Have Gun, Will Travel (The Bare Bones MC Book 5) (6 page)

“But you don’t look—”

“Like a Dom? Hey. I don’t need to wear leather gauntlets or latex caps to know what I am. I don’t even wear that crap in the clubs. I’m secure with who I am inside. I don’t need accessories to prove to the world I like to dominate women. But I like a woman who’s a bit of a switch, to push back on me. A woman with a mind of her own.”

Now
that
hit home in a hundred ways with me. “My Sir won’t tolerate any of that bullshit. I tried to push back a couple of times. No fucking way. He’s strictly by the book. High protocol, he calls it.”

He raised one eyebrow. “He makes you kiss his boot, stuff like that?”

“Exactly. Makes me crawl around on all fours.” I couldn’t fucking
believe
I was talking to someone else about this. I could talk to Cassie about it in vague, roundabout terms, but I’d never gotten into specifics with anyone like this. It was comforting, again, to know that Sax was also in the lifestyle. I thought maybe that’s why I’d felt so comfortable with him from the start.

He seemed skeptical of this, as though he would never make a woman do that. I knew there were many, many different kinds of Doms in the world. It seemed nearly impossible to meet your match, the one who would balance out your requirements to be dominated, but not
too
dominating. It did irritate me sometimes, Roscoe’s high protocol. Kissing his damned boot pissed me off sometimes, but I thought that was the intention. If being submissive didn’t irritate you, what was the point? It was meant to push all your buttons.

“You’re into that? Well, safe, sane, consensual.” He shrugged. “Whatever works for you. Does he make you unzip his trousers with your teeth?”

I actually became a little bit proud of my D/s relationship now. “No, but he makes me cook meals wearing nothing but an apron and high heels.”

Now Sax seemed interested, sitting forward on his chair. “Oh, yeah?” He looked me boldly up and down. I wasn’t the most voluptuous woman on the planet, not the shapeliest, with sort of an up and down board figure. I knew my face was pretty in a dark Irish way, but I was never confident of my body. And suddenly I
wanted
to turn Sax on. The fact that he was twenty years older than me was flipping all my sensual switches, too. His brazen machismo, the way he assessed me boldly with his eyes, the sex he oozed—I was alive in every one of my senses. It had been a secret desire of mine for years to play out some Daddy Dom issues. “Now there’s a sight I’d pay good money to see.”

When I dropped my eyes out of modesty, I was face to face with the enormous bulge in the crotch of his jeans. The jeans were so worn, so threadbare, the shape of his cock was blatantly displayed. The fabric had actually worn around what appeared to be his frequent erection. It was whitewashed in the shape of a long, thick penis, nestled up against the threadbare pocket. I quickly shifted my gaze to a lit beer sign behind the bar.

“Speaking of paying,” Sax continued in that warm, syrupy voice. “I’ll take your Tormenta job. But I don’t want the sweetbutt money. I’ve got enough money of my own. I’ll do it for personal reasons, because I hate that motherfucker Tormenta, because it’s good to keep my hand in the game, to keep my skills up, to stay a member ‘in good’ with The Bare Bones. I’ll do it to protect future sweetbutts and to spare my brothers from the backstabbing human trafficking business Tormenta deals in.”

I was so happy I actually did cover both his hands with mine. “You
will
? Oh, I’m
so
fucking glad! Listen, I’m going to Madison’s tonight in P and E. Will you follow my cage and talk to Cassie and Maddy? It’s on the way to Prescott anyway.”

He removed one of his hands from under mine and placed it on top, a tiny show of dominance. “Sure. I wanted to go visit The Citadel again anyway, talk to Ford, see where he lands on this issue. Don’t worry, I won’t spill your secret. I’m not convinced Tormenta is in Prescott—that’d be too obvious—but leave all that up to me.”

“Oh, this is so exciting!” You’d think we were embarking on a trip to a wild animal park, not setting out to off some cartel kingpin.

He squeezed my hand. “Just one thing I want, Bee.”

“What? Anything!”

“You.”

What?
Had I just heard correctly? He couldn’t mean what he seemed to mean. “Me doing…what? What do I need to do?”

“I said I’d pay money to see you cooking, wearing nothing but an apron and high heels. I meant it.”

“Oh.” My heart skipped a beat. I stumbled over my words. “Well, I don’t really look all that, ah, sexy when I do that. Besides, I don’t think Roscoe would approve. I don’t think he’d…let me.” The truth was,
I wanted to cook for Sax wearing nothing but an apron and heels!
Oh
Lord
, I wanted nothing more out of life! Just by riding one up behind this buff, virile man, I’d suddenly become some sort of slut. Already I was fantasizing about tightly wrapping a cock ring around his prick, then getting to my knees to inhale the throbbing, beautiful thing into my mouth. I was a good deep throater, I knew. I was stretched. But Sax’s penis appeared much larger than Roscoe’s…

He lifted a hand to my chin, stroked my bottom lip with his callused thumb. His eyes were dreamy, mesmerizing. Is this what he did to all his subs? If so, it worked. “I understand, lady, although I beg to differ that you wouldn’t look sexy doing that. You don’t want to earn your Dom’s disapproval. You’re a good little sub. I just want you to know the opportunity will always be there, if you choose. If you want to make payment for some of my services, you know what you can do.”

I sat up straighter.
Blackmail!
“Well, I would if I could, Sax. You’re a…a very attractive man.” No,
that
was the understatement of the century—of the millennia. “But I’m pretty sure that Roscoe would—”

I was disappointed when he withdrew his thumb from my lips. “Are you absolutely certain, Bee? Are you certain your Dom would disapprove? Or have you ever discussed those parameters?”

How the fuck did he know?
Sax seemed to be all-seeing, all-knowing about things he couldn’t possibly know. It was unnerving. “Well, I’m collared,” I said, fingering the leather around my neck. “Isn’t that what collaring means? No stepping outside the relationship? I took it to mean I am owned by him.”

He shrugged. When he folded his arms in front of his chest, he appeared buffer, wider, more formidable. “Sometimes it’s just a fashion accessory. Traditional Dom/sub relationships have been changing. It can mean anything you want it to, as long as it’s discussed beforehand. Did you discuss fidelity with your Dom?”

“Well, not really, as far as I can recall. He told me it’s a ‘collar of consideration,’ that he owns me, and…that’s about it.”

“Aha. A training collar is like a pre-engagement ring. It can be removed at any time by you with no harm, no foul. It’s the least serious of all collars.”

I was shocked. “Really? Then does that mean that Roscoe can…” I faded out. I didn’t want this relative stranger to know I was questioning my relationship. Could Roscoe go and, well,
collar
other girls behind my back?

“Just something to consider,” said Sax, signaling the bartender for two more sodas.

The front door opened, making a rectangle of sunshine on the dark, shiny floor. Several black silhouettes entered the bar. They conglomerated by the door for a few seconds as the people scanned the room. Once I could make them out, I saw Brenda, Missy, and Rhetta among the women, and I waved wildly.

“Over here!”

When Brenda got a load of Sax, she broke into a run. “Sax!” she squealed, flinging her arms around his neck and burying her face there. I was envious. I wished my face could rub against the warmth of his neck.

But another character with their party piqued my interest. This guy was soap opera handsome, and almost dressed as though starring in one. His white-toothed smile was ingratiating, his perfectly coiffed black and silver hair curly and shiny, as though molded with hairspray, or worse. He was clad in a flashy chartreuse patterned polyester shirt with a jacket that was probably polyester too, the airplane collar sticking out just so. Still, as flamboyant as he was, he struck me as good-hearted and well intentioned. He flapped the lapels of his jacket and looked down at me as though I were a photographer. I half expected one of his teeth to twinkle.

While Brenda was occupied catching up with Sax, Rhetta introduced me with excitement. “Beatrix, this is Santiago. Santiago Slayer.”

While I pondered on the meaning of his name, he took my hand and actually kissed it. His voice was richly modulated, the enunciation of a well-educated man from Mexico City. “Madam. I am at your service. I have heard of the horrible, the most gruesome, vomit-inducing things that have happened to your business partner, Cassie. I am here to ensure that vengeance is served.”

Was Santiago…was he a
sicario
? Somehow, I didn’t picture
sicarios
walking around in two-toned white patent leather shoes. He didn’t fit the image at all. Sax, however, did.

When I stood, Sax did too, brushing away Brenda and her babblings. I said, “So you’re willing to take care of our problem? Because Sax here just agreed to help us out too.”

Santiago drew himself up at the mention of a rival. He formally placed one hand against his stomach and glared at Sax, nodding tightly. “Sir. May the race be swift and the best man win. But I can guarantee you women, you will not regret having engaged the services of Santiago Slayer, famed
sicario
to many organizations throughout the southwest.”

I looked to Rhetta. She explained, “I knew Santiago from the ashram. Our leader used him as sort of an enforcer when people weren’t behaving.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “I don’t need to know the details.”

“Santiago Slayer,” stated Sax. “I’ve heard of you. Didn’t you let some mark go cruising on by down at the Desert Diamond Casino in Tucson because you had to duck into a bathroom to fix your hair?”

“Sir!” barked Slayer. “I would
never
compromise a mission due to false vanity that I do not possess, and I’ll have you know, my hair would never need fixing in the cool air conditioned environment of a casino!”

I could tell by Sax’s satisfied smile that he was correct in his assessment of Slayer, as well as his vanity. It would be an interesting rivalry if we were to hire both men for our job. Maybe they’d spur each other to greater heights of accomplishment.

SAX

S
eeing that vain, shallow polyester stallion who dressed as though he’d traveled through time pricked at Sax’s memory banks.

He remembered Santiago Slayer from when he was just a Ken doll of a hitman. He had started out as an actor in Mexico City and had somehow been swept up in cartel living. Maybe the ego boost of belonging to a cartel was greater than that of being on daytime
telenovelas.
Slayer seemed much too big of a pussy to ever actually
kill
anyone, the reason no one had taken him seriously for quite a long time. But when a rival cartel member wound up hanging from a bridge down in Magdalena, Sonora, a traffic camera caught Santiago Slayer doing the deed, and his name rang in the streets from then on in.

Sax knew Slayer could achieve Beatrix’s goal for her. He could have just walked away once he knew Slayer was on the job. But for some reason, Slayer’s obnoxious posturing got to Sax. He felt a rivalry coming on. Maybe because Beatrix was watching, he suddenly felt the need to prove something to her.

She had really gotten under his skin in the short time he’d known her. Her camp counselor’s attire, her innocent, virtuous face as though gleaming from a spring shower, her underlying naughtiness all brought out the supreme, domineering side of him. Fantasies ran rampant in his mind. In addition to her cooking nearly naked for him, Sax could see taking his time making complex patterns against her skin with jute rope. Her mask would fall, she would show herself baldly to him. He would subdue her arms first with his tight binding, positioning, tugging, shaking and holding the rope. Her creamy white thighs would be the next wrapped. He’d part them with precision, allowing his fingertips to barely brush her outer pussy lips as he passed the rope by. By the time he hoisted her in the air with the pulley—

“I’ll have you know, my hair would never need fixing in the cool air conditioned environment of a casino!”

Sax grinned. “Doesn’t the air conditioning suck all the moisture from the air? Your bathroom visit was why the guy escaped the entire casino and lived to kill another member of the cartel you were working for.”

He was pleased when Slayer sputtered. He almost looked about to stamp his foot petulantly. “That is a baseless lie and accusation. All to be expected coming from the man who is not even welcome in his own babyish motorcycle club!” Assuming a calm, assured face, he looked at the women, thumping his chest with a fist. “Can you imagine? In Mexico we do not need babyish patches to proclaim who we are. We know deep down in the pits of our souls that we alone control the fabric of the universe!”

Sax was surprised when Beatrix spoke up. “Yes. You guys just make idiotic Facebook pages, posing with pouty lips and piles of semiautomatics.”