammering rendition of the chain of events that brought McCue to the victim’s home, he stood, thanked her, and went over to the crime scene investigator. “Did you get anything?”
The lanky man smiled, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and nodded. “A few drops of semen near her bed. I can’t be sure it’s the intruder’s, but we finally have something concrete.”
McCue’s eyes lit up for the first time since he’d arrived. He thumbed through his notes. “I’m damn certain it’s the perp’s semen. The victim said he jerked off into her yellow lace panties while she lay tied up and duct taped on the bed. According to her, she hasn’t been intimate with any man in her house since she moved in eight months ago.” Elation spread through the room, and a thread of hope that the perpetrator’s DNA would be in the database weaved its way around the crime team. “Do your magic,” McCue said to the CSI, “and let me know the minute the tests are done.”
As he left the house, he glanced over at the victim; she rested her head against her hand as a victim advocate spoke softly to her. He walked out into the bright sunshine and pervasive heat. The perp was a cruel, depraved sonofabitch who had to be stopped before he did more than take pictures, jerk off, and steal the women’s bras and panties. A funny feeling twisted around his gut; the intruder left evidence, which meant he was becoming sloppy. Sloppiness usually indicated tension and frustration on the part of the criminal. The twisting inside him told the seasoned detective that his perp was growing bored with his usual antics. That concept turned his blood to ice. They had to find the sociopath before his actions escalated to the next level. So far, the women had been degraded, mentally and emotionally traumatized, but he hadn’t exhibited any violen
ce toward them.
McCue tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he pulled away from the curb, his gaze sweeping over the small group of people who gathered on the sidewalk. He wondered if one of them was the intruder. Another twist in his gut.
The man had to be caught… and soon.
* * *
“Have you made the trip arrangements for the motorcycle expo at the coliseum in Denver?” Banger asked.
“Yeah. I secured all the tickets, hotels, and contacted our charter to see if they could put up some of the single men. We’re good to go.” Throttle leaned back in his chair. The motorcycle expo was one of the biggest in the Rocky Mountains, and it attracted biker aficionados as well as clubs, both mainstream and one-percenters. Each year, several Insurgents would ride down to Denver to attend the event. The collection of bikes, the gear, the custom jobs, and the newest models was something most of the members didn’t want to miss, even though the Sturgis rally was coming up fast. In the past thirty years, there had been major tension between the Insurgents and the Deadly Demons, but now that there was a truce, the expo and Sturgis were a lot calmer, at least for the Rocky Mountain clubs. Most of the time, the rival clubs exchanged glares and scowls, but everyone pretty much stayed away from one another.
“That’s good. It’ll be a kick-ass time. This year most of the old ladies will be comin’, and some of the brothers are bringing their girlfriends, so we gotta be on high alert. We don’t want anything happening to the women.” Banger took a gulp of beer and pointed to his vice president. “Hawk’s gonna take it from here.”
“I got a call from Steel, and he’s have a fuckin’ bad time with that goddamned brat club, the Skull Crushers. You remember the three punks who tried to deal meth on our turf a while back?”
Several grumblings and curse words filtered among the membership. “They must be causing all kinds of hell, ‘cause Steel isn’t the type to ask for our help,” Jerry said.
Steel was the president of the Night Rebels, an Insurgents affiliate in southern Colorado. He, Hawk, and Throttle went way back from the time they all joined. Steel had started out as an Insurgent but had to head back to his hometown, Alina, in southwestern Colorado to take care of his sick mom. Missing the camaraderie of the brotherhood, he contacted Banger and Hawk, and the Night Rebels sprung up as a support club to the Insurgents. The two clubs had a clandestine relationship, and the Night Rebels operated under the control of the Insurgents, although, to the public and law enforcement, they appeared to be a separate club.