Page 25 of Throttle

I cautioned him to stay away from her, but he didn't listen. Right now, I am overwhelmed by the urge to beat him to a pulp.

All I could think about was last night and Tequila's silk dress flowing on her body like water, exposing her blush-colored perked nipples that gazed at me. Her dessert scent that’s haunted me ever since the first day we met. A thing resembling a vanilla cupcake. Whatever that delicious dick throbbing fragrance was, I never want it to change. It drives me mad.

With her, I was too close to doing something I would have regretted. We would have both ended up regretting crossing that line. Despite that, she was stunning. I yearned to grasp her thick, dark hair and indulge in the taste of her neck. Suck her breasts as if my life relied on it. Needed her to survive. However, it would be a huge mistake. A situation we could never recover from.

I wasn't the guy for her, the one she needs or deserves. We can’t come that close again.

“All right, ladies. First things first.” Chain exchanges a glance with Brass then me. “Shall we discuss last night’s events?”

Oh, yeah, let’s.

“Sure thing, boss. Why don’t you ask our new prospect over there?” An angry monster dances around inside my chest, just from Brass’s cocky grin.

“Nah, I’m asking you. Please enlighten me, because the anticipation is unbearable,” Chain says sarcastically.

Every eye darts toward me, eager and expecting. In a room filled with rowdy bikers, you could hear the faintest noise of a pin dropping because now they have nothing to say.

Nosey bastards.

“He disregarded my orders.” Okay. Saying it out loud is even more absurd.

The prospect's arrogance prompts a tsk sound, and I'm immediately on my way.

“Hey!” Chain flies up, causing his chair to tumble over. “Sit the fuck down. What is this? Am I hosting a reality show? For fuck’s sake. I'm the one in charge here. So, get your head out of your ass.”

I clench my fists and I'm trying my hardest to prevent them from crashing into Brass's arrogant face.

I watch him as I pull a chair away and collapse into it.

“Let them fight and get it out of their system.” Tank laughs, and that's his best idea in a long time.

It's true Brass might posses more muscle, but my speed and stamina are impressive. Plus, I’m a smart fighter. That's all I need to gain the advantage.

“No one is fighting under this club’s roof. If you want to fight, take it to the pit.” Chain smirks. “Tonight, I'm assigning both of you to work together and keep watch at the warehouse.”

Of course he is.

EIGHT

Throttle

It’s dark, quiet, and still. Despite the bitter cold, we remain focused on completing our tasks. Or punishment, I should say.

The warehouse appears empty, with no signs of traffic or human life. Though, it's clear that the van has made several round trips since we first laid eyes on it. Fresh tracks mark the dirt.

What a sick fucking business. The idea of apprehending these guys is like a cozy fire on a chilly night. It's not unusual for us to handle things ourselves instead of relying on the legal system. We seldom rely on them and involve the cops only in extremely rare instances. There are task force members who don't approve.

Brass is currently parked right beside me. Not the ideal situation.

“Want one?” Our prospect offers me a cigarette.

“Is it laced?”

“If I was going to take you out, I’d have done it already.” He’s still holding out the pack, waiting for me to accept. When I decide not to, he shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

I position my forearms on the handlebars of my bike, leaning forward, expecting something to happen.

Anything.

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