Throttle's Seduction: Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 7) (13 page)

Oblivion was his goal.

He poured a shot, letting the smooth fire slide down his throat.

The night was just beginning.

D
eputy Sharon Manzik
pulled into the station after her night shift. She and her partner, Bryan Wessels, had had a busy night of drunken brawls, domestic disturbances, DUIs, and a call from a freaked-out woman who told them someone had stolen her underwear from her dresser drawers. The dark-haired victim swore that the culprit stood outside her window watching as she’d made her discovery. When Deputy Wessels asked her to describe the man, the woman admitted that she hadn’t actually
seen
him, but she’d
felt
him staring at her, enjoying the fear that shrouded her upon discovering someone had invaded her safe space. The cop glanced at his partner, rolling his eyes before putting away his notepad.

Deputy Manzik knew Bryan was skeptical and probably thought the woman’s fear made her imagine a stranger in the shadows, but she believed the victim. As a police officer, she often went by what her instincts told her, even though her partner and the other male deputies would tease her about it. She also could relate to what the victim was saying. When she was relaying the series of events, a deep shiver had run through the deputy’s body. A few weeks before, Sharon had felt the same way as the victim, even though nothing had been missing or even overturned; she’d just known someone had been inside, in her bedroom. As hard as she tried, she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling.

“I think we’re done here,” Bryan said.

Sharon went over and handed the victim a card with the name of the victim advocate. “If you feel that you need some help, please call Julie. She’s very nice, and she’s helped a lot of people get through the distress of being a victim. If you need anything, call me. Detective McCue is handling these cases, but you can call me anytime.” She smiled warmly at the shivering thirty-five-year-old woman. Trauma was written all over her face: white pallor, quivering lips, and vacant stare.

Sharon walked out into the bright sunlight. “McCue will want to see our report. I’m convinced this woman’s case is connected to the whack job who’s stealing underwear around this vicinity. What a fuckin’ pervert.”

After they both climbed in, Bryan pulled the police car away from the curb.

Detective McCue had been assigned to the Peeping Tom burglary cases. The
Pinewood Springs Tribune
had coined the pervert the “Lingerie Bandit,” a name that caught the public’s attention. She hated the way the media came up with titles for criminals. In her opinion, the names minimized the seriousness of the crime, and they probably boosted the ego of the criminal.

Sharon turned to Bryan. “The perp’s been at it for eight months, and we’re no closer to catching him than we were when he first started. He has to slip up sometime. The whole thing is degrading and humiliating. As a woman, knowing a man broke in your home and took your bra or panties, it would be awful. He violates the women each time he does it.”

“Yeah. This time, the victim was damn lucky she wasn’t home when he broke in. The perp’s a nut job. You going to the office picnic next weekend?”

“Maybe. I wish I had a guy to bring. I’m so damn busy I never have time to meet anyone.”

“What about Tyler? I’ve seen him checking you out when you weren’t looking.” Bryan laughed and pulled up at Ruthie’s Dinner. “Let’s get some lunch before we head back to finish up our reports.”

“Okay. By the way, women
always
know when a man is giving her the once-over, even if it looks like we’re unaware.” She slammed the car door. “Tyler, like some of the other guys, resents me being in the department.”

“I don’t.”

“You did at first. Remember how pissed you were when the sergeant assigned me to work with you? I thought you were going to burst a blood vessel.”

He chuckled. “I was an idiot. I didn’t know you, and all the asshole guys were razing me about it.” Bryan smiled. “I wouldn’t trade you for any of the guys.”

“Thanks, but you know me. No one else has wanted to really get to know me in the five years I’ve been on the force. Don’t think I care because I don’t. It’s just the way it is. I’ve accepted it.” She walked into the diner.

Deputy Manzik was the only female police officer on the small force in Pinewood Springs. Being a cop was something she had wanted to be ever since she could remember. Her parents had been against it even though her father had retired from the force, but she was determined and she held steadfast.

For the most part, her colleagues accepted her with quiet indifference, but there were a few who made it clear that they were not happy to have a female officer among them. There was one man in particular who didn’t think women belonged on the force and hated like hell that she was under his command—Sergeant Jay Stichler. She grimaced when she thought of him. The sergeant always made sure to give Sharon a hard time, and he’d made it very clear that he didn’t want to have to depend on her if he was in a jam. He’d sneer at her and say crude comments to her under his breath. When her locker had pictures of naked women in vulgar positions, and her picture was taped on their heads, she’d been positive that Stichler was the instigator. Her friends told her to go to the captain and report the incident, but she didn’t want the assholes to think she couldn’t take it. So she ignored it like she did all the snide remarks, the looks, and the occasional vulgar gestures. Sharon just let them roll over her. She figured in time the frat-like mentality would wane, the guys would grow bored of the game, and drop it. After time, the antics seemed to let up, and only Stichler and a couple other hardcore chauvinists bothered her.

They slid into the booth and Sharon ordered a large iced coffee; she was beat and needed the jolt of caffeine. Bryan took out his phone and called McCue to give him the heads-up on the victim. Sharon could hardly wait until she returned to the station, turned in her report, and went home. Her sixteen-hour shift was starting to get the best of her.

A few hours later, the dark-haired deputy unlocked her front door, anxious to hit her comfy bed and sleep. The minute she stepped into her air-conditioned house, she knew someone had been inside. Her body tensed; she could sense he’d been there
again.
She drew her gun and checked her three-bedroom home thoroughly. No one was there.

After making sure all her windows and doors were secured, she took a quick shower, then went to her dresser to take out a nightshirt. And that’s when she noticed it—the top drawer wasn’t closed all the way. She grabbed a tissue and opened the drawer slowly, noticing her bras and panties had been rifled through. She sucked in a deep breath, picked up her cell phone, and placed a call to Detective McCue. She was positive the Lingerie Bandit had been in her house. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as a small tremor vibrated through her. Not wanting to touch anything, she glanced quickly over the contents of the drawer, realizing her fuchsia, laced boyshorts appeared to be missing.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, she sighed, knowing that her much-needed sleep would have to be delayed for a few hours more. She crossed her legs and waited for the detective and his team to arrive.

*     *     *

He breathed heavily
as he looked at the pictures he’d taken of several of his victims. Taking out all the underwear he’d stolen over the course of eight months, he masturbated as he relived the moments of seeing the women for the first time, touching their soft panties, and taking pictures of some of them. The thrill he’d received when he broke into his first house had begun to wane, and his fetish and urges had required that he take it up a notch. So he made the women wear the soft French cuts, thongs, and bikinis while he posed them and took their pictures. Just thinking of pressing his erection against the lovely panties while they were still on the women made him come hard.

He’d been peeping in women’s windows since he was thirteen years old and caught Mrs. Donner’s silhouette against the white shade one breezy summer night. He’d been fascinated by how high her breasts were and how slim her waist was. She was nothing like his mother, aunts, and grandmother. From that moment on, he’d been hooked. He hadn’t done it all the time but in the past eight months, his urges were no longer satisfied by merely looking. He wanted to feel the silky panties between his hands. The peeping in the shadows no longer filled his craving, so he’d taken a bold step one autumn day and broken into the home of a beautiful young woman he’d been watching for a few weeks. That day and many weeks after, he’d slipped into the ladies’ houses and played with their sweet underthings, deeply breathing in their scent. He’d always take souvenirs for when his wife and children would be tucked snuggly in their beds upstairs, and he’d be alone in the basement in a locked room.

For months he’d been on a perpetual high; then he’d grown restless again, and his depravity required more stimulation. And he’d broken into his first house when his target was home. The first time he’d done it and ran his fingers down the soft skin of a luscious woman, he’d climaxed harder than he had in a very long time. He was hooked.

Right then, as he carefully folded and placed his silky treasures in a large trunk, he realized he needed more from his lovely victims. His craving dictated it. After he locked the trunk and then the door, he slowly climbed the stairs, his mind made up: when he went back out to hunt, he’d push his fulfillment to a new level. He had to.

“You all done?” his wife asked as she bustled about in the kitchen. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“It smells good. What’re we having?”

“Roast chicken and mashed potatoes. Your favorite.” She smiled wide at him.

He came beside her and kissed her on the lips quickly. “You spoil me.”

“I know. Tell Aiden and Callie to wash up and come down. Dinner’s going on the table now.”

He shuffled out of the kitchen and climbed the stairs to round up the children for supper.

“K
imber, can you
drop over to the clubhouse to pick up the work orders? I fuckin’ forgot ‘em when I left last night and I need them. I’d go, but one of my good customers is coming by to bring his grandfather’s old Harley. I’m fuckin’ excited to see it.”

“What year is it?” she asked.

“He thinks it’s a 1936 Knucklehead. He’s had it for a few years and wants me to restore it.”

“Wow. I’ve seen photos of the old bikes but never one up close and personal. I’d like to check it out when I get back from the clubhouse. If you need some help restoring it, I’d love to be a part of the team.” Kimber flushed when Hawk looked at her. Sometimes she wasn’t sure if she was overstepping the line between employer and employee. She wasn’t sure how Hawk really felt about a woman in his shop. She heard some of the brothers giving him a hard time when they came in to shoot the shit with him. Kimber suspected Hawk’s old lady had a lot to do with her getting the tech job, but she could be wrong. She just couldn’t read her boss; he usually had a scowl on his face, except when his old lady was around. “Maybe I spoke out of turn,” she mumbled. “I’ll go get the work papers. Be back soon.”

“I was gonna ask you if you wanted to help me restore the Harley. You’re a top-notch mechanic. I could use your help.”

A rush of adrenaline rushed through her body, and she bounced from foot to foot. “Cool. Awesome. Like over-the-top awesome.” She beamed.

He nodded. “You better get going. I need the work orders. The directions to the clubhouse are up at the front counter.” He dismissed her by turning his attention to the computer. She slipped out of his office.

Rereading the directions one more time, she started her bike and drove to the Insurgents’ club. When she arrived, the prospect who stood by the tall chain-linked and barbed wire fence waved her in. Surmising that Hawk must have called ahead, she rode through the checkpoint and parked in the shade under an aspen tree. She opened the heavy door and entered a large room, pausing until her eyes adjusted to the dim light. The smell of weed, whiskey, and pussy enveloped her and took her back to the days when she’d meet up with her ex at the Demon Riders clubhouse. Looking around, she spotted several men smoking joints, their beers in front of them, as they watched the car races on TV. A few men and women were banging noisily on the couches that lined the back walls.
Yep, just like I remembered it. Glad it’s behind me.

Normally, every guy in the place would check out the new chick, but since she wore her coveralls, the men didn’t pay much attention to her. With her hair wrapped up under a skull bandana, they probably thought she was a dude. Happy not to be accosted by a bunch of bikers, she walked over to the bar and tapped on it. A large tatted man ambled over.

“Where’s Hawk’s office? I have to pick up some work orders to take to him at the shop.”

The burly man frowned at her. “You a chick? He said a chick was coming.”

She squinted and whipped off her bandana, her black hair cascading down her back. “Now where’s the fuckin’ office?”