Imperfectly (Dante’s Nine MC #2)(19)
Author: Colleen Masters

I bristle at his judgment. I’ve done so much to improve myself, accomplished so many things since the last time I saw Matthew. But it’s like none of that counts now. I have to swallow my pride, knowing that I’m more than a “simple girl”. Delving into the MC life doesn’t mean I have to sacrifice my intelligence and drive. But I don’t want to fight him on this now. Not while I desperately need his help.

“I’ve always wondered what would have happened, if I’d let you set me up with the Wraiths back in the day,” I say carefully, “Thank you for helping me out now, Matthew. I hope that you didn’t catch too much shit when I bailed on our plan all those years ago.”

“The club was disappointed not to snag you,” he says, “But I was more upset about losing you to some bullshit college. I was afraid it would change you.”

“Do I seem changed?” I ask.

“On the outside,” he replies, “But I can tell that my Kelly is still in there.”

“I’m ready this time,” I tell him, “I want to be part of the life.”

“So you said,” he smiles, “I was really happy to get your email.”

“Do you think you can really put in a good word for me with the Vegas chapter?” I ask, clasping my hands tightly under the table.

“Sure,” Matthew says, “Just not exactly in the way you asked me to…”

“What do you mean?” I ask, “You were going to hook me up when I was a kid—”

“Right. But that was different,” Matthew says, “What are you now, twenty-six?”

“And a half,” I say crossing my arms, “What, am I too told to be a sweet butt now?”

“Not necessarily,” Matthew says, “But you’re not a teenage runaway anymore. You’re an educated, grown woman. The Wraiths aren’t just going to take you in like they would have ten years ago. You have to prove to them that you’re useful. And, more importantly, trustworthy.”

“I was under the impression that there was only one use for women in a club,” I say pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s not true,” Matthew says sharply, “You of all people should know that. That’s just the image we get. There are ways to be a respectable woman, living the life. And you just showing up and spreading your legs isn’t one of them.”

I bite my lip, trying to stay ahead of this unravelling conversation. I have clear orders from the Nine, but Matthew has other ideas. I need to keep this scheme on track, even if it takes a little improvising.

“What do I do, then?” I ask, “Can you still help me?”

“Oh, sure,” Matthew says, “I’ll still get you in with the Wraiths. You do all sorts of technology shit, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Great,” he says, “That’s how I’ll pitch you to them. None of these guys know shit about computers or whatever. You’ll be plenty useful.”

“Let me see if I understand you,” I cut in, “You’re going to set me up to be…the Devil’s Wraiths in-house IT girl?”

“Pretty much,” Matthew says, “It’s the best I can do.”

“Christ,” I mutter, “I thought having a good pair of legs would do the trick.”

“I’m sure you’ll still get all the biker action you want,” Matthew laughs, “This is just a more roundabout way of doing things. God knows, the Vegas brothers aren’t the type to ignore a hot chick just because she’s in front a computer screen. If you’re looking to get snatched up as an old lady or something, it’ll happen for you.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I say, draining the last of my coffee. “So, how long do you think it’ll take for you to set things up? A week or so?”

“A week?” he laughs, “Fuck no. We’re heading over now.”

“I’m sorry?!” I exclaim, gripping the edge of the table.

“I’ll drive you over to their clubhouse now. Introduce you. Why wait?”

“I…Um…” I stammer. I thought I’d have more time to prepare. But I guess that jumping right into the deep end is a good way to learn how swim. Or drown.

“You guys need anything else?” Mae asks, eyeing Matthew suspiciously.

“We were just about to get going,” my cousin says, “Just gotta take a leak first.”

He pulls himself out of the booth as Mae leans in close to me.

“You need help?” she asks.

“I’m way beyond that now,” I sigh, pulling out my cell phone.

Mae walks off, shaking her head sadly, as I send a text Declan’s way:

It’s on. He’s taking me to the Wraiths right now.

Declan must be glued to his cell, because his answer is immediate.

Go. You know what you have to do.

I shove my phone out of sight as Matthew returns, slapping a couple of bucks down on the table.

“Ready?” he asks.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I tell him, rising on unsteady feet, “Let’s go.”

Chapter Eight

It’s been ages since I’ve ridden on the back of a motorcycle. I almost forgot just how intense it is, straddling that much power. Matthew’s Harley vibrates like crazy beneath us as we soar along, racing up into the Las Vegas hills. The Wraiths’ clubhouse is further away from the strip than the Forty-Five Club. That makes sense. From what I gather, their ways of making money and having fun are far less socially sanctioned than the stuff Dante’s Nine gets up to. The Wraiths are real, honest-to-god outlaws. And I’m about to get dropped right smack in the middle of their world.

As we ascend into the rolling hills, my thoughts begin to race ten times faster than Matthew’s Harley. Am I really up to this? Will they see right through me? What if I can’t find Kassie, and everything goes to shit? But the time for asking questions is over, it seems. Matthew turns off down a dusty trail—off the beaten path, indeed. As we trundle along over the uneven road, a battered wooden sign rises up on our right.

Emblazoned on the slab of wood is the haunting image of The Devil’s Wraiths sigil. The wraith herself reaches her skeletal hand out toward us. She welcomes us, beckons us forward, as dangerously appealing as ever. As we pass her by, I know that I’m in her domain now. For better or worse.

Finally, we come up on our destination. But this right here is no Forty-Five Club. The Wraiths’ home base is a veritable compound. There are at least ten structures scattered about the land, and a dozen Harley’s parked around the complex. Men lumber about the space, sporting black cuts and ruthless eyes. Cigarette tips glow red between their fingers, rising again and again to their bearded faces. There are plenty of women about as well, far more than I expected. But as we get closer, it becomes clear why that is.