Have Gun, Will Travel (The Bare Bones MC Book 5) (8 page)

“Wait.
What?
” Sax didn’t know which part of Funkhauser’s argument to attack first. The part where she turned everyone down seemed plausible. But he highly doubted that all nuns suddenly stopped liking sex. Then it struck him how outrageous the entire conversation was. He could get to the bottom of this himself. “So why did she, ah, stop being a nun?”

“That part’s a mystery. She’s kind of a mysterious chick, in case you didn’t notice. I’m surprised she let you kiss her. She only had to knee a few of us in the balls for us to get the picture, so no one tries anymore. Except that new Prospect, Sock Monkey. He tried a bit too hard, so he got a slug in the jaw.”

“Well, I’m just a desirable kind of guy, what can I say?” Sax was itching to get out of there, away from the smelly pit. He doubted Beatrix had been a nun—she was probably attending some vaguely religious college or something. Funkhauser wasn’t the worldliest guy. He got that sort of thing wrong all the time.

“Yes, you sure are. I fucking wished I looked like you when I was forty-five. How the fuck do you do it?”

Sax chuckled. “It’s the nomad life.” That wasn’t just it, of course. He worked hard at remaining healthy, unlike Funkhauser and most of the other brothers. Their idea of exercise was lifting a tall beer to their mouths, or maybe using one of the heavier pool sticks.

Still, it gave Sax a lot to think about as he headed for the truck stop on the old Route 66. “Being a nun” would explain all the pristine, naïve, innocent vibes he got from the gardener. What it would
not
explain was her collar, her overtly sexual kiss, and the way her hands had felt his chest when she rode one up behind him.

Sax concluded that Funkhauser was blowing it out his ass. She’d probably just attended a college funded by an order, a Dominican school or other. Maybe she’d dropped out to purchase her nursery. That was it. That must be it. The “Sister Colette” was probably her sub name or something. Or—not entirely unlikely—Funkhauser completely pulled that one out of his ass. It’d been known to happen.

Still, he took longer than usual showering at the truck stop, enjoying the extra-hot water sanitizing his skin. He was afraid to touch his plumped, full cock, for fear of sending the wrong message to curious and bored truckers, being only walled-off by a flimsy see-through shower curtain.

He had to admit it stimulated him, thinking of Beatrix being in some sort of religious order. It was intriguing, the dichotomy between her being a nun and being a hang-around gardener made him want to know more, know her on a deeper level. Mysteries challenged him, and Sax soon found himself considering spending a little bit of time in Arizona. It was a lot more than wanting to rip Bee’s stupid collar off, to stuff his cock between her pretty, sulky lips, to bind her so he could look at her little titties bulging between the strands of jute.

He realized, with a shock that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, that he wanted to get to know her.

BEE

I
was fascinated with life at The Citadel, The Bare Bones’ Pure and Easy clubhouse, the couple times I’d been there for fish fries. An old army airfield hangar located on its own mesa, they must’ve leased it from the feds to house their construction equipment. It was the home of Illuminati Trucking, their biggest money-laundering scheme of all. There were many other smaller schemes in town, such as, I believe, an indoor archery range, a tuxedo rental business, a gas station. They probably didn’t clean money through the medical marijuana dispensary, it already being a dodgy field, licensing and tax-wise.

Half of the hangar was strictly business. This was where Ford had his office and where he met now with Sax. Then you had to walk down a flight of stairs and through the actual hangar, full of the clanging din of backup alarms, power tools, and the dispatcher barking through a loudspeaker. Going up an identical set of stairs put you into a mirror image set of rooms and offices, only these couldn’t have been more different. Here was darkness, windows covered with blankets, little cubicles for sweetbutts to service patch holders. A sort of Wild West brothel, saloon, and church all rolled into one.

In the game room, Madison was an expert pool player. She had to be, to be married to Ford and practically living in this old hangar, the times she wasn’t at home with her daughter, or doing her part-time cardiology nurse’s work in town. I had nothing but respect for the hardass, tough chick, so I was surprised when she let on that things might not be picture-perfect in her world.

Sinking another hole in one, Maddy sighed as if it were everyday work. She leaned on her stick, the ultimate vision of the cool as a cucumber old lady. “How’s that guy of yours, that…what do you call them again?”

I had to giggle. “Dom? That’s short for Dominant.”

“Right. My sister June knows all that. Ford’s half-brother Lytton is a Dom, I guess. What’s that guy’s name again? Something funny.”

I didn’t think his name was funny. “Roscoe Flantz. He’s all right, I guess. I left a message that I’d be coming down here and he never called back. I’ve got a feeling things might be on the outs with us. Then last night, driving down here in my cage with Sax following me, the buckle on my collar broke. Is that a sign from above or what? It just slipped off my neck, I kid you not!” It surprised me that June and Lytton would be into the lifestyle. Now that it occurred to me, the sister of Madison
did
wear a collar, too. I’d always just assumed it was a decorative choker.

Madison smiled wryly. “You’d know about signs from above, Sister Colette. Well, that’s just typical of men, not to call back. I learned a long time ago not to bother leaving a voicemail for Ford. The few times he does listen to them, he doesn’t bother calling back. He’s much too busy. I guess that’s the price I pay being married to such a high authority figure.”

I took my shot with my cue, predictably missing. It struck me that Madison was trying to tell me something. Being a former novitiate, people seem to feel compelled to confess things to me. It’s all part of a day’s work. “Are you afraid you’re coming to some sort of a crisis with Ford?”

Madison set her mouth into a thin line. “That’s about the size of it, Beatrix.” We were alone in the room, so she could talk this way. I was sure the old lady of a Prez wouldn’t normally be caught dead speaking so frankly. But like I said, people seem compelled to confide in me. “I mean, we ‘do it’ a lot still, but that’s only because he always wants to ‘do it’ the few times we’re alone together. So if we’re alone twice a week, we ‘do it’ twice a week. But that’s
all
we do. Wham bam thank you ma’am. Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate all he’s done for me, and between the club and my job, there’s never a dull moment. But I’d just like…more. More
alone
time with him.”

I made another bad shot. “Sounds like you two need a
real
vacation, two weeks in Hawaii, like Roman and Gudrun in Barbados. How long are they going to be gone? Two whole weeks?”

“Three,” said Maddy with disgust. “That’s how it starts, doesn’t it? Everything all romantic. Then people start taking each other for granted. Ford acts like I’ll always be here for him. And the sad part is…I will. I’ll just be…bored.”

I asked the obvious. “Have you
told
him that? That you’d like more alone time?”

“Of course. It’s always ‘oh, sounds good, but there’s a meeting coming up. I’ve got to go to Nogales. Then I have to fly to New York City. Then there’s a conference in Vegas.’ Some fucking roller blade show. He just bought a fucking World War Two tank and he’s getting into driving
that
around in parades.”

I frowned. “Roller…skating?”

Maddy rolled her eyes. “No, rollers, those big pieces of equipment that flatten out the street. Blades, those big pieces of equipment that—”

“I think I get it.” But I really had no solution for her. I was hardly a fucking relationship expert, having blown the few ones I’d had. It looked like I might inadvertently be blowing mine with Roscoe now, too. He actually hadn’t returned the past
four
voicemails I’d left for him, and I’d texted some light-hearted observations, some funny, cute, or BDSM-y links I’d thought were interesting. Nothing. I couldn’t begin to imagine how he’d react when I told him my collar had broken. He liked to yell how stupid I was, how everything was my fault. That was his particular style of domination, to make me feel low and small, like I had no other choice than to pick him.

That was actually nothing new, him not returning my calls. It was his way of letting me know that
he
dominated
me
, not the other way around, as he’d explained many times. He wasn’t at my beck and call. Literally, he didn’t jump when I said jump.

I had no savvy or soothing advice for Maddy, and I was glad when the door to the game room opened and the Pure and Easy Prospect, Wolf Glaser, entered. I brightened. Wolf was a funny, positive, upbeat sort of guy. Even though he’d just buried three rivals in one fell swoop a few months ago during a stash house raid, he was still a Prospect because he annoyed the crap out of most patch holders. I mean, I personally enjoyed his sunny outlook. But I could see where trying to get any work accomplished while still looking cool would be hard around the overly-enthusiastic Prospect who seemed to derive his methods from various procedural cop shows.

He clanked when he moved, like some people I’d seen in BDSM clubs. We called that “Utility Belt Syndrome” when they jangled like a car crash because they had so many dildos, anal vibes, cock rings, and nipple clamps chained to D-rings on their belts. Instead, Wolf Glaser had a Taser, flashlight, handcuffs, cuff keys, gun holster, magazine pouches, radio, and baton, in case he had to beat a bad guy to the ground. He was probably a wannabe cop who had somehow landed in the biker world, but he was an all right guy. Maddy seemed to like him.

“Hey, my favorite old lady,” gushed Wolf, giving Maddy a bear hug from behind. Then he looked at me. “And my second favorite old lady. Your old man is in with Ford still. They’ve called for me to join in. I wonder what they want.”

“I’m not Sax’s old lady. But I’m flattered you think so. We only just met yesterday.”

Wolf wiggled his eyebrows. “Good. Then you’re still up for grabs? Fancy a lowly Prospect with an awesome future in the parts shed? You need a tailpipe for a John Deere excavator, I’m your man.”

Maddy asked, “You’re still working in the parts shed here? Well, maybe once you become fully patched they’ll let you work in one of the other companies.”

Wolf looked bitter. “Tuxedo rental’s not my style. I don’t like watching other people go off to have fun at proms. Nope.
I’m
the guy having fun at proms, pinning corsages, doing the Wiggle and the Whip!”

Wolf executed some Pee Wee Herman-type of ballet dance moves I’d never seen before. Not that I would be familiar with popular dances. Since leaving the convent, the only club I’d been to was The Racquet Club in Flag, and there wasn’t much dancing going on there, unless you counted the horizontal kind.

“Listen,” said Maddy, interrupting Wolf in the middle of him miming driving a laid-back gangsta car. “I need to talk to Ford about something. If he sees my face at his office door, maybe he’ll cut your meeting short.”

“Yeah,” said Wolf cynically. “I’m not looking forward to him sending me on another Costco run. Do these engineer boots look like they’re made for the cheese aisle? I want another adventure, like I had with Roman a few months back! I want a big important assignment, like when I offed those three chollos in the same room.” Wolf never missed an opportunity to remind everyone of his accomplishments.

“Let’s all go to the other side of the hangar,” suggested Maddy. “Bee, maybe you can convince Sax to take you to dinner. You two would make an adorable couple. I’ve been trying to convince that guy to stay in Arizona since I first met Ford.”

“And Maddy doesn’t like your Sir,” Wolf said, chipper. How did Wolf Glaser know so much about me?

Maddy slapped Wolf’s arm as we exited the game room. “I never said such a thing. I said he doesn’t seem to be the same sort of Dom that Lytton is. Lytton doesn’t make June crawl around on all fours, for example.”

“Lytton’s not high protocol,” I said. “That’s what it is. He’s more relaxed about his rules. Roscoe is very formal, by the book.”

“Yeah, well,” Maddy mumbled. “Your Sir seems more
mean
than dominant. June explained to me there’s a difference. Some alleged Doms, she told me, use their status to actually be sort of abusive. Yours sound like he might be in that category.”

I got sort of angry with Maddy, actually. How dare she presume to know something about a guy she’d never met? About a lifestyle she’d never once participated in? She was just hearing secondhand things from her sister, who had also never met Roscoe. If anything, her uneducated criticism made me feel closer to Roscoe, made me defend him. “He’s not mean,” I said thinly. “He’s just by the book.”

“Whatever,” said Maddy. Times like this I tended to fall back on my convent training, although I didn’t like to. If she didn’t like my chosen lifestyle, she could have kept her mouth shut. As it was, I had to turn the other cheek. It was becoming increasingly difficult to remember my training here in the secular world. For one, I didn’t
want
to remember much of it. In retrospect, it was a bad time in my life I wish I could just erase. I was still seeking something to believe in in the civilian world.