Have Gun, Will Travel (The Bare Bones MC #5)(9)
Leo chuckled, pleased with himself. “Oh, not like your sort of sadism. There’s a fine line between hacking off someone’s leg and whipping their ass.”
Anger tightened Sax’s jaw. “Well, yes,” he said thinly. He wasn’t here to educate his moronic brother in the details of the BDSM world. He was just sorry that the idiot knew about his involvement to begin with. Years ago, Sax had run into some associate of theirs at The Racquet Club, Flagstaff’s most notorious bondage club. Despite the fact that the guy was trussed in a latex harness while standing in a jail cell cage, he had not been able to resist blaring the news about Sax’s cock ring. “There’s a huge, vast difference. I’m telling you. Tormenta is trouble for the club, and you’d be smart to distance yourself. Now I’m going to go check on my house.”
Turning on his boot heel, Sax marched out of Leo’s office with dignity. He hadn’t gotten what he’d come for. He’d let down Harte. Leo was determined to continue to do business with the sadistic Tormenta, and what could Sax really do about it other than register his displeasure?
“Hey, Zane.” Leo called out to Sax using his real name. Leo had always been irked that they shared the last name of Saxonberg, but only Sax was called Sax. “Why don’t you stick to your little rocks and your nerdly world of rock collecting? Leave the big boy business to the big boys. Me and my son can handle it.”
My son. Little rocks. It was all calculated to push Sax’s buttons, so he didn’t let on that it did. He just marched back down the hallway, biting his tongue. Would Harte follow him in support?
No. Harte stayed with Leo, arguing, until someone slammed the office door.
“Sax!” yelled Funkhauser. “Stay for a beer! Let’s get caught up.”
“Another time,” Sax yelled back. He was f*cking weary of bullshit. He just wanted to get back to his house in Kachina Village, an A-frame ski cabin nestled in the pines off the highway heading into Pure and Easy. He had a numbskull house sitter living there, an old friend who had cleaned out his entire wine cellar of good cabernets over the years. Lila was nice enough, an old friend of the family, but it was time to kick her out for a couple of weeks.
Sax wanted to recharge his batteries. He’d go into town to the Racquet Club, hopefully not seeing that Assassin of Youth patch holder who liked to be caged and admired in latex. Sax personally thought latex was the worst fabric, another of the things that gave the world of BDSM a bad name. He was a down-to-earth, low protocol sort of Sir who didn’t stand on ceremony. There were so many different styles, choices, and levels of involvement in that world. Sax preferred to fly under the radar rather than fly his colors for the world to see. He had a couple of tats that displayed old bomber girls of the forties bound in attractive, eye-popping ways, and that was about it.
Sax consoled himself that Leo was two years younger than him but looked older with his sedentary lifestyle full of beer and getting on his scoot even to ride to the corner liquor store. That * is running this club into the ground.
He’d just straddled his Softail and was reaching for his helmet when a woman emerged from around the corner of the building. She didn’t have that sweetbutt aura about her. Her long naturally curly hair was tied behind her neck efficiently, as though to indicate a sensible personality. When she lifted her face to Sax, her azure eyes seemed to speak to him, and he paused with his brain bucket in his hands.
She looked like a sweet Irish lass, as though she brought a wave of fresh outdoor breeze with her. She wasn’t dressed like a sweetbutt, either. She wore a sensible plaid short-sleeved shirt, as though about to go camping, and khaki shorts completed the practical ensemble.
But the thing that plumped Sax’s cock was the collar around her neck. For a young woman in her twenties who dressed like a camp counselor, the idea that she was bound to a Dom turned Sax on immensely. His prick lengthened down the leg of his 501 jeans, expanding up against the edge of his black leather chaps. Did she pretend to be an innocent camper when her Dom handcuffed her in suspension cuffs and dangled her from the ceiling?
“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.
CHAPTER THREE
BEATRIX
I didn’t hesitate to jump on Sax Saxonberg’s * 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.