Page 60 of Throttle

When he returns, he enfolds me in his powerful embrace—the embrace I adore being held in—and draws me close. My back presses against his stone chest.

There's something different about how he's holding me. He holds on, fearful of letting go.

“You’re a dream, Tequila. One no man ever wants to wake up from.” His lips press to the nape of my neck. Just as I move, he plants a sincere kiss on my head. “You’ll always be my girl.”

I close my eyes, soaking in his arms around me, and fight the sleep that threatens to slay me. I despise the upcoming morning, knowing this will become a memory.

TWENTY

Throttle

I spent hours watching her sleep. Remembering every image of her nude, perfect figure beneath me. The flavor. Her exquisiteness is an enchanting sensation and I want to memorize it until I die.

What remains of me is an empty shell.

I wanted to ensure her well-being. We both agreed. Nevertheless, why am I plagued by feelings of being a piece of scum? What comes next? Our relationship will never be the same. We cannot go back to how we were. There's no way. How did I believe it was okay to have her for one night and not value her as the best thing that happened to me? If I were someone else, having her would be the ultimate experience on Earth.

I messed things up.

“You flex your jaw anymore and it’s going to break,” Tank says.

“I didn’t sleep very well,” I reply while we wait for the van that nearly took my life.

As much as I want to put an end to this shit, I’d rather be lying in my bed with Tequila in my arms. Her soft, shallow breaths caressed my skin, and I longed for a miracle to bring me sleep. I tried my hardest, but it was impossible while she laid there. If we were in another universe, she’d be beside me every night. But in my world, there’s no place for her.

If only I could reverse time. It's not because she wasn’t the best I've ever had, but because I regret contaminating her with my sins. It was unfamiliar, something outside of my comfort zone. The strange emotion. Did others feel this way when they were in love?

I’m a goddamn masochist.

Charger strolls over and flicks his cigarette off the cliff. “Fuckers.”

Right now, I'm attempting to shift my focus away from Tequila. This is business and I can’t let it distract me.

After being pulled off by Chain, we pursued it anyway. And that required us to bypass our President. Be prepared for chaos when he finds out. And he will find out. We also didn't want Charger involved, but he's relentless and nothing could deter him. Nothing and no one.

We await these guys to make a move. Any move. But there's absolutely no sign.

My stomach drops at the idea of Tequila waking up in my bed without me. I wanted to be there…

Focus. Not now.

“Dammit,” I mutter under my breath, too audibly. Charger and Tank study my outburst. “I’m good.” Not sure who I was trying to convince, them or me. Because I’m far from okay.

Tank sighs. “So, tell me why we’re doing this again? Chain’s gonna rip us a new asshole when he finds out. And he is going to find out.”

Charger gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Justice, brother. Wives. Daughters. Cousins. If we don’t save them, who will? They’ll endure years of torture like my ol’ lady almost had to go through.”

Menace fills Tank's eyes. “That reminder was all I needed.”

Jules being kidnapped and narrowly avoiding sex trafficking serves as motivation for us. We refuse to be passive about the negativity in this town. If we can stop this heinous crime, we’ll risk injury or death trying. That's why our club exists.

“Aye. Over there.” Tank points to the tall garage door opening from the warehouse and the two men walk out, carrying what we’re dreading it to be over their shoulder. The form is petite and wrapped in a plastic bag substance. My stomach twists in disgust. I attempt to glimpse through the doors, but only emptiness is visible. It's possible that they're being held captive in the basements of these warehouses. Less risk of anyone seeing or hearing.

“Christ. I hope that’s not what we think.” Tank snaps a photo. Proof is on our side if we take this to the heat, but we prefer to do things our own way, which doesn't include legal measures.

The person in black overalls opens the van's back door and sets down a potential human. Hopefully, they didn’t suffer.

I wish for any sign of movement from the wrapped object, but it stays motionless, fueling my rage. In daylight, too. It reveals what these assholes can do. We’re hoping to come up empty-handed today, hoping our suspicions were incorrect.

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