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

by Chiah Wilder

  She smiled, encircling her arm around his taut waist. Hating herself for acting like she was back in high school, she wanted this big-busted woman to know that Throttle was hers—at least for today. Kimber wondered if the woman had been one of his bedmates who he hadn’t bothered to call back. That I-really-love-you look glimmered in her eyes, and Kimber almost felt sorry for her until the woman finally acknowledged her by sizing her up and turning up her nose in disgust. It was at that moment that Kimber decided the woman was a bitch and deserved whatever it was Throttle had done.

  He lowered his head and kissed Kimber on her lips. “You good with whiskey, or do you want something else?”

  Right then, Kimber felt a part of her fall in love with this hardened biker who only had eyes for her when a gorgeous, stacked woman stood next to him, fuming. “Whiskey’s fine.” Her eyes shone and he laughed.

  “Excuse me. I’m trying to talk with Throttle.” The woman inserted herself in front of them, but Throttle stepped back. “Is that any way to act toward a woman you almost married?” From the glint in her eyes, Kimber knew the bitch enjoyed her look of surprise.

  “We don’t have anything to talk about. Me and my woman are headed out. Take care of yourself, Mariah.” He pushed past her, his arm around Kimber holding her tightly to him.

  Even though she knew it was childish, she derived an inordinate amount of satisfaction from Mariah’s loud gasp. It was still unclear who she was, and Kimber would ask Throttle about it later, but for that moment, her being attached to his hip pissed the hell out of the snotty bitch and made Kimber’s day a bit better.

  After paying for the whiskey, Throttle once again helped Kimber on the bike. From her peripheral view, she saw Mariah standing outside the store staring at the way he fussed over her, making sure her feet were on the footrests. If she wasn’t enjoying pissing the bitch off so much, she would’ve been madder than hell at Throttle for acting like she was a newbie rider. Guiding my feet to the rests? Give me a fuckin’ break! He’s playing the macho male to a hilt.

  “All good?” His lopsided grin and shining eyes made up for his macho antics; she melted, managing only a nod. “Then let’s roll.” He revved his powerful engine and, with her arms grasping him tightly, he blasted off.

  Half an hour later, Throttle stopped the bike in a beautiful valley lush with pine, aspen, and evergreen trees. Indigo, orange, pink, and red wildflowers lent punches of color to the landscape, carpeting the grass as vibrantly colored butterflies hovered over them. A crystal-clear creek flowed quickly, the bronze rock bed shimmering under the summer sun.

  Picking out a nice area near the stream and under a cluster of aspen trees, Throttle spread out a thin blue blanket he retrieved from his saddlebags. Reaching out his hand, he said, “Come on over here, babe.” He set down the whiskey and a few bottles of water, then took a seat, his back against the tree trunk and his corded legs stretching in front of him.

  Kimber ambled over and kneeled on the blanket, taking his hand. He tugged her to him, settling her between his legs, her back against his chest. He kissed the top of her hair. “You smell real good. I love the perfume you wear. It fuckin’ makes my dick twitch every time I get a whiff of it.”

  She laughed. His blunt, dirty mouth was exactly what she loved. Chewy had been that way in the beginning of their relationship, and that’s when she’d realized she loved it. As time went on and Chewy’s drinking, drug use, and cruelty escalated, the dirty talking turned into crude, hurtful words. She rested the back of her head on his shoulder. “You want to tell me about Mariah?” she asked softly, her heart thumping in her chest.

  He blew out a long, noisy breath and twirled several strands of her hair around his fingers. Then he told her everything about his life with Mariah. When he was finished, he cupped her chin in his hand and craned her neck, gently kissing her.

  “Thanks for sharing a glimpse into your past with me.” She twisted in his arms so she sat sideways, her back resting against his drawn-up leg. She captured his gaze. “Do you still love her?”

  “No. For years I tried to forget her, even punished women for the shit she did to me, but I never could get her out of my system. The bitterness was… fuck, still is there. If you’re asking if I want to hook up with her again, the answer is no. The funny thing is that, if you weren’t around, I’d probably think about using her, but I don’t want to hang or be with anyone but you.”

  Warmth spread through her. Was it possible that she was more than his sex toy? Did he actually care something for her as a person, as a woman? “I don’t know why, but what you just said made me real happy. I know we don’t have claims on each other, but I wouldn’t want to think of you with her.”

  “It kicks ass that we’re even here holding each other. I love this spot, but I’ve never shared it with anyone else.”

  “Not even Mariah?”

  “Nope. We were young, and she wasn’t interested in anything but partying, shopping, and screwing. I was good with that, so it worked for a while. You’re the first woman I’ve wanted to bring here. I don’t know… I just wanted to share it with you, and I knew you’d like it. I don’t know what the fuck I’m saying.”

  “I think you’re saying that you like me, and I like you too.”

  “Damn, this is all fuckin’ strange. You’re a goddamned mechanic, and it bothered the hell outta me, but not so much anymore.”

  She smiled and ran the back of her hand over his cheek. “That’s great. What bothered us before doesn’t matter so much now because we’re getting to know each other. Like your chauvinistic he-man stomping was beyond annoying when we first met, and now your caveman traits are endearing, in some situations.”

  He gave her a quizzical look. “Yeah, right. Wait… Did you just fuckin’ insult me?”

  She kissed his chin. “No. You’re too cute.” She wanted to ask him if he still had the club girls servicing him, but she didn’t want to know the answer, not at that moment. They were having a wonderful day, and knowing he was kissing, touching, and screwing other women the way he did her would break her heart. Go slowly, Kimber. You guys are having a good time. You’re connecting as good friends, but don’t let him own your heart. You don’t want to go there ever again. At least not with another biker.

  He held her close and she wrapped her arms around him until it was like they were meshed together as one. They stayed like that, enjoying being together, listening to the creek splash over the rocks, and the birds and insects sing and chirp. And, in that solitary moment, they held hope that the pain in their past love affairs had finally healed enough to allow each of them into the other’s life.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Several stacks of paperwork littered Detective McCue’s desk. Deputy Manzik sat in a chair, waiting for McCue to finish his phone call. The ceiling lights illuminated the room, but the panel above the detective’s desk was dim and flickered intermittently. The deputy looked over her report; the second rape had been very similar to the first, and it definitely had the markings of their Peeping Tom turned burglar turned rapist.

  The previous night, she and Bryan had been the first to arrive at the scene, and she made sure she did everything by the book. There was no way she was going to give her sergeant reason to berate her. Deputy Manzik generally liked most people, but she could not stand Sergeant Stichler; he was a bitter, hateful man. Sharon couldn’t imagine being the wife or child of such an unpleasant man. She’d met his wife a few times at the department’s picnics and Christmas parties, and she looked so downtrodden and miserable that the pretty police officer’s heart went out to her.

  There was also something very odd about him. His animosity toward her was too much, and she suspected it wasn’t entirely because she was a female deputy. She thought it went deeper than that. She’d done some of her hands-on training with him, and she’d seen how he’d shown little sympathy to the victims of domestic abuse, or how he’d condemn the prostitutes who seemed to come out in full force after dark at El
sinor Park on the west side of town. A couple times, the women would protest that he took certain liberties when loading them into the van.

  The truth was she didn’t feel comfortable at all with her supervisor and wouldn’t want to be in a room alone with him. Most of the time, when she’d leave his office, she’d fight the urge to shower off his innuendos, leers, and off-color remarks. When she’d turned in her report that morning, he surprised her by asking if the victim was pretty and stacked while his gaze lingered on her breasts. She couldn’t believe he’d asked her that or stared so boldly at her. She’d mumbled something and scooted out of his office as soon as she could. She couldn’t wait to put two more years in, then apply for a detective position. If she had to stay under his command for more than that, she’d seriously consider moving over to the next county and applying to its sheriff’s department.

  “What can I do for you, Sharon?” McCue smiled warmly.

  From the minute she became a deputy, the stocky detective had treated her like everyone else. Even though he came off as being gruff and impatient, he didn’t fool her; he was nothing but a big old softie with a passion for justice. He’d work tirelessly investigating a case, his prime goal to make sure the bad guy was punished and the victim was vindicated. Sharon admired him for it. Over the five years she’d been on the force, Earl had taken her under his wing and looked out for her, even calling out Sergeant Stichler for the way he spoke to her in his presence. From the glares her supervisor threw at Earl, she suspected he wasn’t too fond of the detective.

  “I was wondering if CSI found any evidence at the scene of this rape. I’m positive this is the work of our peeping perv. Can you tell me anything?”

  He chuckled. “You know I can’t, but I will because I know you’ll keep it right here at my desk. This time, our sick bastard wasn’t so perfect—he left his semen, and a footprint outside the victim’s window. We have the rain to thank for that one. If the ground hadn’t been so soft that wouldn’t have happened. Now we just need a damn suspect to match DNA and the footprint.”

  “No leads?”

  He chomped down on his unlit cigar. “Nope.”

  “It’s amazing how none of the neighbors have seen anything.”

  “I know. If we could only get something. We don’t even know if he lives in the area or drives to it. He seems to favor the same area. We’ll get something. I feel it. He’s getting sloppy. It always happens that way. A perp who doesn’t get caught right away becomes a cocky sonofabitch thinking he’s invincible, and that’s when I get him.”

  “I hope it’s sooner than later.”

  He sighed and leaned back in his swivel chair. “Me too. He’s going to kill someone. Damn.” He ran his hand through his graying brown hair. “You look beat. You should go home and rest.”

  “I’m exhausted. I have to do a briefing with Stichler before my shift ends. But then I have two days off, and I’m totally looking forward to it.” She smiled.

  “Is he treating you better?”

  She shrugged. “What can I say? Stichler is Stichler.”

  He shook his head. “You let me know if he goes too hard on you.”

  She pushed up to her feet. “Thanks, but I can handle him. I better go or he’ll have my ass, even though he sits for hours in his office not doing much but playing computer games or bullshitting with his cronies. One of the perks of being the boss, I guess.”

  “He’s a goddamned jerk. I’ll see you in a couple days. Hopefully I’ll have a solid lead to tell you about. Go out and do something fun on your days off.”

  “Right now, sleeping sounds like a lot of fun.”

  He laughed, then answered the ringing phone. Sharon walked out of the room, dreading her interaction with Stichler. In a few short hours, she’d be home; she had to focus on that.

  Stichler’s office was on the second floor, and she entered the area and walked toward it.

  “You going in to see the sarge?” one of the deputies asked her.

  “Yeah. He asked me to drop by,” she said.

  “He’s gone. He wasn’t feeling well so he took off.”

  Her face beamed. “That’s too bad.” She turned around and bounced out of the room, heading to the employee cafeteria to find Bryan.

  After a few more hours of her and Bryan patrolling the streets of Pinewood Springs, Sharon clocked out and made her way to her house. She couldn’t be happier that she had the next two days off. Her plans were to do absolutely nothing but sleep, catch up on her reading, watch a ton of junk TV, and eat whatever the hell she wanted.

  * * *

  From inside the house, he’d seen the dark-haired woman pull into the driveway—at last. For the past two hours, he’d been learning about her life, looking through her photo albums, smiling at her baby pictures as he imagined her mother and father did, and feeling a sense of admiration when he spotted her in her deputy uniform upon graduation from the sheriff’s academy.

  He’d also spent time going through her panties and bras, picking out the ones he’d have her model for him before he took her. His pulse quickened and his dick strained against his pants in anticipation of what was to come. He licked his lips and walked to her bedroom, hiding himself between her dresses in her walk-in closet.

  She’d taken her time coming into the room, probably sorting through her mail or maybe enjoying a cold drink. It was incredibly hot, so he didn’t fault her delay. Then he heard her footsteps on the hardwood floor as she came inside. A few seconds later, he discerned a heavy thud on her nightstand—her gun, he presumed—then the familiar sound of a zipper. He wanted to watch her undress, to see her bra and panties against her skin, but he didn’t dare attempt a peek lest he be discovered too soon. So, he imagined her sliding her clothes off, revealing her panties and bra; his pants grew more uncomfortable with each image.

  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, pulli
ng 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.