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

kick-ass time. This year most of the old ladies will be comin’, and some of the brothers are bringing their girlfriends, so we gotta be on high alert. We don’t want anything happening to the women.” Banger took a gulp of beer and pointed to his vice president. “Hawk’s gonna take it from here.”
    “I got a call from Steel, and he’s have a fuckin’ bad time with that goddamned brat club, the Skull Crushers. You remember the three punks who tried to deal meth on our turf a while back?”
    Several grumblings and curse words filtered among the membership. “They must be causing all kinds of hell, ‘cause Steel isn’t the type to ask for our help,” Jerry said.
    Steel was the president of the Night Rebels, an Insurgents affiliate in southern Colorado. He, Hawk, and Throttle went way back from the time they all joined. Steel had started out as an Insurgent but had to head back to his hometown, Alina, in southwestern Colorado to take care of his sick mom. Missing the camaraderie of the brotherhood, he contacted Banger and Hawk, and the Night Rebels sprung up as a support club to the Insurgents. The two clubs had a clandestine relationship, and the Night Rebels operated under the control of the Insurgents, although, to the public and law enforcement, they appeared to be a separate club.
    “We need to help ‘em out. What does Steel want?”
    “He wants to know if we’re down to kick some Skull Crushers’ asses if they don’t heed his warning and quit selling smack and crystal on Night Rebels turf. Since we get a percentage of all monies collected at the club’s dispensary, the fuckers are also selling on Insurgents’ turf. Again.”
    “Don’t these fuckers ever learn? You’d think that, after we eliminated some of their members last summer, they’d fuckin’ get that we mean business. These punks are dumber than shit,” Chas said.
    “Agreed. We just need to take a vote on whether we’re gonna haul our asses down to help our affiliate brothers.”
    The consensus was unanimous—help the Night Rebels stamp out the new club in town who didn’t give a shit about respect or rules. After church was over, the brothers shuffled into the great room to down a few drinks, play pool, and enjoy the club whores. Throttle sat at one of the tables, a bottle of beer in front of him, as he surveyed the room. Rags was practically buried in Wendy’s pussy and Rock sat on a chair, his knees spread wide to give Rosie the access he wanted while his fingers played with her swaying tits.
    Throttle leaned back, his hands laced together on top of his head, and realized he hadn’t fucked a woman in nearly three weeks. That was a record for him. The closest he’d come to fucking was when he’d kissed that smart-ass witch at Hawk’s shop. He hadn’t been to the VP’s shop in over a week, and he was surprised he hadn’t heard from Miss Know-It-All. Maybe she was getting it from the cowboy; that thought made him madder than hell. Not too sure why, because he’d decided he didn’t need to put up with her shit. He’d only wanted to try her out, but he had no interest in her other than another fuck to add to his overflowing list. Hell, he could fuck the club girls anytime he wanted—and he usually did—although he hadn’t wanted to for the last few weeks.
    Throttle grabbed his beer and guzzled it. He and Rags had been killing themselves working in the hot sun for ten hours a day. When he got back to the club, he was beat. Anyone would be. He stared at Rags as he pounded into Wendy’s heat. Rags is younger than I am. He’s twenty-nine to my thirty-five. Each year makes a big difference. It was funny that a month before he’d been able to fuck three club whores and still be up for a foursome romp with Rock. But then it wasn’t as hot outside a month before. That was it. He was sure of it.
    “Why aren’t you getting in on some fun?” Jerry asked as he sat down next to Throttle. “Isn’t this your scene?”
    “I’m