Impulsively (Dante's Nine MC)

by Colleen Masters

  “Everything’s pretty much the same,” I say carefully. “Nothing new to report.”

  “So it goes,” Mitchell shrugs, turning back to the arrayed information. He says nothing about my stepping on Bruno’s toes at the Playpen. Surely that means Bruno’s kept the incident to himself. Of course, I would rather Mitchell not know about my transgression, but I’d imagine that Bruno would want to rat me out as soon as possible. What the hell gives?

  “If you don’t have any new intel at the moment, you should feel free to work from home,” Mitchell says over his shoulder. “I take your word that nothing’s turned up in the CrowdedNest data, but there’s no harm in going over it again. Things may be heating up on Bruno’s side of the case, so I’d like to concentrate on that as much as possible. Sorry to say, but we may have sent you on a wild goose chase with the old ladies.”

  “Well, maybe I can help out with the other areas of the investigation,” I venture.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Bruno says, addressing me at last. He turns to look at me, his face eerily composed. “I’d prefer to work my angle alone, Collins.”

  “I see...” I say slowly, trying to get a read on his mood. The fury I saw in him that night at the Devil’s Playpen is nowhere to be seen now. Maybe he didn’t actually recognize me that night, after all?

  “You really should get back to work sifting through the CrowdedNest intel,” Bruno goes on, crossing the room to me. Though his body looks relaxed, his calm demeanor intimidates me all the same. It’s too controlled, and far too uncharacteristic, to be sincere. “I’d rather use the office to work alone.”

  “I’m sure Agent Collins won’t mind leaving us to it,” Mitchell says amiably, “Will you, Collins?”

  “Not at all, if you’re sure you don’t need me here,” I say, taken aback.

  “We’ve got it under control,” Bruno smiles, “In fact, we may be able to send you back to San Bernardino even sooner than we anticipated.”

  I cock an eyebrow at the bullish man. Whatever lead he’s turned up at the Playpen must be pretty solid if he’s this comfortable calling the shots all of a sudden. Has he found something serious on the guys? Panic begins to build in my core at the thought of what he might have on the Wraiths. Unaccountably, I find myself wishing that he’d come up empty in his investigation.

  “Whatever you guys think is best,” I say slowly.

  “Thanks for understanding, Collins,” Mitchell says, “Hang tight and wait to hear from us about what we need from you going forward. Your involvement with Operation Inferno may be coming to an end, but I hope you don’t feel that your time has been wasted.”

  I stare at Mitchell. Is he really just going to let me go?

  “Not at all,” I reply, turning to go, “just keep me posted as things develop.”

  “Let me walk you out,” Bruno says, following me out the door. His cheerful tone is entirely off-putting. I don’t feel good about this turn of events. Not a bit.

  But still, I let him accompany me. As we move through the bustling office, he lays a meaty hand between my shoulder blades. I shudder at the sudden contact, but Bruno doesn’t flinch. Instead, I feel his fingers creep up the back of my neck, his grip tightening just enough to be disconcerting. My stomach tightens with every step we take. Something is very off, here. But how to find out what without catching hell for showing up at the Devil’s Playpen?

  We step into the elevator together, and ride to the ground floor in utter silence. I breathe a sigh of relief as Bruno removes his hand from my back. But my dread is redoubled as we head out into the parking lot together. Away from the prying eyes of our coworkers, I watch as Bruno’s face transforms entirely. His features crumple into a mask of rage and contempt, and his thick fingers close around my upper arm like a vice.

  “Get your hands off me, Bruno,” I spit, as he drags me across the lot. The hard sun beats down on us as he pulls us into the space between two parked trucks. We’re totally shrouded, hidden from the rest of the world.

  “Gladly,” he snarls, slamming me up against the side of an armored truck. My head slams into the unforgiving surface, and bright sunbursts of pain light up my vision.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Bruno?” I hiss, shoving at his burly chest, “I get it. You’re pissed that I showed up on your turf. That doesn’t give you the right to manhandle me, you prick.”

  “You’re right,” he sneers, planting his hands against the truck on either side of my body, “If I had my druthers, I’d be beating you to a bloody pulp instead. But you know how it is at the Bureau. Too much red tape when it comes to assaulting a fellow agent.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” I breathe, staring up at him incredulously, “You just threatened me—”

  “No,” he cuts me off, jamming a finger into my chest, “This is a threat: Stay the hell away from my investigation, or I’ll fucking kill you.”

  “Excuse me...?” I say, my voice low and ragged.

  “You heard me, you prissy little bitch,” Bruno spits. “I saw you at the Playpen, hanging all over your pet monster. I’ve been working on this case for months. I’m this close to taking these assholes down for good. And you’re off playing house with a fucking criminal. You could derail everything. I’m giving you fair warning to step the fuck off. Go home, fiddle around on your computer, and report back that you have nothing more to contribute to this case. Pack up your things, kiss your grimy boyfriend goodbye, and go back to California.”

  “But I’m not through with my part of the case,” I tell him, “And once I tell Mitchell about this, he’ll—”

  “You won’t breathe a word of this to Mitchell,” Bruno growls, catching my throat in his hand. I gasp for air as he tightens his fingers around my windpipe. His breath is stale, his red face maniacal and swollen. “Make no mistake, little girl. I will snap your goddamn neck if you fuck this up for me. In fact, it would be a pleasure. Don’t. Push. Me.”

  He shoves me roughly away, and I scramble to put distance between us. “Or what?” I sputter, clutching my throat. “Don’t push you or what?”

  “Knowing that I’ll hunt you down and kill you isn’t enough?” he laughs cruelly. “Fine. You don’t say a word about this to anyone, or I make sure that your man and all his friends get shipped off to prison. I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard to pay off a few thugs on the inside...I could have them kill off every single member of Dante’s Nine and the Devil’s Wraiths the second they set foot behind bars. I have friends in very low places, Collins.”

  “What the hell do you expect me to do with this, Bruno?” I breathe, staring at the maniac before me.

  “Run, girlie,” he barks. “Run fast. Run far. Or you’re through.”

  He turns on his heel and marches away from me, whistling a happy tune as he disappears back into the FBI field office. I stare after Bruno, my chest heaving. My entire world has been knocked off kilter, every organizing point demolished by this act of violence.

  On shaky legs, I make my way back to my beloved Mustang. I slip into the driver’s seat and burst into baffled, furious tears. I feel more helpless than I have since the day Brandon was killed, and just as confused. Good and bad, wrong and right, law and outlaw...no single binary makes sense anymore. I have no idea where I stand.

  The only thing I know is that I need to get to a safe place. I need to protect myself, figure out my next move. With barely contained panic coursing through me, I head back to my barren apartment. Or rather, my foxhole.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hey Red. Heading to the 45 club. Need a lift?

  I stare at the text from Brooks, my knees pulled into my chest. I’ve been sitting on my borrowed bed, all alone in the drab FBI apartment, for hours. Every cell in my body is crying to spring into action, but I’m paralyzed with indecision. This morning’s events have left me totally at a loss.

  At the FBI Academy in Quantico, I was trained to defend myself against those who would do me harm. But I never expected t
he threat of harm to come from another federal agent. I joined the FBI because, in my mind, the feds were the good guys. Fighting the righteous fight out on the streets to protect people like my little brother. But after everything I’ve seen this week, and Bruno’s behavior today, I’m starting to see things in a whole new light.

  Never before has the idea of going rouge occurred to me, during this operation. I’ve been assuming, this whole time, that I would put in an effort, dig up some intelligence on Kassie and Kelly, and head back to San Bernardino. I’m supposed to do my job and keep my mouth shut...but for what? For the sake of an organization that harbors lunatics like Bruno in its ranks?

  I shudder, despite the warm night air wafting in through my cracked window. Bruno’s furious face looms before me each and every time I close my eyes. His attack this afternoon was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. And I just don’t know what to do in the wake of it.

  Bruno has been at the FBI far longer than I have. If I reported his actions to Mitchell, we’d just be playing a game of he-said, she-said. And everyone knows how those games tend to turn out. Bruno would say I was lying, I’d probably be let go from the case. There’d be no one working on Operation Inferno who knew the extent of his mania. The Devil’s Wraiths and Dante’s Nine would be at the mercy of an agent who’s clearly gone off the deep end. And I just can’t let that happen.

  I don’t know if Bruno’s cracked under the pressure of Mitchell’s deadline, succumbed to insanity after seeing something on the job, or simply gone off his rocker. But I do know that I’m the only one standing between him and the MC’s who have come to be my friends. If Bruno goes after them, finds a way to take them down, no court in the country is going to question his evidence. He’s too smart—or maybe too ruthless—not to cover his tracks.

  Gritting my teeth, I pick up my cell and shoot a text to Brooks:

  Need a night off, I think. Under the weather.

  What I really need is a night to come up with a plan, but god knows a little white lie won’t amount to much between us. There’s no way I’m going to figure out what to do without a little guidance, and there’s only one person in the world who can give me the advice I need right now. With a deep breath, I punch in a familiar number and wait as the phone rings.

  “Well, you made it a week without my help,” grumbles a surly voice on the other end of the line. “Honestly, I didn’t think you’d last more than six hours.”

  “Hello to you too, Jones,” I smile, relieved to hear my mentor’s voice—no matter how grumpy it is.

  “How are you holding up over there?” he asks, “Blow your cover yet?”

  “Not yet,” I say wryly, “but I’ve still got a few days before the operation is called off.”

  “I’m just fucking with you,” Chuck goes on. I hear him crack a beer over the line, and go to fetch one from the fridge myself. It’s almost like having a drink with an old friend, I guess.

  “Jones,” I go on, knocking off the bottle cap on the edge of the counter, “I’m in need of some advice.”

  “I figured as much,” he says. “What’s going on?”

  “Well,” I begin, unsure of how much I should reveal to him, “Let’s just say that my investigation hasn’t exactly gone...quite as planned.”

  “When do they ever?” he replies.

  “Right,” I say, taking a swig of beer, “but things have really veered off course over here. I’ve come across something...pretty alarming. But it’s not really something I’ve been given the go-ahead to pursue. You follow?”

  “Sure,” Chuck says, “things get tricky in the real world, huh? You’re not used to investigating people, just data.”

  “Data’s a lot easier to understand,” I sigh.

  “No shit,” Chuck laughs, “But that’s what makes this job fun. Listen, Collins. When you’ve got a lead, you hunt that sucker down. Worse case scenario, it dries up. Best case, you’ve figured something out that no one else would have been able to. It’s your job to chase down the truth, Quinn. No matter where it takes you. Trust your gut, and don’t be afraid to step out of line.”

  “Trust my gut,” I repeat, swallowing hard. “Got it.”

  “Is everything OK, Collins?” Chuck asks, concern tingeing his gruff voice. “You sound a little distressed.”

  “That’s one word for it,” I laugh. “Another might be ‘terrified’.”

  “Do you need backup?” he goes on. “Should I tell Mitchell—?”

  “No,” I cut him off sharply, “no. You’re right. I need to sniff this out myself first. I’ll be OK, Chuck. I promise.”

  “All right,” he says, “I’ll leave it to you. But you’ll call me if things get out of hand?”

  “Of course,” I tell him. It’s another white lie—things have already gotten out of hand. “I’ve got to get back to it, Jones. Thanks for the pep talk.”

  “Don’t you ever accuse me of being peppy,” he snaps, “but good luck all the same, Collins. You’ve got this.”

  My mentor hangs up, and I’m on my own again. Only now, I know what I have to do. Something’s going on with Jeff Bruno, something beyond what the FBI knows about. And I’m the only one who has any idea. Though I’ve been told that my part in Operation Inferno is all but over, it looks like my real investigation has just begun.

  Only this time, the target is Bruno himself.

  “I know it’s crazy,” I say to The Mayor, who’s hopped on the bed wearing a skeptical scowl, “but I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t try and figure out the truth.”

  The old gray cat pads across the covers toward me, and actually curls up in my lap. I scratch his tattered ears, amazed by his display of affection. The Mayor’s being cuddly, Bruno’s lost it, I’m falling in love with a MC bad boy. The whole damn world’s gone nuts.

  My phone chirps on the bedspread. Two texts await my appraisal. The first, from Milo, I ignore without opening. That’s become my go-to tactic with any communication from him. But the second is a response from Brooks:

  I bet I can make you feel better

  My stomach flutters as I imagine Brooks kicking down the front door of this dingy apartment and having his way with me. I glance around the unimpressive space that the FBI has granted me. No one from my MC life knows where this place is. It’s my safe house. But considering Bruno’s actions today, it’s not feeling too safe anymore. What if that maniac shows up here to make sure I keep my mouth shut about his assault...for good?

  I bite my lip, staring down at Brooks’ text. He’s as new to the MC world as I am. An outsider and a loner, just like me. It’s why we understand each other. What if...I let him in on what was going on with me? Really let him in? I could use some backup on this new leg of my investigation, especially since I have no idea who I can actually trust in the Bureau. Whether I go through with telling him the truth or not, I don’t want to be alone tonight.

  I’d like that.

  I send off my short reply, and follow it up with my address. My heart is racing as I shoo The Mayor off my lap and plant my feet on the ground. I pace the tiny living room, nervously sipping my beer, until a response appears on my phone.

  Be right there.

  Sparks of anticipation sizzle along my nerves. He’s coming here. Brooks is coming to my secret apartment, the single point of access to my real life. And I realize, as I straighten up my few belongings, that I want him to see this place. I want him to know the truth about me. What’s the point of keeping this secret from the one person who really understands me? It’s a risk, letting him in on the truth. But it’s a far bigger risk to keep him in the dark. If I’m honest with him, we have a chance at getting through this together. If I continue to lie, we’ll never make it.

  “Holy shit. This is really happening,” I mutter, running my hands through my hair.

  I’m going rogue. Little Quinn Collins is turning into a loose cannon. I grin, exhilarated by this turn of events. For too long, I’ve let life do with me what it will. Now, I’m fi
nally snatching back the reins. And whatever happens, this sense of freedom—of purpose—is worth it. Even if Brooks is too angry about my deception to stay in my life, even if I never find anything on Bruno, even if I get seriously hurt in my quest for truth...this is still the right course.

  And it feels damn good.

  I slip out of my grubby pajama bottoms and lift my cotton tee over my head. Brooks is coming over here to make me feel better, and I want to be ready for him. I pull on a sexy barely-there black thong, a micro denim mini-skirt, and a tight black tank top that leaves plenty of my midriff exposed. My red hair falls across my shoulders and back, fanning out against my freckled skin. I smile to myself, remembering how fond Brooks has become of those very freckles.

  Suited up to be stripped down, I snag two more beers from the fridge and settle onto the couch. But the second that my butt hits the sofa, my ears prick up at the low roar of an approaching motorcycle engine. My heart is in my throat as a flash of headlights sweeps across my front window. The sound of the engine peaks and cuts off, and I can’t help but race to the door. Tamping down my elated smile, I pull the door open and peer out into the night.

  Brooks stands in my doorway, helmet tucked beneath his arm. He looks windblown and flushed, as excited as I am about this little rendezvous. His fist is raised to knock on the door, but he lets it drop as he catches sight of me. I feel his eyes rake down the length of my body, dwelling on every dip and curve.

  “If this is what you look like when you’re under the weather,” he grins, “I think we should take sick days more often.”

  “I certainly wouldn’t say no to more house calls from you,” I reply, stepping aside to let him in.

  Brooks runs a hand down my bare arm as he strides across the threshold and into my tiny apartment. He looks around the unadorned space as I shut the door tightly behind me, peering out the front window to make sure we’re not being watched. This is insane, I know. Inviting the target of the FBI’s investigation back to my safe house for a booty call. But after today, I don’t know if I give a damn about the FBI’s rules. I’m after the truth, here, not the story that’s convenient for the Bureau. Bruno may very well be orchestrating some nasty shit—why not recruit a new partner who’s well acquainted with playing dirty?