Throttle's Seduction(Insurgents MC Romance Book 7)(3)

"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.