Impulsively (Dante's Nine MC)

by Colleen Masters

  Brooks stares at me from across the room, his sharp jaw hanging open. After a moment, he snaps it back into place, takes a breath, and strides into my kitchen. He swings open my fridge and grabs a couple of beers.

  “Here,” he says gruffly, tossing me a bottle, “we’re going to need these.”

  “What?” I sputter, “Why—”

  “Just drink your damn beer and tell me everything,” he says, leaning heavily against the kitchen doorframe. “Start at the beginning.”

  And because I have no choice, and because I’ve secretly been dying to come clean to Brooks all along...I do.

  “To begin with,” I say softly, “My name is Quinn Collins. I’m from Allentown, Pennsylvania. And I’m a special agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

  By the time I’ve walked Brooks through the entire sprawling saga of my involvement with this case, the sun is beginning to brighten the sky beyond the apartment’s windows. Brooks doesn’t say much, save to ask for clarification when I resort to FBI jargon. It’s impossible to read his mood, his response to all of this. Throughout my story, his expression is like a slab of blank stone. When I spit out the last few words of my truth, a long moment of silence stretches between us, heavy and moving.

  Brooks takes a sip of beer—his third since we’ve started this marathon of divulgence. He paces slowly around the apartment, his eyes alighting on my things—clues about who I really am. My heart catches as he stops in front of my dresser and picks up the framed photo of my brother, Brandon.

  “I already met one ex tonight,” Brooks says gruffly, “Is this the current Mr. Quinn Collins, or—?”

  “That’s a Collins, all right,” I smile weakly, “But not like you’re thinking. That’s my little brother, Brandon.”

  “Does your brother know about this double life thing?” Brooks asks. “Does anyone in your family know that you’re here?”

  “I don’t really speak to my parents. And Bran certainly doesn’t know,” I say, averting my eyes. “He was killed, a few years back.”

  I hear Brooks suck in a pained breath. “Shit,” he mutters, setting down the frame, “I’m sorry Keir—Quinn.”

  “It’s OK,” I shrug. “I mean...it’s not OK, obviously. I live with it every day. For a while, I used his death as a means of pushing myself. You know, to distract from the pain. I joined the FBI because of him. Thought that if I made something of my life, contributed something to society, I could somehow justify what happened to him.”

  “What did happen to him?” Brooks asks softly.

  “Got caught in the crossfire between some cops and gang members back in Philly,” I reply. “When it happened, I immediately blamed the gang. Assumed that the cops were just doing their jobs, trying to make the city safer. But after everything that’s happened with this case...I don’t know anymore. The whole law and order thing seems a bit shakier than it used to, that’s for sure.”

  “That’s why you were so cold at first, isn’t it?” Brooks asks, joining me on the couch. “You thought that Dante’s Nine was just another gang? That we were just like the thugs that were involved with your brother’s death?”

  “Exactly,” I whisper. “But Brooks...you have to believe me when I tell you that I know better, now. I know that you guys have more honor, more loyalty, than any fed I’ve ever met. I’m so fucking confused about this whole thing. I’m just—I hope you can forgive me. For not telling you the truth sooner.”

  Brooks swings his green eyes my way. He studies me, the cogs of his mind turning. My breath is caught in my throat as I wait for him to speak. If I lose my faith in justice as I’ve always known it and Brooks all at once...I don’t know what I’m going to do.

  Finally, Brooks glances down at my hand, resting on the couch. He lowers his own hand to mine, lacing our fingers together. The simple gesture nearly starts me sobbing. I’m so relieved. He looks at me with knowing sadness brimming in his gorgeous eyes.

  “It makes so much sense now,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Why we understand each other so well, I mean.”

  “What, you’re secretly undercover, too?” I laugh hollowly.

  “No,” he chuckles sadly, shaking his head, “but I’ve lost people, just like you.”

  I gently squeeze his fingers, waiting for him to go on. Brooks isn’t exactly accustomed to talking about himself, his past. Certainly not his emotions. He’s got to go at his own pace. Finally, with a deep breath, his turns to me and continues.

  “You know I was in the Navy with Declan,” he starts. “Well, I didn’t end up there by chance. My dad did the same thing, when he was a young guy. Growing up, I always knew he served as an aviation mechanic. It sounded so cool to me, as a little kid. So I begged him to groom me for the job. He taught me everything he knew, set me up for life. I think it was a relief for him, having something so solid he could do for me. Something so direct. It was just the two of us, me and Dad. If we hadn’t had the mechanic thing in common...It would have been tough.”

  “Where was your mom?” I ask softly.

  “Fuck if I know,” Brooks scoffs. “She was a junkie. In and out of rehab the whole time I knew her, which wasn’t long. Dad would never talk about it, but I think she ran off with some other guy. I was only ten years old when she left. After everything my dad did for her...Let’s just say I had a bit of trouble trusting women after that.”

  “Which is why you don’t like to play games,” I nod.

  “Yeah,” Brooks says, “Pretty much.”

  I swallow hard. Lying about my identity probably didn’t do much to dismantle his trust issues. But this isn’t about me. I force my attention back to Brooks as he goes on.

  “My dad wasn’t without his vices,” he continues, fixing his eyes on the wall straight ahead. “The man loved to drink. Needed to drink. It never occurred to me until after he was gone that he was an alcoholic. The doctors told me, after he died, that he’d been suffering from PTSD since his days in the Navy. Undiagnosed, for years. He passed away while I was overseas. I never knew how bad it had gotten until it was too late. And through all of that, he still managed to be a decent father to me. It fucking kills me to know how much he must have been suffering. I just wish he’d been honest with me. Maybe I could have helped.”

  I rest my hand against Brooks’ back. There’s nothing I can say that will alleviate that pain in him. All I can do now is listen.

  “I was just getting out of the Navy when he died,” he says. “I went back home to Berkeley, took one look around the house we’d shared, and knew I couldn’t stay. I needed something completely different, a clean slate. It was right then that Declan reached out to me about coming to Vegas. We hadn’t seen each other for years, and in the meantime, he’d found Dante’s Nine. He was happy there, he told me. The club was like a family, and he knew I needed that more than anything. I walked away from my old life and moved out here to become a member myself. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Well...the second best thing.”

  A knot twists in my throat as Brooks turns toward me on the couch, taking my hands in his. His eyes are fierce with purpose, and I cling to his every word.

  “I never thought I’d meet a woman who could understand me. A woman I could trust and be honest with. The only girls I’d been with before you were one-night stands, casual, no strings attached. But you...you’ve changed all that.”

  “But I lied to you,” I whisper, “about who I am, what I do—”

  “And then you came clean,” he cuts me off. “Sure, it wasn’t the ideal way to find out. I could have done without meeting that idiot ex of yours. But you’ve told me everything, now. Haven’t you?”

  “Yes. Everything,” I say.

  “Even though your career, your livelihood, your entire life depend on my not knowing who you are?” he presses.

  “I...hadn’t thought of it that way,” I say. “Honestly...all of my attachments, everything I’ve ever defined myself by...it all feels in flux now. It’s like you’
re the only real thing in my life, the only thing I care about protecting. Holding onto.”

  “I know the feeling,” he says, taking me at once into his arms. His face is inches from my own, his breath warm on my lips. “So we both have pasts,” he growls, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “I’m pretty sure that only makes us human. You say there’s some fucker out there trying to hurt you? Well, I’m not going to let that happen. I don’t care if you’re Keira Campbell or Quinn Collins, to me you’re just Red. My Red.”

  “You forgive me then?” I breathe, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.

  “Forgive you?” he says. “You’re going rouge to make sure my brothers and I don’t get taken down by some psycho with cooked-up evidence. You’re putting everything on the line to keep my family safe. I should be throwing you a fucking parade, Red.”

  “I’m not sure that the others will see it that way,” I tell him.

  “We’ll worry about them later,” Brooks says, planting a searing kiss just below my jawline. I curve into him, relief coursing through my entire body. I thought he’d hate me, once he discovered the truth. But look—it’s only brought us closer.

  “It really is you and me against the world, isn’t it?” I laugh, writhing as his lips trail along my neck, across my chest.

  “You fucking bet it is,” he smiles, brazenly confident in spite of it all. “And you know what Red? I like those odds.”

  I cry out in surprised glee as Brooks presses me back against the couch, his eyes sparking with lust.

  “I have to say, I’m pretty impressed with how well you’re taking all this,” I say.

  “So you’re a fed. So what? I’m a damaged loner, there’s some crazy asshole out to get you and my club,” Brooks says, running his hands up along my bare legs. “You don’t honestly think I’m gonna let that stop us from being together?”

  “Shouldn’t we be formulating a plan? Discussing our strategy—?” I ask, propping myself up on my forearms.

  “It can wait until morning,” Brooks growls, kneeling over me.

  “It is morning,” I remind him, jerking my head at the window. The sky outside is just beginning to glow with daylight.

  Brooks parts my knees with firm hands, fitting his staggering body into the space between my legs. “Then it can wait until I’ve had my fill of you,” he says, sliding those irresistible hands up under my shirt, “What do you say, Red?”

  I moan in response as Brooks cups my breasts, pinching my nipples just hard enough to send a shiver of pleasure down my spine.

  “I guess you have a point,” I gasp, arching my back as he kisses along my hip bone. “Can’t really talk logistics while insanely horny, right?”

  “Right,” Brooks grins, tearing my shirt up over my head.

  We’ve already stopped one bad guy tonight, haven’t we? We deserve to blow off some steam. Then we’ll set our sights on the real villain: Jeff Bruno. Alone, I may not have been a match for my devious fellow fed. But with Brooks by my side, who knows what’s possible? We’ve been a pretty incredible team so far. And if we’re half as good at fighting corruption as we are at blowing each other’s minds in bed, Bruno doesn’t stand a chance.

  By the time afternoon rolls around, The Mayor has decided that Brooks is his new best friend. My inherited cat refuses to budge from my lover’s lap as we go over everything I know about Jeff Bruno, and what he might be up to. It takes everything in my power not to giggle at the big bad biker being colonized by an old cat.

  “I can’t believe that fucker,” Brooks says through gritted teeth. The Mayor glances up at him solemnly, as if in agreement.

  “I could hardly believe it myself,” I reply, setting down two coffee cups on the table before us, “the whole thing felt like a bad dream.”

  “If I’d been there,” Brooks goes on, shaking his head, “he wouldn’t have had any teeth left to spit his threats through.”

  “Look. I know it’s hard to focus through the anger,” I tell him, laying a hand on his hard bicep, “but I need you to be clearheaded here. If we manage to take this guy down, the working over he’ll get from the feds and fellow inmates will be satisfying enough.”

  “More satisfying than pounding him to a bloody pulp?” Brooks asks, eyebrows raised.

  “OK. Maybe not quite as satisfying,” I allow, “but close enough.”

  We put our heads together and settle on a game plan for the day. I’ll head over to the penthouse and spend some time with Kassie and Kelly, just so no one gets suspicious. During my down time, I’ll dig up as much dirt as I can on Bruno, maybe even hack into some of his accounts if I can swing it. Brooks is going to tail my crazy coworker throughout the day, figure out where he spends time when he’s not at the field office. He’s even deigning to drive a cage today, instead of his bike. Jesus. He really must love me.

  As we get our stuff together and prepare head our separate ways, I muster up my courage to ask the question that’s been on the tip of my tongue all morning.

  “Last night,” I say quickly, watching Brooks from across the room, “what you said about...you know. How you felt about me...”

  “Yeah?” Brooks says, that crooked grin of his driving me mad.

  “That wasn’t...just the heat of the moment or whatever...right?” I stumble on. “You really meant what you—”

  “Red,” Brooks cuts me off, closing the space between us. He wraps his arms around the small of my back, pulling me flush against him. “No games. Remember? I meant what I said.”

  “Oh. Good,” I smile, taking his scruffy face in my hands, “because I meant it too.”

  “I know,” he grins, running his hands over the rise of my ass. “You may have been able to hide the whole undercover thing, but you’re not that good an actress.”

  “You asshole,” I laugh, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him. His firm lips catch mine, and his powerful jaw works my mouth open at once. I shudder with pleasure as his tongue glances against my own. It takes every ounce of willpower I have to pull away.

  “We’ve got work to do,” I remind him.

  “All the more incentive to bring him down as soon as possible,” Brooks laughs, glancing down at the rise in his jeans.

  “You can say that again,” I breathe. “Let’s do this.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Hey, where were you last night?” Kelly asks, as I sink down onto the penthouse’s leather couch. “We missed you at the Playpen.”

  “I hope that place isn’t too much for you,” Kassie says, dropping a few cucumber slices into a pitcher of water in the kitchen. “It takes a little getting used to.”

  “No, it’s totally fine,” I assure her, unable to hide the smile on my face. “I, uh...spent the night at home. With Brooks.”

  “What?!” Kassie and Kelly cry out in unison, whipping around to face me.

  “He spent the night at your place?” Kelly breathes.

  “From what Declan tells me, that’s like a fish camping out in a tree,” Kassie squeals.

  “You guys are soul mates,” Kelly says, “I’m calling it now.”

  “Oh my god. What if he asks you to be his old lady?!” Kassie breathes, rushing to join me on the couch.

  “He’s totally going to ask you!” Kelly spouts, rushing over to my other side.

  “Whoa! Hold on a second!” I laugh, holding up my hands, “I think it’s a little early to—”

  “Do you love him?” Kelly asks bluntly.

  “I—what—?” I sputter, looking back and forth between them.

  “That’s a yes!” Kassie cries, throwing her arms around me. “You guys are in love! This is so amazing!”

  “Welcome to the family, Keira!” Kelly says, joining the group hug, “I’ll make sure Brooks picks out an awesome old lady cut for you. Nothing too flashy. Classy. Like you!”

  “You two are insane,” I inform them, crawling out from the pile of lithe limbs.

  “You’re blushing,” Kassie shoots back, “no use denying i
t, Keira. You’re one of us now. And we couldn’t be happier.”

  Eventually, I manage to convince the girls that we should get some work done. They run off to interview some graphic designers—which is pretty fortunate timing for my purposes. The second they’re gone, I abandon my CrowdedNest duties and set to work on my new investigation. Mitchell couldn’t care less about how I spend my time these days—he’s not even checking up. But being an active FBI agent gives me all sorts of access to personnel information, even if some of it is technically off-limits.

  After some hearty technological gymnastics, I’ve unearthed quite the treasure trove of intel about one Jeffery Theodore Bruno. By the time anyone notices that I’ve accessed this information, I’ll either have taken Bruno down or been fired from the FBI. It’s all or nothing, now. All that counts is the moment at hand.

  On the surface, everything about Bruno seems squeaky clean. He’s been an agent since 1990, and has always worked organized crime cases. He’s been involved in operations that have dismantled pretty impressive crime families, gangs, and cartels. This is a man who’s respected, well-liked, and trusted by the FBI, despite his temper and occasional unnecessary roughness. But once you look beyond the official record, things start to get a little less sunny.

  FBI agents are compensated well enough, but no one stays in this job for the money alone. And yet, the lifestyle Bruno leads is full of indulgence and excess. He drives a BMW, lives in a ritzy neighborhood in LA, wines and dines his lady friends and associates almost every day. I have a hard time believing that an FBI agent could foot the bill for all of that without some significant help.

  Looking back through the history of Bruno’s cases, I analyze how his purchases and spending habits match up with his professional life. An alarming trend presents itself almost at once. Many of his big cases involve at least one major crime family. In every case where such a family was found innocent at the expense of a rival gang or cartel, Bruno’s cash flow goes through the roof. After every such case, he blows a ton of money all at once. There’s no way those spikes are just the product of job-well-done celebrations. From where I’m sitting, it looks like Bruno is having his pockets lined by some of those friends in low places he told me about.