Full Throttle: A Bad Boy MC Romance: Fire & Ice Romance Series, #6

By Kylie Parker

In the beginning, it was just a road trip.

Me, my buddy Matt, and a beat-up car that would get us out of Boston.

Neither of us expected the overturned truck in the road.

And neither of us thought it would be full of cash. 

Cold, hard cash.

What choice did we have?

We took it to the Vegas casino it came from. Matt wanted a chance to roll the dice. I wanted a chance to make things right.

We got all that and more.

Now I can't get the boss's daughter out of my head. Her lips are pouty and kissable. Her body begs for my hands on her curves. And her eyes…they want more. More and more and more.

I'm in over my head. And with the casino boss putting our feet to the fire, I have to answer the only question that's left:

Love or money?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kylie Parker Romance
• Release date: Jan 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386769699

Book preview

1

The gentle rain that tapped against Bruce’s helmet did not affect his mood. Neither did it dampen his friend Matt’s spirits. Bruce and Matt had been meaning to go on this road trip ever since they were children growing up together in an urban Boston neighborhood. Las Vegas, their first major destination, was less than two hours away. A little rain would not stop the two friends from Boston. As former members of Blazing sons, a motorcycle club on the outskirts of the big city, they were used to riding in much worse conditions than the one they were at. It was a warm, late September night in Arizona. The rain would surely force them to be careful when applying the brakes, but, other than that, they would continue their course.

On Route 66, somewhere between Oatman and Kingman, as the telltale sounds of their Harleys tore through the night silence, Bruce spotted a large vehicle from a distance, heading their way. He turned his head to the left and glanced at Matt, but his friend did not return the glance. Bruce pulled in the clutch lever, pressed down on the shifter, let the clutch lever back out and rolled on the gas, leaving Matt behind. He was curious as to why a vehicle like that would completely disregard the rain and run like that in the middle of the night. An uphill stretch of road blocked his view. Just when he made it to the top though, the vehicle in question was much closer. It was a dark-colored van, swerving left and right. The driver had clearly lost control. Bruce had to remain calm, even though the van was still moving quite fast and could end up crashing into him or Matt. More than a hundred yards down the road, the van driver stepped on the brakes, as it swerved right. They squealed and the front tires of the heavy vehicle screeched, picking up smoke. It rolled onto its left side; the bang that it made reverberated through Bruce’s skull. He opened his eyes wide, watching it as it drug itself along the road. Bruce and Matt had no choice but turn their motorcycles right and get off the road altogether. The muddy soil was not an ideal alternative; they could easily slip and get seriously hurt. However, both men were experienced riders. They gently stepped on the brakes, just before they left the road, slowing down considerably.

Debris from around the van flung itself sideways. Sparks flew as the metal scraped along the asphalt. The glass on the driver window was smashed and its rear door opened, before the van was brought to a complete halt. Bruce turned his motorcycle to the left and returned to the road, looking down at the battered vehicle. He stopped his motorcycle a few feet behind the van, put it on the main stand and got off of it in a hurry. Large shards of glass gave way underneath his feet, as he approached the cab. A quick glance in it disappointed him. The overweight driver could not have been more than forty years old. His head was on the steering wheel. Blood was dripping down his temple. The sleeve of his white t-shirt was badly torn and there was blood flowing down his chest, as he had a gushing wound on the base of his neck. Bruce sat back on his feet and put his arm through the broken window. He placed his hand on the left side of the man’s chest. His heart had stopped. Then, Bruce took his hand off of the man’s chest and checked his wrist for a pulse, only to confirm his worst suspicions: He was dead. Before he could verbalize though, he sensed Matt’s big hand on his shoulder. Bruce slowly turned around. His friend was holding a big, gray bag of money in the air and had a broad grin on his face.

It looks like we got lucky. Matt said. "Really lucky."

Bruce couldn’t believe his eyes. Intrigued, he ignored his friend and ran to the back of the van, eager to explore the interior. Three more, smaller bags had fallen out of the vehicle, but those contained coin rolls. A few of them had been ripped; coins were spilled all over the road. Bruce snuck a peek into the van. There were more than a dozen bags of money piled on top of one another, similar in size to the one that Matt had in his grasp and a few smaller ones scattered around them. Both of them suspected where it had come from: A Las Vegas casino.

Give me some light. He urged, grabbing the bag closest to him. Matt pulled his cell phone out of the pocket of his leather jacket and pointed it at the blue, mechanical seal on top of the bag. The gold logo left them no doubt. It read:

Platinum Gate Casino

Holy shit. Bruce whispered. This can’t be good.

Dude, what the hell are you talking about? Matt squealed. We’re rich!

Rich? Matt snorted, turning to his friend. Casinos don’t use ordinary vans to move their money, brother. They use armored trucks and they always go in twos. One of them is bait. This money’s stolen, which means that the casino owner is probably looking for it as we speak.

"Bruce, we found it! Matt cried, his voice echoing in the emptiness. Don’t tell me you don’t want to take at least some of it!"

We’re legit now, man! Bruce yelled. Do you want to start looking over your shoulder again? Because I sure as hell don’t.

This money is going to help us expand our business. Matt lowered his tone. I’m not going to gamble it.

Bruce did not have time to speak his mind. His ears picked up the rumbling sound of a car engine. Neither of them could see any headlights in the vast straight in front of them, but Bruce did not want to risk an encounter with an angry casino owner or his staff.

Speak of the devil. He murmured. Let’s get out of here.

It soon became clear to him that Matt was not going to let this opportunity pass him by. He crawled into the back of the van, as Bruce made his way back to his Harley. As he started the engine, his friend emerged out of the destroyed vehicle, with two of the smaller bags of money in his hands. He sprinted along the road and handed one of them over to Bruce.

Take it! He urged, panic lingering in his voice, as the sound of the approaching car got louder. By now, Bruce could see headlights at the far end of the road. The car in question was not alone; two more cars were right behind it. Unfortunately for him, he did not have time to argue with Matt. One car showing up in the middle of nowhere so late at night was weird enough. Their numbers forced him to believe that his theory was correct. They had to leave that place and fast. Bruce snatched the bag away from Matt. He eased it down on the right footrest.

Do what I did. Bruce advised. Keep it out of sight.

A smile spread across Matt’s face, upon hearing his friend’s words.

Ok. He said with a nod, as the unique sound of Bruce’s Harley ripped through the cool, late night air. In a matter of seconds, Bruce Harris and Matt Miller were back on the road, on their way to Sin City. The three cars that he had spotted passed them by, more than half a mile down the road. As much as he wanted to, Bruce could not risk a glance at them. Even though his helmet concealed his face, such thing could draw suspicion.

Knowing that neither of them could show up in Las Vegas with a bag of money with a casino logo on it, Bruce pulled over again more than ten miles away from the spot where the accident had occurred. They used pocket knives to cut through the mechanical seals. Bruce’s bag contained $90,000, whereas Matt’s contained $110,000. The two men took the money and agreed to burn the bags and the seals alike. They could not leave any evidence behind.

Damn you for making me do this, Matt. I hope I don’t regret it.

2

Bruce Harris and Matt Wilson arrived in the sparkling city of Las Vegas well after 1am that night. The long ride had exhausted them, but neither of them could even consider going to bed, for different reasons. Bruce was too tense; deep down, he knew that the money they had stolen would get them into trouble. On the other hand, Matt was blissful. In his mind, they had done nothing wrong. He couldn’t wait to go out and have some fun. Bruce was ok with the idea of going out. Having a few drinks would help him relax and take his mind off of things, but he categorically rejected Matt’s suggestion to gamble. After checking in their hotel New Mexican on Las Vegas Strip, the two friends went out.

Two hundred yards down the busy road, a large picture of a black, vintage Harley on the glass façade of a nightclub caught Bruce’s eye. The equally big, blue, neon sign over it lured him like a magnet:

Java Jack’s

Next to that club was a massive, modern bar, with an ordinary glass façade that allowed people to take a look inside. It was crowded; many men and women were on the right and left of the entrance, dancing around. The huge, red, neon sign read Happy Jane’s.

Here I come, Jane. Matt spoke, smiling to himself.

I’m not going to a chic club, buddy. Bruce disagreed. It’s ‘Java Jack’s’ for me.

"Dude, a biker club? Really?" Matt squinted at him.

It just feels better, Matt. More manly. Bruce explained. Besides, do you see any other bikes here, other than ours and that Softail over there? He asked, pointing at the electric-blue Harley, a few yards to the right.

Nope. That’s an amazing bike, brother. Matt commented.

My point exactly. Bruce winked at him. You can visit that chic club some other time. Now, let’s go have some fun.

The two men walked into the nightclub, under the sound of Metallica’s The Unforgiven. It served as a welcome surprise to both of them, especially Matt, who was still upset about his friend’s choice. Bruce scanned the club. The wall across from them and the one on the left were lined with every major Harley Davidson ever made. The one on the right was smaller and featured big posters of rock and heavy metal bands, like Guns ‘n’ Roses and Metallica. Next to that wall was the bar of the unexpectedly crowded nightclub. Despite the fact that there were more a hundred people there though, the bar was almost completely empty. A young brunette was sat on the stool in the far corner and an elderly man five seats away from her. Bruce loved her looks. She had long, dark-brown, curly hair, but something else on her really made him want to go talk to her. She wore a black, leather outfit, similar to the one that he and Matt had on.

Sweet. Matt remarked, staring at the blonde barmaid.

Go get her tiger. Bruce gave him an elbow jab, before starting towards the bar. The brunette turned her head to the right and faced him. Her almond-shaped, light-brown eyes sparkled in the dim light. She couldn’t have been more than 5’6, but Bruce did not like tall women anyway. He liked to tower over women; his 6’3, imposing stature allowed him that.

Nice outfit. He spoke in his deep baritone, with a cunning smile on his face, taking a seat next to her.

Nice try. Her voice was high-pitched and very attractive indeed, but her words disappointed him. She hopped off her stool, glaring at him. Bruce had no reason to even look at her anymore and averted his gaze from the brunette altogether.

Shot down in a blaze of glory. He said to himself, quoting the famous Jon Bon Jovi song Blaze of Glory, fixing his gaze on the bottles across from him. Meanwhile, Matt and the barmaid had already started talking to each other. She would not smile at him, but it appeared to be going better than his miserably failed attempt.

Too bad. I really liked that one. Oh well… Vegas is a big city and I’m going to be here for a week. I can meet someone else. She’d better look a lot like her, though. I loved that curly hair of hers. Oh, crap! She’s the first girl that said ‘no’ to me in ten years! What’s going on? Snap out of it, Bruce. She’s clearly upset about something and I don’t think it’s you. I mean, what did you say to her? You just paid her a compliment.

For the last time, I’m twenty-eight years old! I don’t need my father to call me every few minutes and ask me when I’m going home! She yelled, her voice audible over the loud, rock music. Bruce looked up at her over his left shoulder. She was really upset; she put her phone in the pocket of her jacket, as she ran her left hand through her hair, sighing. He would not address her; opening his mouth at that time did not feel like a good idea, as she could well take her frustration out on him. The brunette hopped back on her stool and then took her empty glass in her hand.

Jenny, I need a refill. She said, looking up at the blonde barmaid. Then, out of the blue, she returned her gaze to Bruce. I’m sorry about earlier. I’m Melissa Smith. Thanks for the compliment.

Bruce Harris. Pleasure. He introduced himself with a faint smile on his face, trying hard to hide his surprise, offering his hand for a handshake. Don’t worry about it. I take it the Softail outside is yours. That’s a beautiful machine.

Well, thanks again. A big smile spread across her face, as she shook his hand. It is. Do you ride?

Yep. A 1200 Custom. My friend rides a Seventy-Two. We’re from Boston. We’re on a road trip. We just arrived. Bruce replied, feeling the skin of her soft palm into his.

No kidding! Melissa exclaimed. "You mean you rode all the way here from Boston?"

That’s right. Bruce nodded.

Let me guess. You guys came here because you saw the bike on the façade. Am I right? She asked.

Yeah. He admitted. It looks really great. The place is pretty good, too. It’s got a nice vibe to it.

"Well, it should. Melissa laughed. It’s a vintage bar. I’ve known the owner since I was a little girl. Jack used to be a Black Sabbath roadie, back in the day."

Sounds like fun. Bruce commented.

He’s got like a ton of stories. You should ask him. He’s the guy talking to your friend. She stated, throwing a rapt glance at the elderly