Page 74 of Throttle

“Tequila…” My heart screams. Tell her, you idiot. Tell her! “It’s complicated. I can’t…”

Coward.

Her head tilts down with a sigh of disappointment. It's unbearable how many times I've caused her pain.

“Goodbye, Throttle.” Her voice quivers as if she’s on the verge of tears and I already hated myself. She walks to her car but returns. “I know you believe you’re protecting me from you, but you’re wrong. I’m safer with you than without you. And I’m the one who should be able to choose who I get to be with.”

It’s the worst form of torture. To desire for what's right in front of me yet refusing to embrace it.

I witness her exit, driving away and deserting me stranded on the hilltop.

I don’t blame her because I’d leave my ass, too.

TWENTY-FOUR

Throttle

The back door crashes against the wall as Chain enters with a thunderous sound. Nothing is more frightening than a six-foot plus giant with tattoos who exhales fire.

“Church! All of you. Now!” The ground beneath us shakes as he takes the stairs two at a time.

We exchange looks.

Trembling in our boots, we march behind our President as Tank slides a hang-around off him. It's been a while since I last had sex with a woman. Tequila caught her leaving my room. I have to be honest with myself, the only one who gets me hard anymore is off limits.

Guess I’m in for a lonely future.

We enter church and take our usual seats, except for Hush, who leans against the wall. He maintains a blank expressionless face.

With a piercing stare, Angel sits beside me, glaring at Charger. We didn’t include her because we needed the circle small and sometimes, she likes to run her mouth.

I shift in my seat as Chain's silence becomes more intimidating than any words he could say.

In a menacing manner, he leans back into his massive chair, lighting a cigar with annoyance. Or does it resemble a repressed fury?

We wait with bated fucking breath. Tick. Tick. Tock.

“I'm this close to taking your goddamn patches.” He inhales then exhales, letting the smoke swirl through the room like the pits of hell.

He locks eyes with Charger. Then everyone of us. Tank. Me. And Bullet. Especially Bullet. “You.” He points to our Vice. “I should demote you right now.” Which technically he can’t do without a vote. But if he claims he would, I believe it.

“Chain…” Bullet battles, shifting uncomfortably.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Our Vice surrenders, arms in the air, as we brace for what lies ahead. It's been enjoyable. Having a family. There wasn’t a second option for me. I guess I opt to look for a job at another bike shop. Travel down the coast. Never see Tequila. My aching chest tightens at the thought.

“Did you Neanderthals at least get any information? Or pissing me off and almost getting killed again was for fucking nothing.” Chain puffs a second cloud our way.

No one answers. But we relax. At least it didn’t sound like Chain was canning us.

“Fucking speak. Jesus Christ.”

Shifting in our seats, we clear our throats.

“Uh, that’d be me, boss,” Bullet announces, hoping not to get his ass chewed out again.

“Fine. Go.” Chain waves a hand in the air.

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