Free Impulsively (Dante's Nine MC) by Colleen Masters Page B

rising out of the horizon, “home sweet home!”
    I stare out the window at the Dante’s Nine headquarters. An
unassuming, brick-faced bar is the first thing I see. Neon beer logos light up
the front window, and a good dozen Harleys are already parked outside. Above
the door is a large sign bearing the sigil of Dante’s Nine—a pair of dice
rolling a four and a five.
    Adjacent to the bar is a new-looking auto shop, fitted with
all the best equipment that money can buy. That must be where Brooks and some
of the other guys work during the day. The shop looks impressive, but I have a
hard time imagining that its proceeds alone could keep an MC flush with cash.
Bruno is right. It’s got to be a front for something .
    Kassie parks in front of the beat-up bar, and the three of
us step out into the warm early evening. I can hear the sound of carousing
voices from inside, and I steel myself as best I can. Walking into a den of MC
types without spitting isn’t going to be easy for me, but I’m discovering that
I’m a pretty decent actress. Besides, I’m not doing anything wrong by being
here. If they’re not hiding anything, we’ve got no problem. Fixing my face with
an expression of interested curiosity, I follow Kassie and Kelly inside.
    The smell of whiskey and cigarette smoke hits me hard as we
cross the threshold. I blink around the dimly lit space and feel dozens of hard
eyes staring back. I quickly count nine men in black leather cuts. That means
that the entirety of the Dante’s Nine MC is spread around the bar before me. I
scan the weathered faces I’ve only ever seen plastered on Mitchell’s wall at
the FBI. It’s so bizarre to finally be seeing them up close.
    There’s Declan Tiberi, of course, making his way toward
Kassie. The stout, grizzly man he’s been talking to must be Kenneth “Kip”
Sanders. The twin bouncer types shooting pool are Frank and Teddy O’Leary.
Oliver “Ollie” Jenkins is the one with the face tattoo, and Chuck Morrelli is
the wiry one who looks like he’d kill you while your back was turned. John
Baxter sits coolly at the bar, looking at me with mild curiosity while sharing
a drink with the other oldest club member, Saul Ellison. That makes eight.
    And then, of course, there’s the ninth and newest member of
Dante’s Nine. Brooks.
    He leans casually against the bar, his strong hand wrapped
around an ice-cold beer bottle. A smudge of engine grease arches across his
cheek, somehow rendering him even more ruggedly handsome. His bright green eyes
are roving all along my body, but for once he doesn’t seem ready to make a joke
at my expense. I realize that he’s actually too caught off guard by my new look
to speak. When his eyes finally find my face, I feel my knees go weak. He wants
me. Bad . I can tell
from the urgency in his gaze. And in this moment I’m reminded for the
thousandth time how much I want him, too.
    “Who do we have here?” John Baxter asks from the bar,
cocking his head at me.
    “This is the new girl at CrowdedNest,” Tiberi replies,
wrapping an arm around Kassie’s slender waist.
    “The new girl’s name is Keira,” I clarify. “Thanks for
letting me stop by.”
    “We’re not about to complain about having a hot red head
around,” howls the man named Kip, raising a whiskey glass to me.
    “Excuse me,” protests a feminine voice, “you already have a
resident hot red head, Kip. Or have you forgotten?”
    I glance toward the voice and spot a trio of women at the
end of the bar. While Kassie and Kelly may not look like standard biker babes,
these three are hitting the stereotype hard .
There’s a plump blonde, a very thick brunette, and a voluptuous red head. All
three are garbed in tiny tank tops, bare midriffs, and Daisy Dukes. And all
three are staring daggers at me.
    “Calm down, Sherry,” Kassie tells the pouting redheaded.
“We’re not making Keira our mascot or anything. She’s just here for the party.”
    “Speaking of,” says a women