“Hold on tight,” Brooks commands, grabbing my arms and placing them firmly around his muscled torso. He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I take as much of him as I can in my arms, resting my cheek against the smooth leather of his cut. I’m pressed against the Dante’s Nine sigil emblazoned on his back, fighting off the lingering guilt I feel at supposing that maybe MC’s aren’t total packs of heathens after all.
Kelly and Kassie take off down the strip, and Brooks cranks the Harley’s engine to life. I’m taken totally off guard as the mighty machine begins to vibrate between my legs. The life contained in this vehicle is mind-blowing. I lean forward on the leather seat, amazed by how good it feels to have this much power clenched between my thighs. Though if I get my way tonight, I’ll have a whole different kind of might wrapped up in my legs.
Brooks swings the Harley into the teeming traffic of the Vegas strip. The sun is just setting over Sin City, and the place is coming to life with vivid energy. I stare up at the towering resorts and casinos as we fly by. Pressing against Brooks’ hard body, I feel like the queen of this kingdom of vice. How can anything that feels this good really be bad? How can all the people milling about Vegas, all the MC brothers, be so morally corrupt, just for enjoying themselves? What if life is just too short to deprive yourself of everything you want?
Better not waste any more time, if that’s the case, I think to myself, tightening my grip on Brooks’ perfect body, Tonight’s our night.
We soar beyond the pulsing neon center of the city, tearing through the outskirts of town. I look over my shoulder as we sail past the Forty-Five Club. I wonder where we’re headed tonight? Another biker bar somewhere, probably.
My heart swells with delight as we rip through the darkened desert, uncountable stars wheeling overhead. I never thought this would be the case...but I love the feel of this bike beneath me. There’s nothing between me and the wind, and nothing between Brooks’ body and mine. It’s a feeling I could get used to, if my time with him wasn’t going to be over in a week, that is.
Don’t think like that, I chide myself, Just enjoy the moment, Collins. You deserve it. “How’re you doing back there?” Brooks calls over the roaring wind.
“This is amazing!” I cry back, shaking out my curls behind me.
“I like the feel of you on my bike, Red,” Brooks grins, checking me out in the rear view mirror. “And the look of you, too. You’re the sexiest goddamn woman I’ve ever seen.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” I say, squeezing his thigh.
“No,” he says, “I don’t.” And the intent focus of his gaze tells me he’s not lying.
We trail Kelly’s car up into the hills, deeper than I’ve ever travelled before. As chaotic and wild as Vegas itself is, these dark, deserted hills are far more chilling. What’s lying ahead of us, obscured from sight? I guess I’m about to find out.
At long last, we turn down a dusty trail off the main road. Brooks’ headlights illuminate the sprawling landscape before us, and alight on a weathered wooden road sign. I squint at the marker as we rumble past, and feel my heart bash itself against my ribcage as I spot the symbol emblazoned there.
A ghoulish wraith beckons us forward, her skeletal hand outstretched. We’ve entered the territory of the Devil’s Wraiths now. I’ve only ever heard of this place, the compound they call the Wraith’s Nest. But there’s one thing I know for damn sure—I’m not supposed to be here.
Brooks must feel my body go rigid against his, because he peers back at me and asks, “Why so tense, Red?”
“I was just getting used to the Forty-Five Club,” I tell him, “I’m not sure if I’m ready to get thrown into a whole new MC—”
“You’ve met all the Wraiths, and they’re cool with you,” he assures me. “And remember, you’re with me now. Nothing’s going to hurt you.”
Except possibly the other agent on this case, I think to myself. Bruno was furious when I started tagging along with Dante’s Nine. What’s he going to say if I show up right at the heart of his investigation? I’ll just have to pray that this is his night off or something. There’s no turning back now.
The Wraith’s Nest appears over the next rise—a scattering of buildings strewn across the hillside. Most of the structures are low and barracks-like, with one rather obvious exception. At the center of the compound is a tall, brightly lit building, teeming with expensively dressed men and scantly clad women. A red neon sign above the front door broadcasts to the world that this is the infamous Devil’s Playpen.
“We’re going in there?” I ask, as Brooks parks his Harley at the end of a long line of impressive bikes.
“Sure,” he says, cutting the engine. My legs remember the intense vibration as I step off onto solid ground, “This is the Wraiths’ watering hole. There’s a great bar inside. You’re not shy about the whole strip club thing, are you?”
“Hell no,” I reply, shaking out my long hair. “It doesn’t bother me.”
“Good,” Brooks smiles, “It shouldn’t. Even in your nerdiest work outfit, you’re way more beautiful than any woman in there.”
“I think you secretly like that I’m a nerd,” I smile, resting my hands on his tapered hips as he steps off his bike. Brooks towers over me, running a hand through his tumbling curls. He slips an arm around my waist, tugging me protectively against his side.
“You caught me,” he growls, setting off for the Playpen.
“Is it that I’m a challenge, or that I’m something new?” I ask, trying to stay cool as we approach the door.
“Both and neither,” Brooks shrugs. “It’s mostly just that you’re you, Keira.”
I swallow a sharp laugh. If only he could appreciate the irony of that statement.
Kelly and Kassie join us as we make our way into the Devil’s Playpen. The second the doors of the strip club swing open, I’m nearly bowled over by a wave of pounding music and flashing lights. The joint swallows us up as we step inside, and I’m mesmerized by the writhing shapes of women that are spotlit all around. It’s a Friday night, and the place is absolutely packed.
Hundreds of male faces are upturned around the women who dance on lit-up stages all around the space. Audience members vie for the dancers’ attention, waving twenty, fifty, and even hundred dollar bills in the air. I notice that the men in attendance are anything but shabby. Most of them wear perfectly tailored designer suits. These are the big spenders, shelling out for a second of their favorite porn star’s time. Employing adult actresses was a pretty savvy business decision on the Wraiths’ part.
And wouldn’t you know it, there they all are—the eight men of the Devil’s Wraiths are lined up along the bar, enjoying the view. Quite of few of the Dante’s Nine men have joined them. I guess this is tonight’s designated drinking spot. I watch as Kassie and Kelly locate their old men, settling onto their laps with total ease, as if there weren’t dozens of half naked women all around us. But it’s not the dancers I find myself looking at now. Instead, I scan the crowd for a ruddy, bald, familiar face. It looks like I might just be in the clear. I don’t see Bruno anywhere.
“Two whiskeys. Make them doubles,” Brooks says to the bartender, a blonde woman who’s topless save for two sequined pasties. Jesus—and I thought the sweet butts at the Forty-Five Club were bold.
“Hey Brooks,” Leo calls from down the bar, “Your drinks are on me. You worked wonders on my bike this week. Thing runs like I just bought it.”
“Thanks, Leo,” Brooks replies, settling onto a barstool, “just doing my job.”
I laugh as Brooks lifts me onto his lap and wraps his arms around my waist. I’m the only other woman in here, save the dancers and the old ladies. And I’m starting to like the old lady side of the spectrum, if I’m being honest with myself. I get comfortable on Brooks’ lap as our drinks appear before us. I can’t resist gently grinding my ass against his groin, knowing how wild it will make him.
“You trying to cause trouble, Red?” Brooks asks, snatching up his whiskey
glass.
“Absolutely,” I return, clinking my glass against his. “Is it working?”
“You fucking bet it is,” he grins, though he need hardly tell me. I can feel him growing hard against me with every passing second.
“You better make good on that before the night is through,” I tell him, shooting back my fiery whiskey.
“I don’t think I can wait another day,” Brooks growls, slamming his glass down against the bar.
My stomach flips over as his green eyes fix on mine. He means it. No more frustrated desire, no more getting interrupted mid-hookup. I know he means it when he says he’ll find a way to make it happen tonight. I can feel my body start to light up with anticipation at the very thought of finally having this man to myself for a night.
“How are you liking the Playpen, Keira?” Leo asks, sliding a second round of whiskeys down the bar.
“It’s pretty fucking great,” I grin back. “Quite the impressive clientele.”
“Our girls draw a good crowd,” Leo says, surveying the room over Kelly’s head. Though he looks pleased with the goings-on around us, I only spot real desire in his eyes when they alight on his old lady. Now that’s impressive.
“The new girl’s doing pretty well,” Declan observes from Leo’s side. I follow his gaze to a petite, pixie-like woman dancing front and center. At first glance, her hair looks platinum blonde. But as I stare at her, I spot subtle streaks of lavender, too. She’s probably about my height, give or take the three-inch golden stilettos she’s rocking. She wears nothing but a matching golden thong and a tiny bikini top that barely covers her C-cups. Her features are delicate and girlish—distinctly youthful.
“Jesus,” I breathe, “How old do you think she is?”
“I know, she looks really young,” Leo says. “That’s kind of her niche. But we make sure all our dancers are over eighteen, scouts honor.”
“What’s her name?” Kassie asks from Declan’s lap.
“It’s Belle,” says a soft, awestruck voice from down the bar. “Belle Taylor.”
We all turn to see Tyke gazing reverently at the newest Playpen girl. And while there may be plenty of lust in his eyes, there’s something softer, too. His severe, serious features soften as he looks at her, and the slightest hint of a flush creeps up his neck. With his blonde hair and light complexion, there’s no hiding that blush.
“Tyke,” Leo howls, “Do you have a thing for her?”
“I...I don’t...” Tyke mutters.
“You totally do!” Kelly squeals. “I knew you’d go for her!”
“That’s who you want to set Tyke up with?” Kassie asks, staring at Belle as she wraps her shapely legs around the stripper pole.
“Why not?” Kelly shrugs. “Tyke needs someone to loosen him up. That’s why I asked her to come say hi after her dance.”
“You did what?!” Tyke hollers, eyes going wide.
The assembled Wraiths and Nine burst into laughter at their brother’s distress. I’ve learned that of all the members, Tyke has the reputation for being the most buttoned up. As if on cue, the hard rock song blaring overhead reaches its climax. Belle is suspended upside down on her pole, legs splayed in the air. The crowd of men around her lose their shit, stomping and screaming and throwing money at her feet. She rights herself and smiles down at them, looking happily unsurprised by their affection.
“Brace yourself, Tyke,” Declan winks, nodding for the rest of us to give him some space. We all get to our feet and scoot down the long bar, watching out of the corners of our eyes as Belle Taylor sidles up to the wide-eyed Tyke.
“Hey there,” I hear her say above the raised voices and blaring music, “I’m Belle. Care to buy me a drink?”
“It would be an honor and a privilege,” Tyke says solemnly, flagging down the bartender.
I’m glad that Tyke’s found a match after all. Kelly had wanted to set him up with me when I first showed up, but I’ve only got eyes for one MC bad boy. And he happens to be running his hands over every part of me that he can reach right at this moment. Someone can’t wait to get out of here and make good on his promise for tonight.
I lock eyes with Brooks as I finish my second drink. We’ve only known each other for a week, but it’s already like we can speak without words, just by looking at each other. There’s certainly no ambiguity in his gaze right now. Those green eyes say I want you, Red. And, feeling bolstered by his ardent want, I swing myself around on his lap, straddling him on the barstool. I see Kassie and Kelly trade an approving look from down the bar. As if I needed any more encouragement.
“Dance with me,” I say to Brooks, as the pounding bass sets my hips to swaying.
“Gladly,” he growls, tossing back the rest of his whiskey.
He picks me up like a new bride in his strong arms and carries me into the fray of the club. A dance floor is carved out between the raised, pole-bearing platforms. Dozens of couples grind to the sexy music throbbing all around us. The only difference between them and us is I’m not making Brooks pay for the privilege.
I press my back to his chest as he sets me on the ground, raising my hands above my head and moving against him. His hands course down my torso, grabbing onto my gyrating hips. He pulls me against him as we move together, the rise in his jeans growing with every passing beat. I spin around to face him, wrapping my arms around his neck. I can feel his cock pressed against me, just where I ache to feel it most. I’ve been yearning for him all week, and now that I have the go-ahead to do whatever I want, there’s no way I’m not going to have him tonight. The very thought makes my sex throb with eager want.
Brooks runs his hands up along my back, working his fingers through my long red hair. I look at him in the wild, pulsing light, amazed that this person is here before me. I trail my fingers along his chest, tracing his scrawling tattoos. There are so many things I don’t know about him, and even more things he doesn’t know about me. But from the very first, I felt closer to him than...just about anyone. Ever. How can that be?
“You’re incredible, Red,” he grins, lowering his lips to my bare neck.
I close my eyes as his scruffy jaw glances against my skin. I love the feel of his roughness, his jagged edges. I want to memorize each and every one. How am I going to give this up after just another week? I force my eyes to take in the room around us, to commit this moment in time to memory forever. I catalogue every feeling, every sound, every face in the surging crowd—
And across the crowded room, I find two familiar, unfriendly eyes boring into me.
“Oh no...” I whisper, as I meet the graze of Jeff Bruno. My fellow agent is lurking at the end of the bar, not an arms length from where the Wraiths and Nine sit. He sneers at me over Brooks’ shoulder, raising a very full glass of liquor to his puffy lips. A trucker hat obscures most of his face, but there’s no denying that he’s seen me here. On “his turf”.
“What is it?” Brooks asks, looking down into my wide eyes.
“It’s just...I’m...” I splutter, searching for a means of damage control. “I want to get out of here, Brooks. Right now.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice,” he says, grabbing onto my hand. “Let’s go, Red.”
Brooks tows me across the dance floor toward the door. Unfortunately, that means we’re edging closer and closer to the place where Bruno lies in wait. As Brooks and I reach the edge of the writhing crowd, I tuck behind his massive form, hoping to escape without Bruno calling me out on the spot. The senior agent’s sneer has been replaced by a grimace of pure contempt as he surveys the room. And the purest, most potent part of that contempt is reserved for me.
“Come on,” I urge Brooks, dashing ahead of him, “Hurry.”
I race out of the club, gasping as we emerge into the warm, dark night. Brooks looks at me with concern, catching my face in his hands.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “You’re pale as hell.”
“Just...a little overwhelmed,” I tell him, smiling stiffly. “I
feel better now. Let’s just get out of here, Brooks. You and me. That’s all I’ve wanted this whole week.”
“That makes two of us,” he says, his worry ebbing away as desire floods in, “Fuck it. Let’s go. They won’t miss us.”
“Just get me out of here, OK?” I ask, heading for his Harley.
“You got it,” he tells me, “Hop on, Red.”
We roar off into the night again, all alone at last. My heart pounds with fear and desire in equal measure. I’m terrified to have spotted Bruno at the Playpen, and utterly dreading my next meeting with him. But with every inch we put between us and the strip club, it gets harder to worry about my menacing coworker. How can I think of anything but that fact that Brooks and I are finally making a break for it? I tighten my arms around him and will the bike to carry us across the desert as fast as it can.
Together, we retrace our route. The landscape becomes more familiar again as we make our way out of the dangerous, shrouded mountains. I don’t ask where we’re going, because I don’t have to. I trust Brooks implicitly. Not because of how long I’ve known him, but because I know that he’s worthy of my trust. My faith.
Up ahead on our left, the Forty-Five Club rises up, dark and empty. The entire club is partying at the Devil’s Playpen tonight, so the bar is closed up tight. To my surprise, we turn into the parking lot and skid to a stop before the clubhouse.
“Here?” I ask, ripping off my half-shell.
“Why not?” Brooks smiles devilishly.
“Well, it’s locked, for one thing,” I point out.
“Not for long,” Brooks says, producing a thick ring of keys from within his cut.
“They gave you the keys to the bar?” I ask, amazed, “That seems awfully trusting of them. You only just got here.”
“Gave isn’t exactly the right word...” Brooks says, arching an eyebrow.
“You stole the keys to the Forty-Five Club?” I ask, laughing incredulously.
“I borrowed them!” Brooks replies, fitting a key into the padlock on the door. “Declan will never notice. And if he does, I think he’ll forgive me. He’ll understand the...dire nature of our situation.”
Impulsively (Dante's Nine MC) Page 11
