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

The Bare Bones #5

by Layla Wolfe

Kindle Edition

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Cover art by Red Poppy Designs

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Edited by Claudia Morfit

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

Regarding E-book Piracy

This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

Beatrix Hellman has reunited with her Bare Bones sweetbutt friends from high school. Her isolated life in a mountaintop convent has ground to a sudden halt, her faith dashed against the rocks. She needs something else to believe in, and her old friends become her new family. But a sadistic cartel associate of the club has maimed one of the whores. Bee and the women put a bounty on Tony Tormenta’s head. And they think they know just the man for the job.

Zane “Sax” Saxonberg is back from a different sort of exile. He was banished by his club Prez brother Leo a decade ago to ride the interstates of America as a nomad. Haunting back road BDSM clubs, Sax has a willing submissive in every state. He returns to the Bare Bones’ backyard to help the women and to check on his nephew Harte. Instead he finds a fiery slave in Bee—part camp counselor, part nun, part Force-Me Queen.

Will Sax’s bold heroics renew Bee’s faith in the world? She finds control and strength in submitting to the virile bad boy biker. With each power exchange, she is brought closer to a fresh hope and conviction, but tracking down the brutal Tormenta also brings fresh danger as they close in on his mountaintop hideout.

Publisher’s Note:
This is Book #5 in the Bare Bones MC series. This book is a stand-alone and can be read out of order, but the series is best read in order to gain the full experience. This is not your mother’s contemporary romance. Daring readers will encounter violence against women, rebel play, May/December age play, exhibitionism/voyeurism, spanking, your garden-variety bondage, and a HEA. It is not for the faint of heart. It’s a full length novel of 66,000 words with no cliffhanger. Recommended 18+ due to mature content and possible triggers.

The Bare Bones #5

by Layla Wolfe

Title Page

Copyright Page

About the Book

One:
Beatrix

Two:
Sax

Three:
Beatrix

Four:
Sax

Five:
Bee

Six:
Sax

Seven:
Beatrix

Eight:
Sax

Nine:
Beatrix

Ten:
Sax

Eleven:
Beatrix

Twelve:
Sax

Thirteen:
Bee

Epilogue

About The Author

More Books from Layla Wolfe

BEATRIX

T
he roar was so loud and gnarled that it wasn’t even human.

I wasn’t sure what I was listening to at first. Strange sounds weren’t unusual at The Drawing Board, clubhouse for the Flagstaff chapter of The Bare Bones MC. That’s why I hung around. Never a dull moment. I wasn’t really a sweetbutt, having never actually fucked a member. But a lot of the women were my friends and I liked the relaxed, exciting environment. I was a hang-around, I guess—the female equivalent of those pathetic losers who stand on the fringes of the club, hoping beyond hope they’ll get picked for the latest Prospect opening but doing nothing to prove themselves. Yeah, that sounds like me.

I was out back in the courtyard planting a cute sort of bonsai cypress into a colorfully painted Mexican pot. As I sifted the rich, fragrant fertilizer into the pot, I chatted with Brenda Ridings. Brenda aspired to become the official old lady of Harte Saxonberg, son of the Prez, Leo Saxonberg. I wished her luck. Only the choicest, cleanest, most upstanding sweetbutt would be chosen for the saintly Harte. That’s why he hadn’t really had anyone more important than fender fluff in the year I’d been around. Leo was waiting for a woman with class, looks, and smarts for his only son, and although she was my good friend, Brenda Ridings wasn’t it. I’d gone to high school with many of the club whores.

“Are you coming to the fish fry this weekend, or do you have to work?” Brenda asked me.

I owned my own nursery on the outskirts of town, another reason I’d never become a sweetbutt. It was way too much work keeping that place running, and I usually only got away for a few hours. Besides, I had a boyfriend, someone not affiliated with the club. “I’ll sure try, Brenda. Is Dayton Navarro’s band going to play?” Brenda would’ve settled for Dayton Navarro, too, but he hadn’t shown any interest in her, either. Poor Brenda. The life and drama of a club sweetbutt.

“You bet. That guy is one stone cold fox. He’s pushed up on practically everyone except me. Huh? What the fuck is
that?
”

It sounded like the roar of a cornered, injured bear. The spooky bellow came from one of the back rooms of the long, train-like building shaped like a T. People in the bar area would have to run around a few corners to reach it, although it didn’t sound like anyone was clamoring to find out what the sound was. I jammed my trowel into the soil, and we raced in through the back door.

Brenda said, “I think that’s the room where Cassie went half an hour ago.”

She was right. The bear roar was male, but now Cassie’s high-pitched squeal joined in. She was fighting with whoever she’d brought back there.

“You fucking
cunt
!” boomed the guy, who sounded large and menacing. Brenda and I paused briefly in our race down the hallway when the smack of flesh against flesh resounded inside the little cubicle. “You fucking
bit
me!”

We looked at each other, wide-eyed. Suddenly we weren’t too eager to bust in like saviors. You never knew what these men were capable of. They all packed pieces, of course. Many of them were unpredictable and prone to violence. That was just the nature of belonging to an outlaw motorcycle club. You didn’t get there by being a law-abiding, level-headed member of society. In fact, the more violent and unpredictable a man was, the more likely to get ahead in the club. That’s why I hung around. I thrived on the wild, uncertain atmosphere—the chance that something completely out of left field might happen at any moment.

And now it was.

“It was an
accident!
” shrieked Cassie, right before what sounded like the bruiser smacking her across the face.

Brenda looked ghostly. “Should we intervene? Or wait for a man to come?”

No one was following in our footsteps. We stood there like morons with our hands at our sides just listening to the violence unfold. I might like to be
close
to violence, but I guess when it actually
happened
, I wasn’t quite that eager to leap in. I didn’t even carry a knife—I was a mild-mannered gardener who might like a touch of bondage now and then. I wasn’t racing to be shot by this ape, who didn’t sound like any member of The Bare Bones that I knew. Who was he?

“That was no fucking accident! You motherfucking cocksucking piece of shit
whore!
”

Cassie’s screams were so high-pitched they were almost inaudible. From the scuffling, the furniture being knocked around, the grunts and the punches, I gathered he might be raping her. I muttered, “Our father in heaven.”

Two more women were now rushing down the hallway, giving me confidence. Rhetta and Missy added power to our little knot of women, and I became more indignant.

“He’s beating the crap out of her!” I yelled, loud enough for the brute to hear me. I didn’t care. There was strength in numbers. I didn’t understand why no men had come to our assistance. Up front, the jukebox was blasting The Allman Brothers, but Rhetta and Missy had heard the commotion. Surely the men had, too. If nothing else, where the hell was Harte Saxonberg? He was the tenderest one with the biggest heart. His father Leo was a cold-hearted businessman. One had to be, to be Prez. But Harte had an easy and true smile, always a kind word for everyone—just a big, buff giant of a love, from what I could see. And hot. Hella fine with his fiery ginger hair. I could easily see being bound by him, maybe a bit of clit torture.

A knife flashed in Rhetta’s hand. “That’s fucking Tony Tormenta in there. I don’t give a shit if he’s an important associate of the club’s. You do
not
run around beating up on us. It’s just not done.”

Actually, it
was
done, and often. Bikers drank a lot and had hot tempers. It didn’t take much to set one off, and they weren’t above smacking around their old ladies if it was called for, to keep them in line. It was a very old-fashioned, old school sort of organization.

But with four of us, maybe we could help. I nodded emphatically. “Tony Tormenta is some kind of fucking flesh peddler. He takes women from Mexico and white women and sells them up north in Utah, sells them into the hooking trade.”

We all gasped as one when Cassie’s shriek changed pitch. It was now a long, low, mournful dirge—a widow moaning at her husband’s grave.

That was it. That was fucking
it
. Taking the bull by the horns as I’d been trained to do—I’d spent years learning to help the downtrodden, the helpless, the victimized—I turned the knob and flung the door open. The other three women piled in behind me, propelling me forward into the room.

Oh, dear Lord
. It was
way
worse than any of us expected.

Cassie Hasselbeck was crunched into a pile of bones in the corner of the dirty little storage room. She really did look like a bird run over by a car with her elbows and knees splayed every which way.