Have Gun, Will Travel (The Bare Bones MC Book 5) (7 page)

Slayer glared at the stranger. “I do not have a Facebook page! I even cancelled my Twitter account when El Winnie the Pooh was caught tweeting a photo of himself in Hermosillo with a dead body propped up next to him. Such arrogance will be the downfall of many a man.”

“Well,” said Rhetta, thumbing her smartphone, “you
did
just Instagram a picture of you at a party in Tucson—”

“I was doing undercover work!”

“—with four women, two on each arm—”

“I was not even the one who posted that! Someone at the party did!”

“It’s hilarious,” said Rhetta, showing the other women the photo. “But you were the one who tagged it with your name.”

Sax couldn’t help quipping, “Some undercover work.”

Slayer huffed and puffed. “I was trying to draw the interest of the mark! I figured he’d see that, know I was hot on his trail, and become nervous.”

Sax had no idea why it would behoove a
sicario
to make the mark nervous. After glancing at the photo of Slayer practically covered with the four boob-enhanced women, it was clear that the guy had done it strictly for an egotistical boost. Perhaps he
wasn’t
so competent after all. “Yes, and the photos are embedded with geographical metadata,” Sax pointed out. “Anyone could’ve figured out exactly where you were.”

Slayer jabbed the ceiling with an idealistic forefinger. “That was my plan!”

Rhetta added, “And Instagram was how I found you just now, when I wanted you for this job.”

Slayer’s eyes flashed with an anger that showed Sax he was clearly capable of murder. “One must stay abreast of the modern age if one is to beat these criminals at their own game! You cannot be in the technological Stone Age and keep up with the lightning speed of communication these days. And now, if you do not mind,
I
shall begin my odyssey to find Tony Tormenta for you lovely ladies, instead of wasting time standing around in a”—Slayer looked about himself with dread and nausea—“
biker bar
all day long.”

Turning proudly on his two-toned heel, Slayer stalked out. He almost sashayed, his fingers held out stiffly as though not wishing to ruin his manicure, giving Sax second thoughts about his hitman capabilities. But Sax would rise to the challenge, as polyester and effeminate as it was. No doubt more challengers would come forward to claim the women’s money. Sax didn’t want or need that. Suddenly he absolutely
needed
to prove to Beatrix Hellman that he was at one with the club. That’s where his sympathies lay, despite what his
NOMAD
patch proclaimed.

“I don’t know if you know,” he said to the other three women, “but this persuasive lady has talked me into taking on the job, too.”

“He doesn’t want any money,” Beatrix assured the women excitedly.

“I’m a brother in the club,” Sax explained. “It would be unpatriotic of me
not
to take on the job. I’ve talked to Leo, and he doesn’t want me sticking my nose in. So let’s just keep it between us. Harte doesn’t even need to know.”

“I agree,” Brenda Ridings said heatedly. Her voice was gravelly from smoking too many cigarettes. She had been ridden hard and put away wet, and she wasn’t going to stand for what had been done to her friend. “Harte’s sympathies sometimes lie with his father. He tends to flip flop on issues, like he’s not sure which way to vote, which way to go.”

Beatrix cut in, even putting her hands on Sax’s bicep. “Just knowing this man for an hour has convinced me he’s the right one. Set both of these guys on the trail of Tormenta. See which one gets there first.”

“I can guaran-fucking-tee you it’ll be me,” Sax said gruffly. “Tormenta’s so vain he probably texts himself. And now, dear ladies. Like that sissy pantywaist just said. I’d best be getting a move on. Beatrix? Let me drive you back to your cage.”

She smiled pertly at him as she took his arm. “Yes, that’d be nice.”

“Santiago Slayer is an arrogant asshat,” Sax said as he held the front door of the bar for Beatrix. “But if you think he can find the guy for you…” He knew he was fishing for compliments, and he got them in spades.

“Oh, no!” she protested, wide-eyed. Moving into the sun, he saw her luxuriant head of hair light up with varying natural highlights of red, scarlet, and orange. She was a true fire bush, a real potato eater of the Emerald Isle, probably raised a Catholic. Maybe she was rebelling against that by wearing some asshole’s collar. Sax just
knew
her Dom was some asshole. Maybe it was the way they’d never discussed fidelity. That was the most basic thing. Sax usually got that out of the way at the beginning. Maybe because he never required fidelity, and hadn’t collared anyone in about eight years. He just told his subs they could fuck whoever they wanted, as long as he wasn’t in town. “No, I’m convinced you’re our man, Sax. The other girls can hire whoever the fuck they want. They can hire one, three, five more guys, however many want to join the race.”

“Hope we don’t get tangled up in each other,” mumbled Sax as he handed her his brain bucket.

He was hyper aware of her clinging to his back like a monkey as they rode. She had more of a young woman’s figure, a shape that hadn’t developed yet, not a full-blown woman’s curves, but her vibrancy seeped through his pores and turned him on. What
was
it about her that was getting to him so deeply? Was he aroused by the contrast between her seeming innocence and her apparent kinkiness? She might look like a Girl Scout, but her collar, and the idea of her crawling around on all fours with her naked butt in the air, told Sax different.

The Drawing Board had parking in the front as well as the side, but Sax chose to boldly park out front. He took Beatrix by the upper arms. She seemed pleasantly surprised he was touching her. There was no mistaking the slight grin at the edges of her mouth.

“I’m not going directly to P and E. I’ll get Harte to escort you to Ford and Madison’s.”

Her smile crumbled. She looked like a petulant child, her lower lip trembling slightly. “Business?” She knew well enough not to ask a patch holder directly what his plans were.

“Business.” Caving, too, he added, “I’m going to our warehouse in Winona to check something out.” He was already telling her things she didn’t need to know.

She instantly said, “I’ll wait for you. Winona is only twenty minutes away.”

That was true. “All right. But hang here with the girls, with Harte. Get someone to cover for you at your job. Don’t say a
word
to anyone else.”

He didn’t know what possessed him. Maybe it was the feeling of ownership he got, gripping her by the arms like that. Maybe her lost, helpless expression got to him. Or maybe he just liked dominating any proceedings. But he took her sculpted chin in his fingers and kissed her.

She immediately melted into the kiss. Her chest pressed to his, her lips parted to allow him to lick and suck, and his free arm clasped around her waist, holding her to him.

He was ballsy, doing this right in front of the blacked-out front windows. He’d only been in town a few hours and already he was claiming one of his brother’s women. The forbidden quality of the kiss roused him to action. He splayed his hand flat against Bee’s lower back as he feasted on her shapely lips. The idea that he was old enough to be her father had his prick up like a hammer against her belly, seed surging from his balls.

He could have easily fucked her up against the brick wall of the alley. He did stuff like that all the time in clubs—or used to, anyway, before the recent boredom and restlessness had sunk into him. Now he put his stamp on Bee, slowly sucking her lower lip between his teeth, sensuously rubbing the small of her back, allowing her to feel his erection pulsating against her stomach.

“Hey, hey, hey.”

As expected, some moron came out front to ruin things. But Sax wasn’t pissed as he broke the kiss and pulled back, gazing fuzzy-eyed at Bee. How could he be pissed when he’d just stolen the best kiss of his entire life? In that moment, he felt closer to Bee than he had to any of his subs in a long, long time.

Harte grabbed his sleeve. “Hey. Are you trying to get yourself killed? Leo’s already steamed enough at you for sticking your nose into his business. You’d better get out of here.”

Sax snapped out of it, releasing Bee’s arms. “That’s the plan. Is Funkhauser around? Never mind. I’ll call him later. Can I get the key to the Winona warehouse off you?”

Although Harte seemed suspicious, he relinquished the key, and Sax was on his way. The entire ride, he went over and over the way Beatrix had last looked at him. With adoration. There was no fucking mistaking
that
look. He had snared her interest. But what about the alleged Dom she thought she was collared to? Already Sax hated him. He wanted him as gone as Tony Tormenta was about to be.

What am I thinking? I’m not sticking around here. I’ve got gem shows to attend.
If he took Beatrix away from her Dom, he’d damned well better treat her like more than just another in his harem of subs. One didn’t just ruin a sub’s prior relationship, then vanish into thin air. Well, one
shouldn’t
, anyway. Not that he hadn’t in the past.

The Winona warehouse was usually used for stashing big shipments of guns. Sax hadn’t wanted to tip Harte off about what he was looking for, so he hadn’t asked him the location of the trap door. He had to look around for half an hour or so during which he swiped a nice forty-five auto Glock, sticking it into the waistband of his pants. He didn’t normally pack a piece, of course, going to gem shows. Now, for safety’s sake, he took another Ruger semi-auto, shoving that in there too. It felt strange, packing. He hadn’t really done this in ten years. He still went to the shooting range, of course, when at home in Kachina Village. But he certainly didn’t bring any of his irons on the road with him. Why would he?

He finally found the trap door Harte had spoken of. He chastised himself for not having noticed it was under the only pile of hay in the entire warehouse. Why would they have hay in a gun warehouse? They wouldn’t, so that should’ve been his first tip-off. The pit was dark, vile-smelling, and, as expected, empty, and he had to go to his saddlebags to get his flashlight to see what the fuck was in there.

Disgusting
. The stench of excrement wafted up at him, but there were other items in there he needed to investigate. “Holy Jesus on a stick,” he muttered. He couldn’t walk away without looking at those crumpled pieces of paper, those colorful, ah,
things
scattered around the floor of the dungeon.

He remembered a stick-looking thing he’d seen propped against a wall. It turned out to be a fucking six foot long cattle prod of all things, giving credence to Harte’s story about humans in the pit. With the switch in the “off” position, Sax was able to poke some of the crumpled paper and slide it up the slimy wall. He didn’t want to ruin his leather gloves, so barehanded and gingerly as hell he took the pieces of paper, hoping they’d reveal something.

Most were notes scribbled in Spanish. Sax could make out a list reminding the shopper to get mangoes, pineapples, and soda. Another folded-up piece was an eerie photo of someone’s daughter in a frilly dress. That was almost more disturbing than the stench of human shit. Another was a business card for a nail salon in Pure and Easy, Carla Madrona, Owner.

The items Sax dragged up from the bottom of the pit seemed to be just bottle caps or pop-top tabs from that sugary soda Mexicans liked. When he pulled up some fake fingernails, some cracked and jagged, crusted with filth from having clawed the sides of the pit, he knew his next step.

“Funkhauser. I’m at the Winona warehouse. What the fuck is going on with nail salons and Mexican women?” He was direct with his old friend. What did he have to lose?

But his old school brother wasn’t forthcoming. “What gives you the idea there’s anything going on with a nail salon? Listen, you shouldn’t even be in the warehouse. What’re you doing there?”

“That’s sort of beside the point, isn’t it? I’m a member of the club and this is club property. What do you know about smuggling Mexican women? You don’t need to cover up, Funkhauser. Harte told me he saw women in this smelly pit.”

Funkhauser sighed. “Yah, we’ve had women in there off and on, sure. But you don’t want to get involved in this, Sax.”

“I’m already involved. Just tell me. Does Tony Tormenta have anything to do with these women? Just a simple yes or no.”

The sergeant-at-arms paused for a long fucking time. Sax knew he was still there, though, by his heavy breathing. Finally, one word. “Yes.”

Sax confirmed. “Yes Tormenta’s involved in the human smuggling? That’s all I need to know.”

Now the words tumbled from Funkhauser’s mouth. “Sax! There’ll be blowback if you get involved in this, I promise you! And I have no control over what happens once you begin poking your nose into shit that doesn’t concern you.”

“Yeah, well.” Sax wrinkled his nose.
Speaking of shit
. He’d have to pull in at that truck stop outside of Flag and take a thoroughly antiseptic shower before going to escort Beatrix into Pure and Easy. “I’m already in the shit, Funkhauser. Don’t worry. It won’t concern you.”

“I’m just worried about
you
, Sax. I don’t know your beef with Leo, but I saw you making out with that former nun through the window. You’re living on borrowed time, Sax. Since when are you such a shit disturber?”

Sax’s heart ground to a halt. “Wait.
‘Former nun’?
Who the fuck are you talking about?”

“Beatrix Hellman. Or, should I say, Sister Colette.”

“Wait.
What
?” Sax couldn’t wrap his head around it. The girl could only be twenty-five, for one thing. Didn’t it take like ten years to become a nun? Not to mention…It was a
very
long leap from becoming a nun to hanging around an outlaw motorcycle club. What the hell had happened in between to change her so radically? Then there was the chance Funkhauser was completely blowing it out his ass. That was probably it. “Where are you getting these whacked stories from, Funkhauser?”

“It’s true, Sax. That’s why none of us have pushed up on her. Well, everyone’s
tried
, of course. But she’s turned us all down. She’s not interested, because nuns don’t like sex.”