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

was twenty-five years old. The one-bedroom house was the first place she’d ever lived alone. She had a good job at an accounting firm, made a nice salary, was pretty, and should’ve been having the time of her life, not sitting on her chintz sofa staring at the ground as a team of law officers swarmed around.
    McCue trudged over. “Miss Ramirez? I’m Detective McCue, and I have a few questions I need to ask you. May I sit down?” No reaction. He slumped down in a straight-back chair near the sofa. He pushed a couple tissues into her hand, and the touch of his hand against hers appeared to have startled her. She whimpered, her brown eyes searching his face. He smiled faintly, flipped open his notebook, and uncapped his pen.
    After a tearful, stammering rendition of the chain of events that brought McCue to the victim’s home, he stood, thanked her, and went over to the crime scene investigator. “Did you get anything?”
    The lanky man smiled, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and nodded. “A few drops of semen near her bed. I can’t be sure it’s the intruder’s, but we finally have something concrete.”
    McCue’s eyes lit up for the first time since he’d arrived. He thumbed through his notes. “I’m damn certain it’s the perp’s semen. The victim said he jerked off into her yellow lace panties while she lay tied up and duct taped on the bed. According to her, she hasn’t been intimate with any man in her house since she moved in eight months ago.” Elation spread through the room, and a thread of hope that the perpetrator’s DNA would be in the database weaved its way around the crime team. “Do your magic,” McCue said to the CSI, “and let me know the minute the tests are done.”
    As he left the house, he glanced over at the victim; she rested her head against her hand as a victim advocate spoke softly to her. He walked out into the bright sunshine and pervasive heat. The perp was a cruel, depraved sonofabitch who had to be stopped before he did more than take pictures, jerk off, and steal the women’s bras and panties. A funny feeling twisted around his gut; the intruder left evidence, which meant he was becoming sloppy. Sloppiness usually indicated tension and frustration on the part of the criminal. The twisting inside him told the seasoned detective that his perp was growing bored with his usual antics. That concept turned his blood to ice. They had to find the sociopath before his actions escalated to the next level. So far, the women had been degraded, mentally and emotionally traumatized, but he hadn’t exhibited any violence toward them.
    McCue tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he pulled away from the curb, his gaze sweeping over the small group of people who gathered on the sidewalk. He wondered if one of them was the intruder. Another twist in his gut.
    The man had to be caught… and soon.
    *     *     *
    “Have you made the trip arrangements for the motorcycle expo at the coliseum in Denver?” Banger asked.
    “Yeah. I secured all the tickets, hotels, and contacted our charter to see if they could put up some of the single men. We’re good to go.” Throttle leaned back in his chair. The motorcycle expo was one of the biggest in the Rocky Mountains, and it attracted biker aficionados as well as clubs, both mainstream and one-percenters. Each year, several Insurgents would ride down to Denver to attend the event. The collection of bikes, the gear, the custom jobs, and the newest models was something most of the members didn’t want to miss, even though the Sturgis rally was coming up fast. In the past thirty years, there had been major tension between the Insurgents and the Deadly Demons, but now that there was a truce, the expo and Sturgis were a lot calmer, at least for the Rocky Mountain clubs. Most of the time, the rival clubs exchanged glares and scowls, but everyone pretty much stayed away from one another.
    “That’s good. It’ll be a