Throttle's Seduction(Insurgents MC Romance Book 7)(17)

Later that night, she closed her laptop, rubbing her sore eyes. She'd  studied too much and her mind was foggy; it was time to call it quits.  Grabbing an ice-cold root beer, she popped the top and took a long,  refreshing drink. The TV blinked on and she channel surfed for a while  as she tried to quell the restlessness growing inside her. Even though  she hated to admit it, she wished Throttle were with her, but he was  probably fucking some slut at the club. She knew bikers, and everything  for them was for the moment: the booze, the ride, and the women.  Throttle was no different than any of the others. Maybe he wouldn't  smack her around like her old man had done, but she knew he'd carouse  and cherish his brothers more than he would any woman. It wasn't for  her. Not at all. When she decided to get involved with a man, she'd want  someone she could trust and respect. Having her old man cheat on her  and seeing the brothers fool around with the club women behind their old  ladies' backs had disgusted her. She wasn't a glutton for punishment.

Kimber finished her root beer and stared at the TV screen, not really  seeing it. A big grin danced across her face when snippets of the  previous night flashed in her mind. Damn, the man could fuck! Content to  relive the best banging she'd ever had in her mind, she propped her  legs up on the coffee table, leaned her head back on the cushion, and  closed her eyes. She could survive on the memories of his touch, his  kisses, his thrusting dick and forget him if he would just stay the hell  out of the shop. And if she didn't make excuses to see him.

Yeah. Fat chance.





Chapter Eleven





The stench of the weed killer permeated Throttle's nose as it soaked  through his shirt. Flinging the stainless steel tank off his back, he  whipped off his shirt, his back glistening from the chemicals. "Fuck!"  He kicked the tank with his boot, grabbed the sledgehammer lying on the  grass, and struck the leaking tank over and over, his face red and  contorted.

"What the fuck, bro?" Rags said as he came over to his partner. "You're  gonna destroy the tank, and they're fucking expensive to replace."

Through his panting, Throttle said, "I don't give a shit. We just got  this fucker fixed a week ago and it's leaking again. It got all over my  shirt and jeans. I'm bathing in weed killer. Fuck!" The tank had dents  all over it as Throttle continued to assault it.

When he was finished, he wiped his sweaty face and neck with his  bandana, went over to the cooler in the bed of the truck, took out a  gallon jug of water, and poured it over his head. Grabbing another jug,  he chugged some of it down and poured the rest on him.

"You cooled off now?" Rags asked.

"Not really, but it felt good to beat the shit outta the metal fucker."

Squinting, Rags leaned against the truck. "We gotta buy a new one since  we're down to one and we have the big job at the Landley Estate next  week."

"Then we'll get another one. Quit acting like a whiny pussy about it."  He grabbed a bottle of iced tea from the cooler. "You want one?"                       
       
           



       

Rags shook his head. "You gonna tell me what the fuck's going on with you?"

"I don't like taking chemical baths. Nothing more." His jaw hardened.

"You been ripping everyone's head off for the last few days. You even  got in a customer's face yesterday when he told us we planted the tree  in the wrong place." Rags held up his hand as if to silence Throttle. "I  know, he told us one place and he changed his mind, but the point is  you've never flipped out on a customer like you did yesterday. Again,  what the fuck's with you?"

"It's just been damn hot, and all these people are getting on my nerves big time. It's nothing more."

"Really, ‘cause I've never seen you like this. I've seen you pissed, but  it's usually been warranted. You've been a royal pain in the ass to be  around."

Throttle gave Rags a hard, cold stare. "Enough. I said nothing's wrong, so leave it alone."

Rags held his hands up in front of him. "All right, but if you don't  snap out of it, we're gonna lose a couple of our good guys."

Throttle grunted, then picked up the electric trimmer and turned it on.  He wanted to drown out Rags because he was afraid he'd lose it and beat  the shit out of his brother if he didn't shut the hell up. Throttle knew  he was starting fights with the brothers over nothing; Banger and Hawk  had already talked to him about it, but he didn't give a shit. Now his  anger had spilled over to the workplace, and he was beyond pissed at  himself for letting Kimber get to him. How dare she tell him she didn't  want seconds. That was his line. And why the hell didn't she? Further,  why the fuck did he want it again? The woman made him feel and want  things that he'd sworn a long time ago he'd never go for again.

Kimber messed with his world and turned it upside down. Her pushing him  away was supposed to be his part, and he was acting just like a fucking  chick, moping about, wanting to see her again, and flying off the handle  at anyone who looked at him. Damn. I don't know why I even want to go  near her pussy, but I do. It was probably nothing more than male pride.  After all, she loved to argue with him, threw the women's lib shit in  his face all the time, and acted like she didn't need a man to take care  of her. But the sexy noises she made when I kissed and touched her turn  me way the hell on. So she didn't want anything with a man at the  moment. So fine. If I find out she's even looked at that cowboy, he's  getting my fist in his face.

All of a sudden it was quiet, and it confused him. Looking at the  trimmer in his hands, he noticed the blades weren't moving. Now this  piece of shit is acting up too? Ready to throw it on the ground, he  stopped when Rags pulled it from his hands. "You've trimmed the bush too  much. It looks like shit, man."

Throttle looked at the shrub whose fullness was cut away, making it look  like a deflated balloon. Now I gotta buy another shrub to replace this.  Shit, this woman is in my head too fuckin' much.

"Why don't you call it a day? Roy and I can finish up the work. Chill for a while. Tomorrow we got a busy day."

He blew out a long breath as he nodded. He pulled off his gloves and  stuffed them in his back pocket. "You gonna need the truck?"

"Nah. Roy has his."

He turned around and walked to the truck, swinging into the driver's  seat and taking off. Rags was right; he did need to chill. He decided to  go back to the club and get his bike. He needed a good, hard ride.  Riding was the only thing that chased away the bitterness, the regret,  and the recriminations.

* * *

Heat pricked at his skin like coiled barbed wire; it bounced off the  road and caused an illusion of wavering images. On the side of the road,  the trees stood mute in the summer air. Throttle had ridden over the  small roads, climbing up to Jasper Peak to admire the endless wave of  craggy mountaintops for miles. This was his favorite place, and he loved  the way the sheer strength and beauty of the rock walls made everything  seem small. When he looked out over the overlapping mountains, the  limitless evergreens, and the quilt of summer colors on the grassy  canyon below, he felt as though he were the only person on the planet.  It was like this was the real world and nothing else mattered. For him,  the mountain was where time stopped.

He'd thought for one bright, shining moment that he'd share his oasis  with Kimber, but she'd quashed any chance of that. It was just as well.  He hadn't been thinking straight anyway, imagining bringing a woman with  him. He didn't really want that type of connection with her. It would  mean something serious, and he had no intention in getting serious with  any woman ever again.                       
       
           



       

He took one last look and made his way down the peak, heading into  Pinewood Springs. Without thinking, he rode to his sister's house,  making sure he didn't take the shortcut. He wanted to go past Kimber's  house just to see if a cherry-red pickup was in her driveway. As he came  down the road before turning onto her street, he saw her living room  lights on. He pictured her sitting on her couch, her lovely legs on the  coffee table, her dark hair pulled up in a makeshift bun. He bet she was  wearing shorts and a crop top, and her luscious lips would be shiny and  so fucking kissable. He slowed down as he passed her bungalow; his  desire to stop was intense, but his pride kept him away. A quarter of a  mile down the street, he turned left and parked in front of Dawn's  house.

He rapped on the screen door. "Sis, the screen's locked. Come open up."