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

“Excuse me,” she said. She did have an air of timidity about her, her arms crossed in front of her stomach—the air of a big, gangly schoolgirl. Her seeming innocence turned Sax on. Sax’s nipples stiffened against the cotton of his wifebeater, and he was glad he had a hoodie on under his cut. Or was he? Could this submissive waif be seduced away from her Sir? For the first time in months, years maybe, all of Sax’s senses were piqued with interest, with intrigue.

“Yes?”

“Are you Sax Saxonberg, Leo’s brother?”

“I am.”

She lifted her chin with defiance. “Please. Can I have a word with you? But not out front here. I don’t want Leo seeing us.”

This intrigued Sax even more. He nodded at the girl. “Hop on,” he instructed.

BEATRIX

I
didn’t hesitate to jump on Sax Saxonberg’s pussy pad.

From my first look at his craggy, handsome face, he mesmerized me. He had a yearning in his soul, I could tell. I’d been trained to be sensitive to that in a person, and I knew he yearned for more, for something higher. He had the raw, violent look of a man who’d been through the wringer—a veteran of disaster, hardship, and struggles, like me.

He instantly appealed to me. There was something about his chemistry, literally the pheromones he emitted, that aroused many different feelings in me. When I settled myself behind him on the saddle and he took off, I had to wrap my arms around his chest, to place my palms flat against his hot leather cut, against his patches, the one that proclaimed him a
NOMAD
.

Our father in heaven, he was buff. He was built like a brick shithouse, as I’ve heard some of my friendly sweetbutts say. It felt almost obscene placing my hands against his built chest, even though at least a couple layers of fabric separated me from his bare skin.

I squirmed with an uncomfortable sexuality. A picture of Roscoe Flantz flashed in my brain. Roscoe—my boyfriend, Sir, Dom, whatever you wanted to call him…Suddenly I couldn’t remember.
Is this cheating?
Taking enjoyment from another man’s scent, his chemistry,
his body?

Every time Sax shifted gears, the slight tension in his pec rippled through my hand and straight to my cunt. My pussy was mushy, I could tell, just in the brief few minutes I’d been plastered to his back. What had Brenda said about him?
Way hotter than Leo. I’d climb him like a tree.
Now I saw what she meant. Being this physically close to Sax, though I was just innocently riding two up with him, was like committing a lewd sexual act. I felt dirty, tarnished, and I looked from side to side to make sure no one saw me.

What would Roscoe think? Then the truth of the reality hit me.
Roscoe would think nothing. He probably wouldn’t care.
Even if I
was
giving this buff biker a skull job in a back alley,
Roscoe wouldn’t care
. We’d never discussed fidelity. What made me think Roscoe required it?

That sobering thought didn’t stop my cunt from flowing as Sax pulled up in the side lot of a biker bar farther up Fourth Street. Reluctantly I removed my arms from around his wide chest. I realized he made me feel safe and protected, a feeling I hadn’t had since I was an ignorant kid. Or maybe when I was studying for my religious vows in Boulder, Colorado. The nuns had bought land from some monks, and overseeing the garden was where I had learned those skills. I’d felt safe there, tucked into our mountaintop hideaway with few visitors. Two years of safety that had been pulled out from under my feet didn’t create an enormous foundation upon which to build. Completely reinventing myself into a gardener who hung out with bikers hadn’t created any more security in my life. Feeling safe now was a novelty I reveled in.

I couldn’t take my eyes off him as I removed the helmet he’d loaned me. He stood with his muscular arms dangling at his sides, looking down at me critically. Was it his eyes, squinty from riding with the sun in them all the time, that made me feel under the microscope? I felt inadequate, boring in my plain outfit. I had no tattoos, no push-up bra, no makeup. Then I remembered. I was here to discuss something urgent with Sax. Not to seduce the hardened, road-weary biker.

“You’re not a sweetbutt,” he surmised.

“No, not really. Most of them are my high school friends, though. I come around to be with them, mostly, and I help out with things. Oh. I’m sorry. I’m Beatrix Hellman. Most people call me Bee.”

A flicker of a smile appeared on his sensual mouth. “All right then, Bee. I presume this is club business.”

“It is. Let’s go inside if this is where you intend to go.”

I was surprised when he ordered only a club soda. I did, too. Most bikers I knew never missed the opportunity to order a whisky or at least a beer. We sat at a table so not even the bartender could overhear us.

I started out. I wasn’t used to being listened to so intently, so carefully. “You may have heard about Cassie Hasselbeck. Yesterday she was cut up pretty bad by this one associate of Leo’s.”

He nodded curtly. “Tony Tormenta. That’s why I’m here. Harte called me in to talk some sense into Leo, but I don’t think I was very effective.”

That was disappointing to hear. “So you know all about it. Well, us sweetbutts—me and my friends—” My heart nearly froze in place telling this top secret information to this brave, free-spirited biker. It was a pact between us women, and we hadn’t even told Harte, unsure of his loyalties. I was going outside our circle, telling Sax about it. I gulped my soda, wiped my nose on the back of my hand, anything to avoid what I eventually had to tell him. “We’ve gotten together a bounty—”

Sax leaned closer. “A what? You’re mumbling.”

Was I? I had been trained to enunciate so clearly! “We have a bounty for the head of Tony Tormenta.”

When I finally did speak the truth, it was like I had a frigging bullhorn and was blaring the details to the entire room. Really, only Sax was paying attention. Everyone else continued their conversations, yammering at each other and lifting their beer mugs. I only had eyes for Sax, holding my breath and waiting for his reaction as he studied my face. He was making sure of my veracity.

He nodded. “You girls got together some money? How much? Five grand?”

A person’s reaction had never meant so much to me. “Thirty large.”

Sax’s eyes widened. He nodded with respect. “Thirty large. You
do
know you could get anyone off the street, any number of enemies of Tormenta, to do the same job for about one-tenth that price? Maybe you shouldn’t run around mentioning how much you’re offering.”

That was true. “But you’re not just ‘anyone,’ Sax. Brenda mentioned you as someone who might be on our side.”

“I am. I think that motherfucker needs to be buried. That’s all there is to it. He’s been strutting around thinking he owns the world for a decade now, and the only serious reality check he’s going to get is the inside of a large caliber barrel.”

I squirmed with pleasure. I’d made the right choice, for once, telling Sax our plans. He was the right man for the job. “I’m glad you agree with us. I got the impression you weren’t on the same page as Leo.”

Rolling his eyes, Sax laughed from one side of his mouth. “That’s an understatement. Leo and I haven’t seen eye to eye since I taught him how to ride a bike by pushing him down the hill on mine.” Putting his forearms on the table, he again leaned closer. When he examined me in detail like that, I felt like I was being caressed. The warmth emanating from his body hit me like a solid wall. I became conscious of the wet spot between my thighs, and I squirmed in my chair. That only made it worse, the seam in my shorts directly massaging my bulging clit. My panties were damp and miserable, almost itchy. I longed for a nice, deep session with my battery-operated boyfriend.

His hands were so close to mine, my heart accelerated to think he might take one of mine into his. “But listen, Beatrix. These are dangerous waters you’re treading. You took a huge chance just now even mentioning this to me. You women have to make abso-fucking-lutely sure you don’t have any leaks, and this doesn’t get out. In fact, I’d advise you to relocate, to go into a safe house, until you’re sure he’s in the ground. Even after.”

Stupidly, that actually hadn’t occurred to me. “Yes, Cassie is staying in Pure and Easy with Madison Illuminati right now. But how is word going to get out? Hitmen—
sicarios
—need to know the bounty is there, or why would they come to us offering their services?”

Fisting one hand, Sax beat the table once. “You leave that to me, Bee. I’ll get the word out.”

I sat up straighter. “But no, Sax. I wanted
you
to…do the job. Personally. You’re the one I trust. The other girls have some ideas about men they want. But you’re the one I want.”
In more ways than one
, I thought, like a schoolgirl.

His laugh was genuine. He looked handsomer than ever when he threw his head back and let loose. “Bee, you’re something else. What rock have you been living under? I’m a mild-mannered geologist, a gem salesman. I still know a lot of guys from the old school days, but I myself haven’t…done a job like that in a decade.”

“But you
could
, if you
wanted
,” I pointed out.

He stopped laughing. “Yes. I could, theoretically.” He seemed to take it more seriously now. He said again, “I could.”

I slammed my palms against the table. “Then it’s decided! You track down Tormenta—I’ve heard he’s got a giant spread in Prescott—off him, then come back and tell us.”

Sax grinned and held up a palm. “Now wait, wait. I’ve got rocks to sell, Bee. I’ve got a life to live. I might still be a Boner, but I’m a nomad, see? I’ve got a show in Toronto to attend, then a show in New Hampshire, then down to Tennessee.”

I pouted. “But it should only take you a week or so, knowing your skills.”

I’d suspected that flattery would get me everywhere, and it did. He appeared to consider it. “True. How hard can it be to find a guy who’s afraid to leave the state? Listen, Bee. Quid pro quo. Tell me about yourself. You seem to know all about me.”

I blinked. “Actually, I know nothing about you. I just heard about you yesterday. I didn’t know Leo had a brother.”

He frowned. “That’s always nice to hear how memorable I am. Now, where do you come from? You’re not dressed like the others.”

I couldn’t tell him the truth about my abbey upbringing, so I left that part out. “Well, as I said, I went to high school with most of them. Then we…lost track of each other for a few years. About a year ago we reconnected. I own a nursery just south of town. That’s why there are so many nice potted plants in your clubhouse courtyard, and out front.”

“I noticed those. So we’re both in the earth sciences. I also noticed you’re collared.”

My hand automatically flew to my studded collar. My heart thudded. Not many people figured out my collar. Most assumed it was just another sort of necklace.
How the fuck did he…
“I am,” I admitted, standoffish now. “My Sir is very interested in the dynamics of the power exchange. He likes to push limits, to explore boundaries.” I wanted to see if he understood this terminology, and he did.

“I see. For some reason you don’t strike me as the perfectly meek and dutiful submissive. I just can’t picture you going under willingly. You’ve maybe got a bit of the Force-me Queen in you.”

I gasped. “How do you know—”

“All these terms? I’m in the life too, as you might’ve gathered from—oh. You can’t see my ink.”

He seemed to have forgotten he was wearing a hoodie under his cut. Of course he couldn’t remove his cut in public, but he shoved up the hoodie sleeve, baring his powerful forearm to me. I didn’t expect that such an innocent move would result in such strong erotic stimulation. But with his hand fisted, the green veins lacing his forearm bulged, and when he tugged the sleeve up past his massive bicep, I was a goner. I didn’t remember ever feeling this way about Roscoe. Roscoe was thin, a David Bowie wannabe. Roscoe didn’t evoke these powerful, carnal feelings that stirred unknown and potent forces in me. What the fuck was happening to me? I was a good sub! I belonged to Roscoe and Roscoe alone! Why were these sudden new, fresh ideas coming to me out of left field?

The tat decorating Sax’s bulging bicep was a WWII bomber girl, a Rosie the Riveter type cartoon gal with a twist. She was bound so tightly by a sort of kinbaku rope binding that her tits jutted forth between the bindings, the nipples large and protuberant. She looked happy to be bound like this in her nurse’s uniform. Her skirt was hiked to her hips, revealing her perfect V of a bush. I wondered, as the juice trickled between my thighs, if Sax was into uniforms.

“That’s nice,” I breathed. Now
that
was the understatement of the century. A throbbing vein ran right between the bomber girl’s legs, a vein the color of the sky before a storm. “So you’re into the lifestyle too? What a strange coincidence. But you travel all the time.”

He shrugged. What a shame he was sliding his hoodie sleeve back down, but he left his forearm bared for my pleasure. “Doesn’t stop me. There are clubs in every town, and I’m familiar with most of them.”