Throttle: Satan's Disciples MC Book 2 (Satan's Disciples Motorcycle Club), page 1
THROTTLE
SATAN’S DISCIPLES MC BOOK 2
ELYSE KELLY
He promised he’d never let anyone hurt me, but I can’t hide out with Throttle forever…
I was well on my way to the top as one of Nevada’s fastest-rising defense attorneys. That is, until I caught a high-profile case with a client known for… neutralizing his enemies.
My firm asked me to do the impossible, a task I was sure to fail from the beginning. But that misstep would lead to deadly consequences.
I somehow managed to escape my client’s clutches, but only to end up with an unlikely savior; a sexy biker with the city's most lethal motorcycle club. A dangerous man who lets no one stand in his way.
I want nothing to do with Throttle or his club. But no matter how hard I push him away, he’s determined to protect me at all costs.
Even if it costs us both our lives.
CONTENTS
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Sneak Peek
Thank You
Sentinel
Prologue
Chapter 1
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Copyright © 2024 Elyse Kelly
Cover Design: Cover Couture
Editing: Pagan Proofreading
Formatting: Elyse Kelly Books, LLC
All rights reserved.
The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of any part of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the express written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This literary work is fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or establishments is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 9798873910717 (Print)
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Welcome to my world of Smutlandia!
Please remember this is just a book, not a dick.
So, don’t take it so hard.
Now, relax and enjoy the smut!
XO, Elyse 💋
If you’re reading an unauthorized copy of this book, congrats on being a thief and enjoying stolen goods.
I hope you step on a lego and run out of toilet paper.
1
SIENNA
“Objection!” the prosecutor barks in the middle of my statement. I’m not surprised, as this is the tenth time he’s done so.
“Sustained,” Judge Michaels drones, his pinched expression revealing his struggle to contain his annoyance with these proceedings.
I snap my head in the prosecutor’s direction, my jaw tight while I shoot daggers with my eyes at him.
I’m losing this case. I don’t have any more evidence to secure the upper hand, and they’ve completely backed me into a corner. After using all legal precedents and loopholes I could think of, I’m stuck. I don’t want to sound full of myself, but this has never happened to me before.
I knew taking on this case was going to be difficult, considering my client is Tony Bertelli. His record is far from clean. The man is responsible for killing countless innocents, including women and children, but no one’s ever been able to make the charges stick. That fact alone ensures no one will view him as a man wrongfully accused, but it’s not my job to judge him, at least not publicly.
It is my job to win this case. However, with the way things are going, the odds are not in my favor. I’ve never lost a case before, and if I’m being honest, I don’t think I’m built for this.
Heat burns the side of my face, and I turn to find my client glaring at me with disdain in his eyes. He’s a terrifying man, and I hate to imagine what he would do to me if he weren’t heavily guarded right now.
We continue for a few more hours until I finally wrap up my closing arguments. After all is said and done, we’ve made the best possible case we can before we’re dismissed late for lunch. I nearly jump out of my skin when Judge Michaels slams his gavel down on the podium.
The jury files out as a myriad of thoughts floods my brain. Tony’s two guards come to remove him, bringing him to our private room for debriefing. I know I have to talk to him, but every fiber of my being is telling me to run.
Stand your ground, Sienna. We don’t back down from a challenge.
The quiet voice in the back of my mind belongs to my father, and it brings a steady peace to my jittery nerves. Filling my lungs with stale courtroom air, I slowly exhale and release the tension in my neck before gathering my belongings to exit the room.
No more stalling, Sienna. It’s time to meet with the devil.
The silence is maddening.
Tony Bertelli sits across from me at a long metal table, his hands free from their cuffs. A guard stands outside, just in case anything were to happen, but I’m still unnerved. My client is a ruthless member of a notorious crime family. One guard stationed outside isn’t going to strike fear in the heart of someone like Tony.
I sit up straight in my chair, my face masked from all the emotions spiraling inside. The purpose of this meeting is to prepare my client for the potential outcome of the trial; however, anyone with eyes can see which way the verdict is leaning. Tony will be found guilty and, as such, will remain in custody until sentencing.
I’m in deep shit right now.
A few minutes tick off the clock before an officer brings us food—a tray of sandwiches and a couple of coffees are placed between us on the table. I snag a cup and lift the hot beverage to my lips, not bothering with my lunch. I’m wound so tight I don’t think I can swallow anything solid right now without choking.
Tony hasn’t touched his food yet. He just sits in the worn, wooden chair, silently observing the walls. They’re nothing to look at, some chipped drywall that needs to be patched and repainted. While he’s seemingly distracted, I let my gaze roam over him, still trying to wrap my head around how anyone could hurt people so carelessly as he has.
If I’m honest, he isn’t an unattractive man. But the menacing darkness that’s forever present in his eyes makes people think twice about approaching him. His black hair is ruffled and disheveled, a stark contrast to his perfectly tailored suit. He may be dressed in the finest attire, but everyone knows the truth—he’s nothing but a snake.
A wolf in sheep’s clothing.
I’m no stranger to men like Tony Bertelli. My whole life, I was raised to defend criminals like him. The part of me that feels guilt or shame for doing this job died years ago. All so I could defend men I know without a doubt should be locked up behind bars.
It was my late father who made me this way. He taught me everything I know. He was one of the best criminal defense attorneys in the state and well-respected by his peers and opponents alike. Dad loved the law and truly believed everyone was innocent until proven guilty. Not once did I ever see him pass judgment against one of his clients. But his crusade to help those who possibly couldn’t help themselves put him in bed with all manner of less-than-savory individuals. And it only got worse the more successful he became. I suppose I should feel honored that a legend such as my father passed his torch on to me. But that isn’t how I feel at all.
And today, I feel like I let my father down. Because I’m losing this case, even with everything Dad taught me. Tony is going to jail for a long time, and by the way he’s glaring at me right now, it’s clear he knows it too.
I tighten my grip on my coffee cup before taking another sip, needing the distraction from my client’s sinister gaze. “Counselor… how do you think the trial is going?” Tony’s raspy, baritone voice finally breaks the silence.
It’s a complete failure.
“There’s still time to—”
He cuts me off, emphasizing that his question was rhetorical. “When I hired Robert Jones’s daughter to represent me, it was because I heard she was the best of the best—a replica of the greatest defense lawyer to ever grace this town,” Tony says coldly. “Rumor was she could wipe the devil’s slate clean. So what. The fuck. Was that?” His fists clench on the tabletop as he punctuates his words through gritted teeth.
I flinch but quickly recover. Tony grows angrier by the second, and if I don’t calm him down, he might do something to add to the list of charges against him. My gaze trails to the door behind him as I guesstimate how long it would take for the guard to enter… should the worst actually occur.
“Aw, are you afraid, Little Miss Lawyer?” Tony cocks his head, a wildness now forming in his eyes. He looks unhinged, as if, at any moment, he might push back from the table and strangle me.
“No,” I force out, trying to mask my quivering voice. The truth is I’m absolutely terrified, but any form of weakness would only encourage his scare tactics.
“Then you must be stupid,” he snarls.
“Mr. Bertelli—”
“Here’s the thing.” Tony reclines in his chair, surveyin
My icy hands tremble around my cup, seeking warmth from the hot beverage. I’m quickly losing the reins on my composure, and it’s starting to show.
“But, if I end up in prison, little girl… it won’t be my ass that’s done for. It’ll be yours.”
I swallow the thick lump forming in my throat. “Are you—”
“My men remain loyal, no matter where I am. You think my empire will fall because I’m locked up?” Tony scoffs and shakes his head. “Like anyone else I employ, if you prove to be worthless… well, my men have very special plans for you, Little Miss Lawyer.” The taunting nickname echoes in my head. “Am I making myself clear?” Tony lifts a brow as he edges forward in my direction, glowering at me.
I’m so fucked.
I can confidently say I utilized every tactic I know to sway the verdict in our favor. But it’s as though the universe itself wants this man behind bars. And if that happens, I’m a dead woman. Once the court gives Tony Bertelli his verdict, they’ll be giving me mine as well.
I nod my understanding. “Crystal.”
“Good,” he sneers at me before finally reaching for his coffee. He finishes it off in one go, then throws the empty cup at me, barely missing my face. Remnants of the dark amber liquid splash on my blouse, immediately bleeding into the fabric.
Asshole.
“You better pray for a fucking miracle, Little Miss Lawyer. Not for my sake, but for yours.”
My pulse races as I hold my breath while standing next to my client behind the defendant’s table. But years of practice allow me to remain poised under pressure as we await the verdict.
Judge Michaels addresses the jurors, specifically the foreman of the group. “On the four counts of murder in the first degree, how do you find?”
“We, the jury, find the defendant, Anthony Thomas Bertelli, guilty of murder in the first degree on all four counts.” The foreman never looks in Tony’s direction, handing over the verdict sheet to the bailiff before taking his seat.
It’s a good thing I’m so familiar with trial proceedings because suddenly, the only sound I’m aware of is the whooshing of blood thundering in my ears. I’m dazed, as if I’m moving in slow motion while watching everyone else act in real time. Judge Michaels slams down his gavel on the podium, and thankfully it brings me back to my senses. My eyelids flutter, the muffled sounds of the court growing louder as the jury is excused. Tony’s guards move behind him, roughly pulling him from his place at the defendant’s table to lead him from the courtroom.
I feel the venomous flames of his scowl, as I’m positive he’s envisioning my mangled body buried deep underground. I turn to watch him leave and suck in a sharp breath.
“You’re dead,” he mouths before disappearing through the doors.
Fuck.
2
THROTTLE
It’s always a good idea to end the night with a nice, cold beer. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
I plant my ass down at the bar. I need a fucking drink. Tapping once on the mahogany wood, I signal for the bartender. His hand disappears beneath the counter and retrieves a chilled bottle—he already knows what I like. After he sets it in front of me, I wave him off as I pull my phone from my back pocket. My texts are blowing up, and I’m already guessing what it’s about. Today was the verdict reading for Tony Bertelli.
Clicking on the link sent by one of my brothers, I’m transferred to an online article about the trial.
Well-known Gallo family crime associate, Tony Bertelli, found guilty on all charges.
Serves that motherfucker right.
I’d never call myself a saint, but with the amount of shit Tony and his men have done, he needs to be taken down. They don’t care who they hurt to get what they want. And that’s the difference between them and the Satan’s Disciples MC.
Tony and his men will kill anyone—men, women, children, your fucking dog—without batting an eye. But that’s not who the Disciples are. We don’t believe in that shit. Innocents don’t belong in the middle of business amongst men and bloodshed. Violence like that is reserved for the bastards who choose to deal with the devil. Leave the women and kids out of your bullshit. Fuckers like that deserve to be locked up like the fucking animals they are. Or put in the ground, whichever comes first.
I tuck my phone away, clearing my head of all thoughts of Tony Bertelli, while I take in the main room of the strip club. The Emerald Club belongs to the Disciples, and a lot of the brothers stop in here when they aren’t at the clubhouse. The layout resembles a sleek underground lair with vibrant green light reflecting off the walls. There are three platforms down front—a main stage bookended by smaller stages—each one currently occupied by a dancer.
It’s crowded tonight. Plenty of drinks are flowing while the thumping bass of the music vibrates in the air. Several patrons are lounging in the back on the plush chairs, receiving lap dances, while others gawk at the women shaking their tits on stage.
This is the kind of scene that would usually turn me on, but I’m not feeling it. Lately, I haven’t wanted just anyone to warm my bed, and that’s strange as fuck for me. I don’t know when it started—maybe around the time Sentinel, our club’s Vice President, met his old lady, Emma. He’s changed since she came into his life, and it seems for the better. He’s always been a man of action, no matter how twisted the deed. You could trust that he would get the job done, even if no one else would do it. But it’s as though Emma melts away the cold, hard parts of him when she’s around. He’s different with her. Lighter, almost. Happier. I’m glad he found himself a good woman. He doesn’t deserve to be alone and should have someone like her.
I take another sip of my beer, letting the bittersweet, amber liquid slide down my throat. As happy as I am for Sentinel, a twinge of guilt hits me whenever I think of my brother and his new woman. He wasn’t the only one captivated by Emma when she first arrived. She’s the kind of girl a man dreams about. But she belongs to my VP. He’d kill me if he knew I thought about her like that, and I’d deserve it too.
But when I met her, I knew my feelings ran deeper than lust. Talking to her made me consider what kind of life I could have if only I had a woman like Emma, how it would all play out if I stopped taking easy women to bed and drowning myself in liquor.
They may be faint, but these feelings for Emma still linger. However, never in my motherfucking life would I act on them. Sentinel is my brother, and I respect him too damn much to ever betray him like that. Disciples don’t do that kind of shit.
I tip back the rest of my beer before placing the empty bottle down on the counter. When the bartender reaches for another, I shake my head. I’m not planning on staying much longer.
Suddenly, three rapid taps on my shoulder get my attention. Val stands in front of me, and I take in her half-naked body. It was only a couple of months ago that I fucked her in one of the Emerald’s private rooms. She was a nice distraction at the time, and maybe that’s what I need tonight.
It’s obvious Val has shaped and altered her body to please the male gaze. When she dances on stage, you can’t deny the attention she receives from every man in the room. Her blond hair trails down her back in waves, the tips curling over her shoulders against her exposed, perfectly round tits. Her glittered body shimmers under the green lights, mirroring the shine of her glossy lips. Determination is evident in her expression as she stares at me with lust in her eyes.
She leans closer until her mouth is pressed to my ear. “Want me to dance for you, baby?”
I stare at her momentarily before shrugging and pulling out some cash. I’m already here, so why the hell not?
I tuck the bills into the string of her neon-pink thong. Then she takes my hand and leads me to an oversized chair at the back of the room—to a secluded, dimly lit corner where I’m sure she has plans for more than a dance. Val pushes me back into the seat and seductively sways her curvy hips to the beat of the music. She climbs on my lap, straddling me as her hands stroke and tease my chest. But I stare blankly at her, watching the way she licks her lips as though she can already taste me.
