Have Gun, Will Travel (The Bare Bones MC #5)(17)
Sax’s heart ground to a halt. “Wait. ‘Former nun’? Who the f*ck 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.”
“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 f*cking wished I looked like you when I was forty-five. How the f*ck 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, na?ve, 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.
CHAPTER FIVE
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.