Impulsively (Dante's Nine MC) (27 page)

“I’ll miss you too, you grumpy old bastard,” I say, reaching
into my purse, “but I hope you’ll take this parting gift as a token of my
everlasting affection.”

Chuck lets out a barking laugh as I hand him a crumpled
package of Hostess cupcakes—the very same gift he gave me to mark my two-year
anniversary at the FBI. It’s hard to believe that it was only a month or so ago
that we were marking that occasion. How quickly things can change when you
follow your heart.

“It’s been a pleasure working with you,” Mitchell tells me,
“I hope we’ll see you back in these parts someday.”

“If this case has taught me anything,” I reply, “It’s that
anything at all can happen.”

I see myself out of Chuck’s office, making my way through
the dead-eyed office that I once called home. In those days, I was all but
invisible to my coworkers. But today, their weary eyes follow me as I make my
way past. In a few short weeks, I feel as though I’ve transformed into a whole
new person. A whole new woman. And I know who’s partly responsible for that.

The California sunlight warms my bare arms as I burst out
the front doors. I take a huge gulp of fresh air, a wide grin breaking across
my face. I feel as though the weight of the world has been lifted from my
shoulders. After all this sneaking, pretending, deceiving, I’m finally free to
be myself. To be with the people I’ve come to love and respect. One, in
particular.

“You coming or what, Red?” I hear Brooks call.

I turn to see my man leaning against his Harley across the
parking lot. His tall, perfectly balanced form is an absolute vision. The inky
black leather of his cut gleams in the sunlight as he draws on a Marlboro, his
emerald eyes shining in the sun. The second I glance his way I feel that
now-familiar tightening between my thighs. There’s nothing standing in our way,
now that I’ve cut ties with the FBI. I’m free to be his, to take him for my
own. I can hardly fathom what that means for us as a pair, but I know that it’s
going to be so,
so
good.

“They didn’t try to cuff you to your desk, then?” Brooks
asks, as I walk toward him.

“I wouldn’t have let them if they tried,” I smile, plucking
the cigarette from his mouth and taking a long drag, “I’ve got better places to
be these days.”

“Such as?” Brooks grins, placing his hands firmly on my
hips.

“Pretty much anywhere you and I can be alone,” I reply,
closing the space between our bodies, “now that I’m a free woman, and all.”

“Now that’s a plan I can get behind,” he growls, snatching
the smoke from my lips and crushing it beneath his heel. “Hop on.”

We climb onto his Harley, settling against each other as if
we’ve been together for years. It may seem crazy, but that’s exactly how it
feels with Brooks. I lean my cheek against the back of his cut as he revs the
engine to life. The powerful machine vibrates like crazy between my legs as I
wrap my arms tightly around Brooks’ sculpted torso. He swings the bike around
the parking lot, heading for the open road. I glance back at the resident
agency—that dinky little building that owned me for two years of my life. It’s
amazing how small it seems now, as it disappears behind us.

I can’t stop smiling as we fly along the open road, en route
back to Nevada. With every passing minute, another bit of my old life falls
away. I have no way of knowing how this decision of mine is going to play out.
But it’s enough to know that I’ve made a decision of my own, for once. I’m not
just letting things be decided for me. At last, I’m in control.

It’s a feeling I could certainly get used to.

Night begins to gather around us as we make our way ever
forward. Little by little, the sun sinks toward the horizon, revealing a
dizzying canopy of stars. My red curls fan out behind me as the wind catches
them, and my spirit soars with all the strength and speed of the Harley beneath
us. Right now, anything in the world seems possible.

As we bear down on Vegas, I recognize the roads leading
toward the Forty-Five Club. But just before we reach that rollicking bar,
Brooks turns off down a dusty dirt road instead. I look up at him
questioningly, but he keeps his eyes trained forward as we trundle along. We
drive out to a secluded overlook, far away from any prying eyes. A low
throbbing starts in my core as I realize that Brooks has made good on finding
us a place to be alone. He rolls the Harley to a stop, lifting the helmet off
his chestnut curls.

“Here we are,” he grins, looking over his shoulder at me.

“Nice place,” I say lightly, running my hands down his cut
arms.

“I thought you’d like it,” he says.

I cry out in surprise as he turns and scoops me up, drawing
me into his lap. I straddle him right there on the bike. Wrapping my arms
around his shoulders, I can’t help but let my hips grinds against him,
ever-so-softly. Brooks runs his hands down my back, pulling me close. His lips
find the tender skin of my throat, kissing along my neck and collarbone.

“Thank you, Brooks,” I whisper, taking myself off guard.

“For what?” he murmurs, catching my face in his hands.

“For...all of this,” I say, gesturing to the wide open space
around us. “For showing me how exciting life can be. For showing me what it’s
like to be wanted. And loved. And all at the same time.”

“You never have to thank me for that,” Brooks says firmly,
his green gaze cutting through to my very soul. “We saved each other, Red. But
that doesn’t mean we owe each other. Besides...I can think of far more
exciting
ways for us to
show our gratitude...”

A low groan slips from my throat as he places his hands on
my thighs, inching upward.

“Sounds good to me...” I sigh, clasping my fingers behind
his neck.

“But for the record,” he says, letting his fingertips brush
against the inseam of my jeans, “I’m glad you happened along, Quinn. Even if it
was to bring down our MC.”

I open my mouth to protest, but can only manage to moan
softly as Brooks strokes his fingers along my sex. There will be plenty of time
for banter later, I’m sure. Right now there’s only one thing I want.

“Let’s do it,” I grin, “Right here. Right now.”

“On the Harley?” Brooks asks, grinning deviously.

“Hell yeah,” I laugh, whipping open his belt buckle.

“Red,” he says, running his fingers through my hair, “I’m
starting to think that you might just be the perfect woman.”

But words fall away as our lips come together. The pieces of
clothing we cast off onto the dusty ground are like the final scraps of who I
used to be, fluttering away on the breeze. If
this
is my initiation into the MC life, I can’t wait to see what the future holds.

Faster
Harder
(Take Me... #1)
by Colleen Masters

Faster
Deeper
(Take Me... #2)
by Colleen Masters

Faster
Longer
(Take Me... #3)
by Colleen Masters

Faster
Hotter
(Take Me...#4)
by Colleen Masters

Prologue

Las Vegas, Nevada

Eight Years Ago...

I lean against the white-slatted wall of my parents’ ranch
house. The Nevada night is heavy with heat, waves of it still rising from the
brush-covered ground. Only the sound of parents’ voices cuts through the thick
air, carrying out through the living room window above my head. I don’t know
what they’re arguing about, and I don’t really care. Their arguments always
seem pointless to me anyway—needless and repetitive. The sound of a glass shattering
inside startles me. There’s a short silence, and the yelling resumes, louder
now than ever.

Pushing off the wall, I pull a pack of Camel Lights from my
back pocket. I got one of my older friends to buy them for me. I’m still a
couple years away from being about to buy my own smokes, but I’m not going to
let
that
stop me. My
mom smokes, though both of my parents tell me not to. But I don’t really feel
like listening to either of them right now.

I put some distance between me and the house, take out my
Zippo, and light up a cigarette. I inhale, but not all the way. I don’t really
care for the feel of the smoke traveling down to my lungs, but I
do
like the idea of doing
something my parents don’t approve of. It’s silly, I know, but satisfying all
the same. I ash onto the dirt and carefully stamp out the smoke, making sure to
crush it completely. The brush is dry out here—it could catch fire in an
instant.

The low drone of a motorcycle engine signals my older
brother’s return. Drew—or Stick, as he likes to be called now—saved up for
years to buy his first Harley, working every job he could find. The roaring
sound grows louder, and I spot two orbs of light shining down the road that
leads to our house. A shiver runs through me, despite the warm weather.

Drew is probably riding with West, his lifelong best friend.
They go everywhere together. Stick is the more outgoing of the two, with a
mouth that his body can’t quite back up. West is the one who always finishes
the fights Stick starts. West’s mom is a real piece of work, and his dad is
long gone, so he doesn’t like to spend much time at home. My family life might
not be ideal, but it’s better than his. My parents let him stay with us a lot
when he was younger. And now...well, he sure grew up.

West is only three years older than me, just nineteen, but
he looks like a grown man already. He’s constantly surrounded by women. I’ve
seen Stick get plenty of girls interested with his personality and his sense of
humor, but all West needs to land a lady is one look. I feel like such a dumb
little girl around him. I can always feel my face getting flushed, and my dad
inevitably catches me and laughs because I can barely look at West, much less
talk intelligibly when he’s around.

Puffing nervously on my cigarette, I pull in more than I
mean to. I burst out in a coughing fit, just as the boys arrive. Through
watering eyes, I watch the bikes pull into the driveway and hear the engines
cut out. I catch my breath and hear the screen door open and shut. Stick will
be able to talk my parents down. He’s good at that.

I take a smaller drag of the cigarette and glance back
toward the yawning darkness at the rear of the backyard. A twig breaking by the
house snaps my focus back. In the dim light spilling out of the windows, I see
West making his way out toward me, walking slowly. I can only see the outline
of his body, but know it’s him. He has about fifteen pounds and three inches on
my father already, and I don’t even think he’s done growing yet.

Shit,
I think to myself,
What do I
do?
I try to slow my heartbeat, which has already spiked. I aim to look
casual, and immediately feel tenser. I nervously run my hand through my hair as
West ambles up to me. At least I’m wearing my short jean cut-offs and a cute
tank. Could be worse.

“Hey there, Tiny,” he says by way of greeting. I swallow
hard as I feel him stop next to me. This far from the light of the house, I
can’t even see his expression. His voice has gotten so deep. Raspy, with a hint
of devil-may-care arrogance in it.