Throttle's Seduction: Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 7) Read Free Page A

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