Have Gun, Will Travel (The Bare Bones MC #5)(32)
He was hooked. He’d only dumped her off his lap because he was truly, sincerely afraid he was going to go off in his pants like some f*cking inexperienced kid. Playing the Daddy Dom game was always a turn-on, but once he realized that his “father” role could be interpreted more than one way, he’d just about lost his rocks. Oh, yes. She would look fine bound in some kinbaku hemp, those tiny titties of hers bursting from between the bindings.
Sax nearly lost track of what he was doing. That was inexcusable, so he placed the night vision goggles into position on his head. His last thought of Bee was that she had no clue what a safe word was. That told him all he needed to know about that abusive nozzle, that sorry excuse for a Dom.
Aha. Sax could easily see the mass of a sleek sports car now parked in the driveway. That hadn’t been there when he’d checked at the beginning of the night, so someone must’ve moved it out of the garage in anticipation of splitting. Tobiah’s drone only worked up to a hundred yards, so the idea was to walk up the hill with his notebook and little quadcopter, set it free, and hide in the bushes until the drone told them it was time to attack.
Meantime, this was the perfect opportunity for Sax to sneak out and place the tracker on the sports car.
The engine wasn’t running and no one seemed to be waiting. He prayed that there wouldn’t be any security cameras, or if there were, the guard would be asleep at the controls. The risk was worth it if they could get a tracker on the car, in case they failed to ambush the people getting into the vehicle.
Sax succeeded in placing the tracker and making it back down to the van, which Tobiah had brilliantly had painted to look like a flower delivery van. Sax just thought that “This Bud’s For You” sounded more like a marijuana delivery van. Although in general, it still looked like a rape van.
Sax told the two buffoons what he’d seen. “I think it’s time to walk up the hill toward the house.”
Wolf Glaser leaped into action. He’d been checking every implement on his utility belt a hundred times over the past several hours, and he was beyond battle-ready. “Maybe I’ll get to use my nunchuks for once.”
“No nunchuks,” Sax ordered. “We want to just slam them with our Glocks and be out of here. No f*cking hand-to-hand combat, Wolf. Tobiah, remember, you can’t just run back to the van the second we go uphill toward the house. We’ll still need your drone telling us if more guys are coming from a different direction. If we pick them all off, we’ll have more than enough time to meander back to the van.”
“Ten-four,” Tobiah said obediently. For a bowl-headed dweeb, he seemed to have guts, to have what it took to work for an outlaw motorcycle club. “I’ll have eyes in the sky. But it’s still too dark out for my drone to see.”
Sax said, “We’ll walk up there, be prepared, be in place. Sun should be bright enough in half an hour. Sunrise five-sixteen.”
Wolf made a lip fart as he leaped efficiently from the van’s sliding door. “Good thing you dressed like a f*cking leaf-headed burning bush,” he said. He referred to Tobiah’s head-to-toe camo outfit, including a pullover hat adorned with fake leaves that left only a visor-sized eye opening. “Wouldn’t want to mistake you for a pole, or a microwave oven.”
Tobiah bridled. “That’s the idea, you moron. Better they think I’m a bush than an obnoxious, clanging superhero Dominant who got lost on his way to The Racquet Club.”
“The Racquet Club?” Wolf whisper-shouted. Everyone was now outside the van, and sound carried far in this silent, windless canyon. “Isn’t that the bondage place in Flagstaff? How’d you know about that place unless you like a golden shower yourself, byte-boy?”
“Knock it off,” growled Sax. He didn’t want to advertise that he used to be a regular at that club. He didn’t want to set the Prospect straight that golden showers were more of a myth among lifestylers. “We don’t need any f*cking infighting while we’re trying to accomplish a mission.”
Maybe the word “mission” drilled some sense into the two rivals, but they suddenly straightened up. In the dim early morning light, Sax looked sternly at the beak-nosed face of the IT guy. He hadn’t yet put up his leafy hood, and he brandished his notebook and tiny helicopter with serious sobriety. Wolf Glaser had not only his Glock in its holster but a street sweeper and an AK in addition to his usual toys and tools. He looked like he was heading into a major firefight. Sax didn’t mind the extra firepower. He’d made sure even Tobiah had a pocket rocket, a .380 Smith and Wesson, shoved into his waistband. It was agreed they’d hold their fire if they only saw Tormenta’s minions. Much as they’d like to, it wouldn’t behoove them to piss Tormenta off further and tip their hand. He’d just run away and slash more women.
They were able to get within a hundred yards of the front door while still remaining hidden behind the curve of the hill. Now they just had to wait for the sky to become a bit brighter.
“I think you should nail that sexy former nun, Boss,” Wolf whispered chummily.
“He was already doing a pretty good job of it,” goofed Tobiah.
Did everyone except him know Beatrix had been on her way to becoming a nun? “Shut the f*ck up. I don’t want to ‘nail’ anyone,” he lied. “I just want to sell minerals and be a service to the club.”