Stay Vertical (The Bare Bones MC #2)(43)

“Ah.” Lytton collapsed on his back next to June. She looked wide-eyed at the ceiling as though in shock. What had he done? Something occurred to him. “I know the rhythm method doesn’t work. But I figured it’d at least give you a decent shot at staying safe. I’m sorry I was so…eager.”

She finally looked at him. “Oh, that’s not it! It’s my safe time of month anyway. I’m just…feeling very pleasurable.”

Lytton grinned. Girl would need aftercare even if he hadn’t spanked her or had a fire play session with her, so he got up to get her some cold water. “Spend the night here, June. I don’t want you going back down the mountain in the dark.”

He went to check on Iso, who was learning how to right-click on the spaceship’s cockpit. Lytton had agreed with Zelov that after Iso’s careless and pointless murder of the Ochoa driver, he would harbor the idiot for a few days until it blew over. They were also harboring the jacked Staples truck, covered by stacks of dried pot plants, parked behind the drying shed. It had occurred to Lytton this was a lot of exposure for someone running a legitimate business. But he had participated in the heist. These were the risks one took when getting into bed with outlaws like The Cutlasses.

The risk would soon be none once they got The Buddy System up and running. Once he established Buddy as the premier distributor of fine, aromatic, pesticide-free medicinal pot, Ford’s venture would go under. Lytton grabbed a beer for himself and a bottle of water for June, along with a small plate of the cheese and crackers Helium Head had set out for the guest. Lytton wasn’t one for domesticity, but he imagined his old lady needed something to eat.

Inside his bedroom, June had turned off the lights. Setting the drinks and plate on a dresser, Lytton went and looked at her. Her eyes were open, her arms still flung over her head, but she’d taken off her dress and pulled the covers up to her neck. Another wave of heartwarming love rushed through Lytton, and he unbuckled his belt again. He would just get in with her.

“Lytton.”

“Mm-hmm?”

“What if Ford had a really good reason to kill your dad? Would you ever forgive him if he had a really good reason?”

Whoa. Lytton hadn’t seen that coming. He was in no way prepared to forgive Ford because he had a “good reason.” He hadn’t imagined Ford even having a good reason. Ford was an outlaw biker who had been wearing the “Filthy Few” patch since the age of seventeen. He had probably just shot their father for wearing the wrong shade of black, or not banging the gavel at the end of church.

He continued undressing. “What might that reason be?”

She didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was small. “I can’t tell you. I’ll ask if it’s all right to tell you, but it’s extremely private, between Ford and Madison.”

Her sister? Lytton had no clue what that could be about. He combed his hair with his fingers, looking at her tiny head, luminous in the indirect moonlight. “I can’t see anything that would justify that, June. If he really had a gripe he could just cut off relations with the guy, like I did with Ford. You don’t see me plotting to murder Ford just because I’ve got a beef with him.”

She seemed to accept this, and Lytton slid under the covers and gathered her in his arms. Still, he was uneasy. He had to solidify his position. He spoke against the top of her head. “June, I’m a reprobate, the black sheep. An outcast. I know you can do better than me. But be f*cking honest. If you don’t want to be my old lady, just tell me so.”

June snuggled her face against his throat. “I want to be your old lady, Lytton. Now and forever.”

Now and forever. That was a long f*cking time. By the time Lytton drifted to sleep, he was already pondering on the job they had scheduled for two days from now. Revenge had occupied almost all of his thoughts. June was only a short detour off his path of retribution.



It was hair-raising driving the Staples truck that had been driven by the murder victim.

It would be worth it, though, when Turk or August, who both worked at A Joint Effort, went around to the warehouse doors and saw the truck that was supposed to deliver their Ochoa medicine sitting right there. Not only was the marijuana gone, but in its place Lytton and Toby had stuck some skeletons they’d gotten at the party store. Lytton only wished he could be there when The Bare Bones brothers got a load of the bare bones in the back of their stupid f*cking truck. It was immature and puerile to pull a stunt like that, and totally worth it.

The big fear was that they’d be stopped by the cops before leaving the truck in the alley behind A Joint Effort. Ochoa’s plantation near Show Low was supposed to be legitimate and certified, yet he hadn’t reported the truck stolen, much less the driver missing. Lytton knew the Ochoa family was involved in a whole slew of other illegal trades like the giant meth-making empire that the lawyer Slushy had once worked for. Ruben Ochoa was probably afraid of the scrutiny that would be brought onto their heads if they reported anything to the cops.

Or, like most outlaws, they just weren’t familiar with asking cops for help.

“Okay,” said Lytton as he slowly steered the big truck through Pure and Easy’s narrow streets. One of those ski masks with only eye and mouth holes was pushed back on his head, ready to be pulled down when they came within sight of Joint Effort’s security cams. And, of course, he was wearing gloves. “I don’t know who’ll be behind the counter, but whoever the budtender is, just start talking about edibles, flowers, concentrates, shit like that. Ask to see their menu.”