Have Gun, Will Travel (The Bare Bones MC #5)
Layla Wolfe
CHAPTER ONE
BEATRIX
The 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 f*cked 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 f*ck 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 f*cking 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 f*cking 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 f*cking accident! You motherf*cking 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.