Shelter From The Storm (The Bare Bones MC Book 6)(4)

Jones let up on me. “There is one way you can avoid New Mexico, my friend.”

My heart jumped. Anything, anything. Being a sicario was my entire world, my whole identity. It was the only possible occupation for me after being forced to flee Taos. Sure, I could’ve become a FedEx driver, a plumber, a waiter. Anything was possible in this world. But being a sicario was the only occupation that gave me the same salary and finesse as my old one.

“This will involve rubbing out a woman.”

“Fine, fine.” I shouldn’t have been surprised I could kill a woman with no compunction. Women had gotten me into this predicament to begin with. “Who, where?”

“Her name is Flavia Brooks. We’ve had word she’s living somewhere near Flagstaff working in a tuxedo rental store.”

That was oddly specific information for someone who had no known address. “Nothing more on her location, then?”

“Nothing. I will text you a photo shortly. I want you to go up there and look around tuxedo rental places.”

“Sure thing, jefe.”

I had a reprieve. After hanging up, I opened the photo of Flavia Brooks. Dear Lord, she was savage beautiful. Even a cold-hearted guy like myself had to admit that her caramel skin and bright electric blue eyes ringed in soot were straight out of a magazine’s pages.

Instantly I had second thoughts about burying this girl. What the f*ck could she have done? Yet Jones didn’t make a name for himself randomly running around hitting people. Briefly, I wondered if she was a reporter. Then why was she working in a tux rental store? Like me, maybe she was under deep cover.

Then something occurred to me. “Hey. The Bare Bones MC—they’re up near Flagstaff, aren’t they?”

Slayer nodded. “Their mother charter is in Pure and Easy to the south, to be exact. But they have a Flagstaff chapter. They recently moved out of the Tucson area after their clubhouse blew up, so they no longer have a real presence down here.”

I thought fast. “Jones just told me to take a vacation. To get my mojo back. There are nice spots up there, aren’t there?”

His eyes shined with zeal. “Oh, the red rocks are simply amazing! These sandstone rocks that have been beaten down for centuries…”

Slayer’s voice sort of faded out as he continued raving about the geological strata of eons. A great horned owl had just glided soundlessly over our heads so close I could’ve swore I felt the beat of its wings, maybe twenty feet up. I dove for my bike’s saddlebags, pissed that my birding binoculars were stuffed way down at the bottom. I hadn’t used them in weeks, and by the time I fumbled with them and put them to my eyes, of course the owl was long gone.





CHAPTER TWO




PIPPA


“Start low, go slow, that’s the motto.”

I nodded. I was drinking in every word of Lytton Driving Hawk’s training session.

“These are some low-dose options for edibles. Here are some Thick Mints, sort of a takeoff on the Girl Scout theme. They taste the same, with a peppermint hit that goes straight up your nostrils. Of course I can’t let you taste, or you’d be on the ground in an hour tasting everything. You’ll taste everything eventually. Just trust me. Here, smell one.”

I inhaled deeply of the chocolate-covered cookie. Believe you me, you didn’t need to swallow it to get a hit of potent THC. Of course, I hadn’t smoked in six months, not since moving to Pure and Easy. I wasn’t allowed to. But Pippa Lofting was going to get herself a medical marijuana card, for sure.

I said, “Overtones of coffee and maple syrup.”

The darkly handsome budtender smiled, surprised. “Have you worked in a club before?”

“No. That’s wine tasting lingo.”

“Oh, okay. That should stand you in good stead. There are some vineyards on the way up to our plantation on Mormon Mountain. Have you tasted any of our local wine?”

I really hadn’t had any wine in six months either. Way too afraid. “No, but I’d like to go tasting.”

“Where’d you say you live?”

I pointed, as if Lytton could see my tiny apartment. “Right up Bargain Boulevard a few blocks, above the indoor archery range.”

He nodded knowledgeably. “Above Slushy’s office.”

Slushy’s office? Was that some kind of juice bar? I was finding that in Pure and Easy many questions were best left unasked. I was fine with that.

Lytton said, “In fact, in honor of Slushy, we renamed this brownie. It was called Make Me Happy. Now it’s just Slushy’s Choice. Here, inhale. I’ll let you decide what it smells like.”

I breathed. “Well, chocolate, obviously. And…carob? Did you add carob?”

Lytton stood tall and proud. “Yes! Usually only old hippies remember what carob smells like. Or people who buy dog biscuits. What else?”

“Hm. Sort of a whiskey or a berry. Tart.”

“You got it. Blackberry liqueur. You’re going to be excellent at this, Pippa. Where’d you get your plant biology degree from?”

“Davis.” That was bullshit. My biochemistry degree was from Harvard. But if Lytton ever really pressed, I was sure my people could mock something up for him. I knew his doctorate in chemistry was from MIT, and his wife June had a master’s from Berkeley. At last, I was back with like-minded souls!