"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.