Impulsively (Dante's Nine MC) (28 page)

“No one calls me that anymore,” I reply, trying for brave
but coming off whiny. Tiny is what my family always used to call me because I
was so small for my age. But I grew an inch and a half this year, which puts
me...well, still below average height, but at least not
as
far
below.

“Oh, yeah? What do they call you now?” West asked, amused.

“Olive,” I say, “You know. My
name
.”

“Olive,” he repeats, tasting the word. I feel a little rush
at the sound of my name on his lips. “Aren’t you a little young to be smoking,
Olive?”

“I turned sixteen in March,” I reply, attempting to match
his cool detachment.

“Sixteen, huh?” he murmurs. I feel his hand close around my
wrist and gasp. He slowly but firmly draws my hand, and the cigarette in it, up
towards his face. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but I can feel my blood rushing
loudly through my veins.

He brings my hand up to his mouth and takes a long drag of
the cigarette. His thumb strokes the soft inside of my wrist as he breathes in.
Time slows down to a crawl at his touch. Lowering my hand, he keeps the
cigarette,
my
cigarette, cradled between his lips. He turns his head and drops the smoke from
his mouth onto the dirt, quickly stomping it out with his boot.

“Hey! I don’t have many left!” I protest.

“Good,” he growls.

I’m suddenly very aware of the fact that he still has his
hand wrapped around my wrist. I fall quiet at once as a long moment passes
between us. In the dark, I feel safe with him beside me. I can feel his gaze on
me, warm and lingering.

He tugs me gently toward him, closing the distance between
us. I only come up to his chest, and can smell sweat and fresh air on him. He
draws my arms around him, and I rest them on the small of his back. He runs a
hand up my back. I can feel his fingers glance over the clasp of my bra
underneath my shirt. My head feels light, and my knees begin to shake.

He brings his hand to my face, running his thumb over my
lips. I can’t help but let them part. My head tilts into his palm as he cups my
cheek. He leans down, and I feel like I’m watching the moment from outside my
body. I’ve been kissed once before by this guy at school, but it was sloppy and
rushed. And when my brother found out, the kid got a black eye and a broken
rib. Or two. I can tell this kiss is going to be a whole different experience.
A wonderful experience...

I breathe in sharply and close my eyes just before his firm
lips touch mine. I feel his mouth open against mine, and I follow his lead. His
tongue presses into my mouth, and my eyebrows raise at the sensation. I’m
amazed how good it feels. I let my tongue glide against his, and feel my body
heating up.

I forget any awkwardness and press my body tightly against
his. To my surprise, he lets out a low groan, pulling me sharply toward him
with both arms. My body lights up where our torsos press against each other and
I bury my fingers in his shaggy brown hair. His hands slide down my back, and I
gasp as he cups my ass and pulls me roughly against his crotch.

Whoa,
is the only thought I can form.

“Hey West! Where’d you go, man?” calls Stick from the front
of the house.

West drops his arms and backs away from me. His quick
retreat is jarring after feeling him so intimately against me. I feel like I’m
emerging from underwater, and the cold air is a shock to my system.

“Be right there!” West calls back.

We look at each other for a moment. West runs his hand
through his hair. “I...” he begins. He glances toward the house and Stick, then
back at me. After a moment, he turns toward the house and walks away.

Fuck
.
I watch his retreating figure, an inky blot against the light of the house. I
turn and kick the dirt in frustration.

Stick is so ridiculously overprotective of me. Sometimes he
acts more like my dad than my older brother. Maybe that’s because my dad isn’t
really much of a dad, but still. Stick shouldn’t interfere so much. No boys
have so much as asked to borrow a pencil from me at school, ever since Stick
beat up the kid who gave me my first kiss.

My anger at Stick recedes, and I remember the good part of
what just happened. I smile and touch my lips with my fingertips. West just
kissed me.
West just kissed
me!
And it was good. Really good. And I know he enjoyed it, too, by the
rise I felt in his jeans when he pulled me against him.

I take a deep breath to compose myself and brush my hands
through my hair. With a smile still plastered on my face, I head back toward
the yellow lights of the house.

Chapter One

Olive

Present Day

McCarran International isn’t too busy on this Friday night.
There are only a few people in the taxi line as I exit the automatic doors from
baggage claim. The warm September air hits me as I cross the threshold, erasing
the AC-induced goosebumps from my arms.

Eight years living in New Hampshire did nothing to accustom
me to cold weather. If anything, I hated the cold more every year after moving
there when I was sixteen. Even in the early fall here in Vegas, the temperature
still hovers in the 70s. Back in Concord, some of the leaves are already
beginning to change. I do have to give the Northeast credit for that, the
foliage is spectacular. That’s something I’ll actually miss.

I struggle to pull my two rolling suitcases with me as a cab
drives up and the attendant signals me forward. Thankfully, the cab driver
helps me stow everything away in the trunk, and I slide into the backseat with
just my purse.

“Where you headed?” he asks, slipping back into the driver’s
seat.

“West Clayton,” I say and give him my old home address. It’s
about a twenty-five minute drive, and I know Stick would’ve picked me up this
morning, but I couldn’t resist the opportunity to surprise him by coming home
early.

I open the window as we hit the highway and feel the breeze
blowing through my hair. I haven’t been back to Nevada since my dad’s funeral
three years ago, though Stick has visited me in Concord since then. I was so
worried that Stick and I wouldn’t stay close when my mom and dad split up, but
we managed. If anything, the divorce made us even closer.

Of course, I understood that he wanted to stick with the
Outlaws, the motorcycle club that he and West were prospecting for, and I
couldn’t see being a teenage girl without my mom. So, he stayed here, just
outside Vegas with my dad, and I moved east to Concord with my mom so she could
start a new life where she’d grown up.

But now, I have good reason to move back West to be with my
brother, and it’s not just the warm weather.

The wind picks up a piece of my hair and it flips into my
lip gloss. I pull it off and roll the window up a bit, fetching a compact out
of my purse to study my face. Makeup looks good. Subtle, like I’m not trying
too hard—which is quite a feat, since I am, at the moment, trying to look as
good as I can.

I haven’t seen West since I moved to New Hampshire eight
years ago. When I came back to visit or for my dad’s funeral, he was still
serving in the Marine Corps, but he’s been back for a couple years and he and
my brother are now living in my childhood home together. Roommates again, just
like when we were little kids.

I’ve inquired as subtly as possible with my brother about
West’s current romantic situation
.
He’s not with anyone seriously, but he’s still doing just fine in the
lady department. Which doesn’t surprise me one bit. That kiss we shared as
teenagers in my backyard is still burned into my memory. I’ve been with my fair
share of men since then, but there was something about that night that I’ve
never been able to let go of. West and I never talked about it after, nor did
we share any other kisses. It turns out that my parent’s fight that night was
one of their last. They soon decided to split up, and I was never able to get
West alone again before moving back East.

West and Stick decided they wanted to enlist about a year
later, though Stick was disqualified from service because of his asthma. He
encouraged West to go ahead with it, and their friendship picked up right where
it had left off after West returned. Those two have always been inseparable,
after all.

Before I know it, we’re pulling onto my old street and the
cab driver stops the meter. I peer out the window at my childhood home, which
looks smaller every time I visit, and of course the lights are all off. Stupid.
What made me think my brother or West would be home on a Friday night? So much
for my plan of surprising him and West by knocking on the door looking
impossibly fresh after a long plane ride. Well, no point in waiting around here
for them to get home. I have a pretty good idea of where they might be tonight.

“Um, you know what? I’m just going to drop off my bags, and
then if you could take me into town, that’d be great,” I say as I open the
door. The cab driver shrugs and starts the meter back up again.

I ditch the bags around the side of the house for now, since
I don’t have a key yet. It takes me two trips to get them hidden behind a bush
under my old bedroom window, but I think they’re safe. I return and flop into
the back seat once more.

“Where to now?” the cab driver asks, eyeing me in the
rearview mirror.

“the Black Rock,” I reply.

He turns in his seat for the first time to look at me
directly. “You sure about that?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowed. “You don’t
really look like the type of girl—”

“I’m sure. Thanks, though,” I reply with a smile, and he
backs off. I’m sure his concern is valid. The known biker bar is notoriously
popular with all the motorcycle clubs in the region, the only civilians who go
there are looking for trouble.

I take my compact out of my purse again, nervously studying
myself in the mirror. I duck down in my seat and lift up my boobs a little to
maximize cleavage. I look down to check—probably as good as these B-cups are
going to get. My leg shakes up and down as my nerves start up. I wonder what
it’ll be like to see West again. I wonder if he even remembers that kiss.

We pull into the main drag of West Clayton and I watch the
signs for the Black Rock. He slows down and I peer around. Ah, there it is. Of
course its main entrance is in an alleyway. The cab driver is right to be
nervous—it looks like a total dive from here, and I’m guessing it won’t improve
the closer I get.

Reluctantly, I take a look at the meter. Shit. I better find
a job here quickly, because I don’t have that much money saved up. I fish my
wallet out of my purse and pay the cab driver with a smile. He looks at me
nervously in the rearview but doesn’t say anything more.

I sling my purse over my shoulder and take a deep breath
before shutting the car door. Here goes nothing. I walk down the alleyway,
stepping carefully over cigarette butts and what I really hope is a puddle of
water...but judging by the smell, most likely isn’t. I pause before the black
door, listening to the muffled sound of “Bad Company”. My dad always liked to
listen to that song, before he drank himself into an early grave, that is.

Pushing the door open, I take a step inside and let it swing
shut behind me. A burly, bearded man is standing just inside. I’m about to
reach for my ID, but he looks me up and down, making me blush, and waves me in.
I look around, stepping lightly. A long bar spans the length of the left wall,
and a bunch of couches are set up on the right side of the space. In the back
right is a pool table, and behind that, a partially curtained off area with
some tables and chairs.

I scan the dimly-lit place, looking for my brother. It’s
packed, and most people are looking pretty loose already. A bad-ass looking
biker stands up from one of the couches, licking his lips as he eyes me up and
down lasciviously.
Oh, great.
I quickly head toward an open space about
halfway up the bar and slide onto a vacant, vinyl-covered stool.

A redhead in a barely-there top grins from down the bar. She
takes a sip of her beer, leaning over to me.

“You new?” she says, raising her voice over the music.

“Excuse me?” I reply, my voice high and tight.

“I knew it!” she laughs. “Hey, Franchise! Drink for the new
girl over here!” she yells to the older guy working on the far end of the bar.
He nods at us and heads over.

“Can’t believe Chase, that motherfucker. Quitting on a
Thursday. I’m no fucking bartender!” the man called Franchise growls. “What’ll
ya have?” he barks at me.

“Whiskey neat,” I reply.

“Good. Easy enough,” he says. I study the black leather vest
that he’s wearing—his Outlaws cut. Stick wears one just like it. Franchise puts
a lowball glass in front of me and I hand him a ten.

“Hey, you know Stick?” I ask, as he gets me my change.

“Haven’t seen him,” he answers. He hurries off, scowling, to
help another customer who’s bothering him for a drink.

“I’m Colleen,” my redheaded barmate says. “You with Stick?
Shit, I thought he was with Stacy! That fucker!”

“No, no, I’m not
with
him. I’m just trying to find him,” I correct her.

“Oh! You should just ask this guy. He always knows where
Stick is!” Colleen says, pointing to the back end of the bar.

I turn my head and spot a huge man cutting through the
crowd, approaching the bar. I study the outline of his tall muscular body, the
scruffy stubble on his jaw, his hair pulled back into a low ponytail, the sharp
line of the nose, the soft curve of his mouth...

“Holy shit,” I mutter. It’s
West
.

“I know right?” Colleen sighs, “God, he’s so fucking sexy.
One of the only ones I haven’t gotten in bed with yet.” She pulls the front of
her shirt a little lower as she speaks.