Impossibly (Dante’s Nine MC #1)(28)
Author: Colleen Masters

“That’s Teddy and Frank,” Declan tells me, nodding toward the enormous men. “They’re men of few words.”

“Hi,” Teddy growls.

“’Sup,” Franks snaps.

“Like I said,” Declan says.

A wiry, weather beaten man steps out from the twin mountains’ shadow. He looks like a stray dog, mean and wild. His grin says, “I do whatever the fuck I want, bitch”. And I believe that he does.

“I’m Chuck,” the slight man barks, his eyes shifting unnervingly, “How’re you liking that beer, baby girl?”

“It’s fine,” I tell him, holding my ground despite my nerves, “I’m more of a hard liquor girl myself, but—”

“Listen to her!” Chuck howls, sending the joint into waves of raucous laughter. He fixes me with a mean, critical stare and goes on. “This ain’t no sorority mixer, honey. You better watch what you say.”

A red hot coil of anger flares in the pit of my belly. Who is this scrawny bastard to talk down to me?

“I say what I mean,” I shoot back at him, turning to Saul behind the bar. “Can a girl get a shot of whiskey?”

Saul raises his eyebrows at Declan, who nods. The barkeep pours me a short glass of smoky amber booze and slides it across the bar.

“Here’s looking at you,” I wink at Chuck, and shoot back the whiskey in one delicious gulp. The crowd cheers to see the squirrelly little man with egg on his face, but Chuck himself is none too pleased.

“Looks like she’s a swallower,” he grumbles to Declan, “Should serve your purposes pretty well, son.”

“I’m Declan’s business partner, not his whore,” I snap.

“Could have fooled me,” Chuck shrugs.

“Why you sayin’ ‘whore’ like it’s a bad thing?” drawls a woman’s voice. I look up to see a trio of girls, no older than me, leaning against the weathered bar. The girl who spoke sports coppery red locks and a Dante’s Nine tattoo on her right breast.

“Nothing wrong with whoring,” adds one of her companions, a round, buxom blonde.

“Unless you’re too good for that kind of thing?” chirps the third, a tiny, rail-thin brunette.

“I’m just stating facts,” I tell them, “I’m in Las Vegas working with Declan on a new startup company. Meeting all you fine people is just a perk, I guess.”

“Looks like you dressed up for the occasion,” the plump blonde laughs, “I can smell that new leather jacket all the way over here.”

“All right, you caught me,” I say, owning up, “So sue me for trying to impress you all.”

“An honest girl,” says a new voice from the back of the smoky room, “I like that.”

A hush falls over the group as a figure rises up out of the shadows. A man in his fifties, a strikingly handsome silver fox…like the Marlboro Man, if he rode a Harley instead of a horse. His lined, rugged face is magnetic in its own right. There’s an authority in this man that is indisputable, feared as much as respected. He’s got to be the big man in charge around here.

“It’s nice to meet one of Declan’s business associates,” he says, his voice warm and full, “I’m John Baxter. Declan’s…older brother, let’s say.”

“Pleasure,” I reply, offering my hand. We shake, John’s grip firm and uncompromising. By far, his are the eyes that give me the most pause. Out of all the men assembled here, it’s clear that John wields the most power. The most influence. This is a man who other men follow into the fray. I’m intimidated and intrigued by him, all the same.

“Looks like you’ll be needing another shot,” John says, nodding toward my empty glass, “A round for the lot of these punks, Saul.”

A yell goes up around the bar as the men of Dante’s Nine press in to claim their shots. I catch Declan’s eye as we all raise our glasses. He looks proud and pleased. I must be doing a good job so far.

“I know you fuckers aren’t about to take a shot without me,” says a voice from behind the bar. “That just won’t do.”

I look up to see a stunning, statuesque beauty swing in from the back of the bar. She steps up next to Saul, and I can’t take my eyes off of her. This woman has curves to die for, with a perfect hourglass figure and full, red lips. Her shining, espresso-brown hair bounces in thick, luscious curls. She wears a smoking leather bustier with the Dante’s Nine dice embroidered in gold, and a pair of skimpy jean cutoffs that show off her miles and miles of leg. She’s the epitome of the biker pinup chick; Betty Paige meets Kat Von D.

And she’s staring straight at Declan with eyes that are, shall we say, familiar.

“There she is!” Kip hoots, “Our dive bar princess!”

“Don’t sweet talk me, Kip,” the woman chides, batting her thick black eyelashes.

“Now the party can really start,” Ollie grins, “Where have you been hiding, Dani?”

“I was steering clear from the likes of you,” she shoots back, “That is, until I heard that my Declan was here.”

Her Declan? I look over at the man in question for some sort of explanation. But my biker boy of a boss just holds this Dani’s gaze. There’s clearly more than a little history there, that’s for sure.

“What are we waiting for?” Dani cries out, grabbing a bottle of Jack, “Let’s drink to Declan! Our boy is back in town.”

“To Declan!” the crowd chants, downing their shots together.

The fiery whiskey sears down my throat as I try to wrap my head around this scene. Who are these people that Declan calls family? And what is this “club” really all about? I don’t have any reason to suspect that these people are anything more than a tight knit group of Harley lovers, but my gut is telling me there’s more to the Forty-Five Club than meets the eye.

“Oh shit,” Dani groans, her big brown eyes landing square on me, “You must think I’m such a bitch, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Daniella. Dani, as they call me around here.”

“I’m Kassenia,” I tell her shortly. “I’m Declan’s intern for the summer.”

“Then you’re in good hands,” she says, winking at Declan. “We go way back, me and this guy. He knows how to treat a lady right. For a summer, at least.”

I laugh along with the rest of them, but my heart is in knots of unreasonable jealousy. I know I have no right to feel protective, territorial even, but I can’t help it. I barely even know Declan Tiberi, and I’m already thinking of him as mine. It’s totally fucking nuts, I know, but there it is.