Imperfectly (Dante’s Nine MC #2)(33)
Author: Colleen Masters

I pull out my phone and shoot Declan a quick note.

She’s close. Still working on where, exactly. Orders were given not to hurt her.

Declan–Keep digging. Try and coax it out of your lover boy. And you know to delete these texts after you send them, right?

Of course. I’m not actually a drooling moron.

Declan–Your words. Not mine.

Any news from you?

Declan–We’re retracing our meetings with other clubs, seeing if anyone might have said something misleading to the Wraiths. But that doesn’t seem to be the case. No one can tell us what gossip pissed them off.

What about Sam? Any new details?

Declan–You just worry about Kassie. Leave prying about Sam to us.

Before I can reply, I hear the sound of engines closing in on the strip club. My heart slams against my rib cage as I hurriedly delete Declan’s messages off my phone. I close down all of the records and accounts I have open on the computer, covering my tracks. Just as I’m straightening my tight black top and smoothing down my hair, the office door bursts open. Leo steps across the threshold, looking larger than life in this tiny space.

“Leo…Are you OK?” I breathe, letting my eyes trail up and down the length of his body. His face is flushed, his forehead dotted with sweat. His chest is heaving, and his hands are balled into tight fists. There’s a broad grin spread across his face, the first true smile I’ve ever seen him wear. He looks like he’s just walked out a boxing ring. Come to think of it, that may be the case.

“I’m great,” he tells me, “Just brought in a couple grand for the club.”

“In the ring?” I ask.

“How did you know that?” he replies sharply, his smile wavering.

Oh shit. Kassie was the one who told me about Leo’s boxing career. He and Declan have that in common.

“One of the girls told me,” I say vaguely, gesturing toward the strip club proper, “I figured that might have been where you were headed.”

“You figured right,” he says, crossing his thick arms, “Just a casual afternoon brawl. All in a day’s work.”

“Well, congratulations,” I offer, “I’m glad you won.”

“You should be glad,” he tells me, taking a step toward the desk, “Because I have something of a post-fight ritual that I need your help with.”

My heart leaps. I can only imagine what a guy like Leo prefers to do after winning a fight. I hope it involves me, flat on my back beneath him.

“Do tell?” I breathe, leaning toward him over the desk.

“After a fight,” he growls, running his hands down my bare arms, “There’s nothing I like more than having a good—”

“Lay?” I ask hopefully.

“Home cooked meal,” he corrects me with a wink.

“I should have guessed,” I mutter, shoving my hands through my hair. I’m all pent up, crazy to get in bed with this guy. And all he can think about is his stomach.

“So, get your stuff,” he tells me, “Let’s get a move on.”

“I’m sorry?” I say, “Where are we going?”

“Back to my place,” he says, “What, you think I’m going to cook for myself?”

“You…want me to cook for you?” I ask, staring up at his grinning face.

“I do,” he says, “It’s part of your job description.”

“That’s news to me,” I tell him.

“Well, surprise,” he laughs, “Now come on. I’m starving.”

“I’m kind of in the middle of something…” I say, gesturing toward the computer, “Your accounts are a mess, here. I’ve only just started going through them. I could use a couple of hours to—”

“Babe,” he cuts me off, “Drop it. Come play housewife for me.”

“I’m not exactly experienced on that front,” I say, crossing my arms.

“Well, that’s about to change,” he informs me, “You can cook, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“That’s all I need to know,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet, “I like my steaks rare, by the way.”

I’m about to protest again, but the look in Leo’s eye makes me snap my jaw shut. He looks happy and hungry—perhaps for more than just a good steak. Maybe, once I show off my domestic charms, he’ll finally make good on his promise and take me to bed (or the floor, or the kitchen counter, I’m not picky). Besides, I can’t seem to find any more information on the Wraith’s Nest computer. Maybe there will be something at his house that’ll give me some idea about Kassie’s whereabouts.

“Fine,” I sigh, “Let’s go.”

Leo all but carries me out of the Devil’s Playpen. The four girls I met earlier today look on as we dash by, smiling knowingly. It’s just past three in the afternoon, and the rest of the Playpen girls are reporting for duty. I have to admit, I don’t mind being absent for the evening. I’m not too keen on meeting any more assholes like the guys who harassed me this morning. Not while I could be playing house with Leo instead.

We pass by my car entirely. I don’t even bother asking Leo if I can take it—there’s no way he’s leading a yuppie car like mine around. His Harley is waiting for us across the lot, parked in front of the Wraiths’ chapel. As we approach, a handful of members saunter out of the low building, each producing a pack of smokes and lighting up.

I recognize them all, now. Some from brief encounters, and some from the research I did this afternoon. My blood heats up a few degrees as I spot Buck and Dewey. I may be hot for Leo, but I don’t forgive any of them for what they did to me and girls at the Forty-Five Club. Not yet. Not until I know that Kassie is safe, at the very least.

With Buck and Dewey are Bear and Tyke—the only members I’ve yet to meet in the flesh. Bear is even more grizzled in real life, sporting long tangled hair and a big bushy beard. Tyke, on the other hand, looks as chiseled and clean shaven as any West Point man. The members of the Wraiths are just as different from each other as the Nine, but as a whole these men seem a lot less likely to suffer fools. There’s a dangerous, unpredictable quality about the Wraiths that just doesn’t seem to be in the Nine’s collective DNA.

“There’s the champ,” Bear howls at Leo, “Nice fight today, son.”

“Thanks, Bear,” Leo says, clapping the man on the back, “Not like the other guy stood a chance, but still. Always good to walk away on top.”