by Chiah Wilder
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.
Chapter Twenty
Kimber 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.”
“I’m fucking standing there, having a goddamned conversation, and this fuckin’ asshole takes a punch at me for no reason.” Rock wiped the blood from his face with a napkin. “He’s a goddamned problem.”
“You were fuckin’ rude to Kimber, and I won’t tolerate that shit.”
“Who’s Kimber?” Chas asked.
“I am,” she replied in a small voice.
They all looked at her, and her neck and face flushed.
“You Throttle’s woman?” Jax asked.
“Woman? Uh… no… Not really.” Who the hell am I to Throttle? Fuck buddy, probably.
“She’s the chick who’s been messin’ with our brother’s fucking head for the last month. She’s the bitch mechanic at Hawk’s shop,” Rags said.
The hairs on the back of her neck bristled, and even though she knew the word “bitch” didn’t have the same meaning to outlaws as it did to citizens, it still pissed her off. “Yeah, I’m the woman who works at the shop. What about it?”
Rags jerked his head back. “Nothing. Just saying.”
“Well, quit saying.” Kimber crossed her arms over her chest.
“Babe, leave it alone.” Throttle put his arm around her, but she twisted out of it.
“I’m not leaving anything alone. If I were a guy, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“But you ain’t a man. You’re a bitch, and it’s fuckin’ weird for a bitch to do a man’s job,” Wheelie said as Rags opened his mouth.
“Stop calling me a bitch. I’m a woman. How’d you like it if I called you a bastard?”
Several of the brothers had come over when they heard the heated discussion, and many of them grumbled under their breaths that the bitch had a mouth and Throttle better control her before she got her ass thrown out. Kimber met their glowering gazes with a defiant one. Wheelie had taken a few steps toward her, his nostrils flaring. Before he could lay into her, Throttle pulled her to him and whispered in her ear, “Fuckin’ leave this alone.”
“I can’t,” she whispered back.
“You gonna let your woman talk to a brother like that, man?” Hoss said as the others voiced their disdain.
“Kimber was just having a good time with me when some of the brothers thought it was okay to disrespect her. That wasn’t okay,” Throttle explained.
“You’re not answering the fuckin’ question,” Wheelie said, his scowl still fixed on Kimber.
She knew it was huge to lose face in front of the brotherhood, and Throttle’s loyalty was to the club first—always first. Citizens just couldn’t understand it, and she’d had a hard time with it when she first became acquainted with the outlaw world, but she’d grown to admire the brotherhood and the fierce loyalty they had to each other. Warmth flowed through her as she witnessed Throttle trying to protect her and not lose his brothers’ respect. She’d gone too far, had let a couple of assholes turn her evening out into a crusade for feminism. It didn’t matter what they thought about her, only what she thought about herself. She didn’t want Throttle to defend her and risk losing his brothers’ esteem.
“I was out of line,” she said, looking at Wheelie. “I’m sorry.”
“You fuckin’ better be,” he gritted.
“I was disrespectful to the brotherhood. I do apologize.” The words sounded hollow to her, but they were what the brothers wanted to hear, so they nodded and shuffled back to the pool tables and bar, a few of them agreeing that “she knew her place.” She stiffened but kept her mouth shut. If she were going to continue seeing Throttle—and she really wanted to—she’d have to keep her mouth in check. Being a woman involved in the outlaw world meant knowing her place and watching her mouth. From the way Throttle stared at her, she knew he was super pissed, and she hoped she hadn’t blown it with him.
“Kimber, do you want to join us for a drink and appetizers?” Cara asked.
She nodded, ready to break away from the tension that filled the air around her and the men. She touched Throttle’s arm. “I’m going to join the women for a bit, okay?”
His fierce eyes bored into her. “Come with me.” He clutched her hand and dragged her behind him down a hallway, to a back room. Inside, he whirled her around, facing him. “What in the fuck were you thinking by shooting off your mouth like that?”
Her defenses flared up. “I don’t like being treated like I’m inferior just because I’m a woman. The way they were calling me ‘bitch’ and dissing me pissed me off.”
“You act like this is the first time you’ve been around bikers. You know we call women ‘bitches.’ It doesn’t mean shit.”
“I know, but it doesn’t mean I like it. The fucking respect thing goes two ways. If your brothers want it, they have to give it too. Problem is men are always thinking life is one way with a woman—their way. It just got to me, that’s all. I probably overreacted, but it’s been a shitty week.” She flipped her hair over her shoulders.
Throttle’s jaw relaxed and he pulled her to him. “I do agree with my brothers about one thing—you’ve got a mouth on you. And you’re right about the respect stuff. The guys were acting like you were a slut, and that’s what pissed me off. I wish you would’ve let me handle it, though.”
She shrugged. “I’ve been handling things ever since I ditched my ex. The day I decided to leave him was the day I swore I wouldn’t take any shit from a man ever again.”
He pressed her to him. “You’re always fighting, sweet one. Relax a bit. Sometimes it’s good to have a man take care of you, but you have to let him.” He tangled his hand in her hair and jerked her head back. “The way you were sparking out there fuckin’ turned me on.” He moved his mouth over hers, devouring its softness. His kiss sent new spirals of ecstasy through her. “I need you, babe,” he said, his breath hot against her skin.
“Me too,” she croaked.
Then his hands were all over her—touching, squeezing, pinching—as he walked her backwards until she was against the wall. With one hand, he pinned her arms above her head as he kissed and nipped the side of her neck, her ears, and her shoulders. He slipped his other hand around her waist, stroking her as his demanding lips seared her skin.
Heat engulfed her, rushing to every corner of her body: her curling toes, her aching nipples, her throbbing mound. Desire saturated every inch of her as she squirmed and rubbed against the wall. In a matter of seconds, her mesh dress was crumpled on the floor next to them, and her hard nipples strained against the thin fabric of her bra, begging to be sucked. He slipped his finger under her bra and brushed the underside of her breasts. “Bite them,” she rasped, and he trailed a scorching path from her shoulder to her tits, lightly biting her hardened beads through the fabric.
Twisting her arm behind her, she unhooked her bra, revealing pert breasts with pink, hard nipples. He growled and circled her areolas with his tongue as she yanked his hair, mad with lust as she waited for him to pull her nipple into his mouth. As he bit and sucked her tits, he pulled down her sheer panties and cupped her butt in his hands, squeezing and grunting as he kneaded his hardness against her. Backing up a bit, he unzipped his jeans and tugged them and his boxers down, his erect cock poking at her. She curled her fingers around it; it was hot and pulsing, and her mouth watered.
“I love it when you touch my cock. I’m about ready to explode here, babe. Is you pussy ready for it?”
“It’s been ready for you since you picked me up tonight.”
“Yeah?” He sucked her breasts hard, leaving red marks as he slid his finger between the folds of her swollen lips. “You’re so fuckin’ wet. Damn.” He brought his finger back up, his smoldering gaze catching hers, and put it in his mouth, slowly licking her juices off. “Fucking delicious.”
Surges of electrified passion sparked through her as she watched him lick her off his finger. Right then, she was connected to him through desire and longing, and she had no intention of ever letting him go. “Fuck me,” she moaned through parted lips.
He reached under her chin and stroked her jawline. Her lips opened slightly and their breaths mingled. In one movement he lifted her, his hands under her firm ass, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. When he thrust into her heated pussy, she cried out, sliding her hands inside his T-shirt and raking her nails down his back.
Over and over he pumped into her as he bit her breasts, kissed her neck, and sucked her nipples. “You’re so beautiful and awesome. What the fuck have you done to me?” he grunted with each thrust.
“What the fuck have you done to me?” she panted, the burning desire beginning to uncoil. Sex had never been that inte
nse; Throttle did something to and for her that no man had ever done. He’d gotten into her blood, and even though she knew that was dangerous, as he thumped and shoved into her, she didn’t give a damn at all. She just needed and wanted him.
The dam broke, flooding every inch of her with waves of intense rapture she’d never known with a man before she met Throttle. She held on tight for fear of collapsing on the floor. His grunts and groans mixed with the warmth of his come shooting inside her and spilling out. She slid her legs down his corded thighs, and they pressed together as each one of them regained their composure.
He kissed her shoulder. “Fuck.”
She kissed the side of his face. “Wow.”
As she pulled back, she saw his sparkling eyes and lopsided grin, and she couldn’t help but smile back. “I guess we should go back out and join the others. I’ll hang at the women’s table and let you do the macho thing with the guys.”
He laughed and kissed her. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“I want you on the back of my bike, babe. I don’t want to hear any more argument about it,” Throttle said as he sat on Kimber’s porch.
“I get that, but I want to ride my own bike to Denver. We’re going to a fucking motorcycle expo. Why can’t you get that I want my own bike there?” The pink and golden hues from the setting sun illuminated her face.
“I like you pressed against me.”
“Not a good enough reason. I can ride with you around the city and some of the trails in the foothills, but I’m going on my own Harley to Denver. If you’re going to be pissed off at me and ruin our weekend, that’s your choice.” She crossed one leg over the other.
Throttle’s stare was hard and his twitching jaw told her he was hopping mad, but she wouldn’t be bullied. She was tempted to suggest that he ride bitch, but she suspected that would be pushing him too far. Why couldn’t he understand that she loved riding as much as he did? “Do you want another beer?” The evening breeze was cool, and as it skimmed over her, goose bumps peppered her arms.