by Wolfe, Layla
This was obviously the subject he wanted to tackle. “Indeed it did! I was in shock for weeks and couldn’t accept it. I mean, I know there’s no blood relation involved here. All I did was marry Roman’s mother—and I’d marry her again in a heartbeat if she’d have me! But he’s been like a son to me, and Gudrun has been a daughter to me, and suddenly he’s giving her a PROPERTY patch…”
“It must be a strange feeling,” I allowed. “You just have to remember. There’s nothing wrong with their union in the eyes of the Lord.” I instantly regretted involving Jesus. It wasn’t three years ago. It was now. And I didn’t believe in the Lord anymore. The Lord had pretty much screwed me over with hypocrisy and conflicting standards.
That was one of the many reasons that I gravitated toward Sax. We were both bitter people of lost faith. I could tell he wanted to work alone—and Wolf Glaser could be fucking annoying, I’ll grant you that—but in the long run I was glad he had a partner. It just seemed much safer, and two minds were always better than one.
Slushy went on, “Well, I’m mostly over it now. Mostly. And I’m glad Sax is going to be spending more time around P and E with that rock shop he’s buying.”
“What?”
“Yeah, we just cut a deal, he signed the papers. Down on Bargain Boulevard, not far from The Joint System, the weed store. Guy had it for sale and it’s only a half hour commute from Sax’s house. Perfect. We can use a guy like him in our wheelhouse, not to mention another cover business. We’ve lost a couple of old timers in this mother chapter, lately, too. It’s great to see Sax back, working on club business. Never thought he was cut out to be a nomad. He’s too old for that bullshit, anyway. I know the feeling. I’m too old to be cooking the books for a cartel. I just want to hold an Oscar party at my house. Drink wine and talk about David Sedaris.”
I don’t know how much of this speech Sax had overheard. But he was obviously dying to get away from the gung-ho Wolf Glaser, who was already babbling away happily about going to the shooting range with Sax.
“We could even go to our own archery range. Slushy’s office is in the back, and Kneecap would let us shoot for free. You never know when a bow and arrow comes in handy. I once shot a rival Cutlass at four in the morning from a second story window down in Tucson. A gun, anyone would’ve heard ten miles away. But the arrow went right through his eyeball and stuck halfway in his skull. Soundlessly, just the whisper of the fletching, psssshew. Arrow shattered against the cement building behind the guy.”
Sax patted Wolf on the shoulder. “That’s great. Can we talk about it later? Beatrix, I’m glad you’re here…” In an effort to extricate himself from the enthusiastic Prospect, Sax took me by the forearm and steered me into the hallway. He stood me up against the wall while old-timers such as Faux Pas, special effect makeup man to the stars, and Russ Gollywow, backup singer in a Philly Soul band, sauntered on by. I tell you, being at The Citadel was like being backstage at a rock concert. These men were my rock stars, the iconoclasts, the outlaws of society. After losing my faith, this is where I felt most comfortable. I might not be much of a nihilist myself, but the rebels and revolutionaries of society were my cohorts.
“Listen, I’ve got to go downtown, check out this nail salon. I know, sounds ridiculous, but I’ve got a lead that it might be a cover for some of Tormenta’s smuggling ops, might lead me to where he is.”
“He’s not in Prescott?”
“I doubt he’d hide in plain sight like that. He’s got too many other hiding places, mountain hideaways, hideaways that are literally underground. Putting a tracker on his vehicle would be the best idea. But listen. Lytton just left here. He and June want to have us over to their house near Mormon Lake for dinner.”
Another couple in the lifestyle, and they wanted us—as a couple?—for dinner! This excited me beyond belief. “That sounds fantastic! I love those two. They might even be able to tell us about some munches we could attend.” Munches were lunch events at restaurants where people in the lifestyle mingled to meet others. I’d been to a few, but none since meeting Roscoe.
Sax brought up Roscoe now. “Will your Sir let you go, though?”
My heart fell, but quickly rose again. “He won’t get angry if he doesn’t know about it.” Even as the words came out of my mouth, I knew I was rebelling against my agreement with Roscoe.
It was obvious Sax could tell I was being naughty, too. One corner of his mouth lifted, making him look rugged. “Good. I’ll be back here in an hour or so. Shouldn’t take long to snoop around a salon full of women.”
I frowned. “Are you sure you don’t want me going to the salon? A big, manly brute like you, with or without your cut, is going to arouse suspicion among women who are already suspicious to begin with.”
Sax looked as though that hadn’t occurred to him, but he quickly wrote off the idea. “No. I’m not taking that risk, Beatrix, and don’t you even fucking think it. You should be in hiding, not getting into even more dangerous fixes. It’s just possible Tormenta knows about the bounty, especially with Santiago Slayer stumbling around after him, and knows which women are involved. He’s not a great lover of women, Bee. When you’re not with me, you should be with Maddy or June.”
“All right,” I said timidly. It did make me feel good to be protected like that. I’d never felt protected or safe before. I was attracted to bad boys all the way, and they weren’t famous for giving women a sense of safety.
Sax nodded briskly and turned to stalk out the door toward the parking lot. I enjoyed watching him exit, the globes of his ass nice and shapely beneath his jeans, his many keys dangling from a chain at his waist, the well-worn cut in the shape of his broad shoulders.
A strange, unknown feeling rose in my chest. I had to analyze it a few seconds before realizing I respect Sax Saxonberg. I had no respect for Roscoe. I feared Roscoe, so of course I obeyed him, but I didn’t respect him. I wondered if respect for a man could give you the urge to obey him. It was a completely new emotion for me.
The enthusiastic Wolf Glaser was instantly at my side. “He’s a man’s man.” I didn’t know what that meant, but of course Wolf went on. He thumped his chest with his fist. “He’s the sort of guy you’re proud to follow into battle. I’ve never met him until today, but the stories I’ve heard, hoo boy, it’s enough to make a choir boy weep—oh, sorry.”
“No sweat.”
“I mean, before he went nomad, the truces he arranged, the brotherhood he creates between The Bare Bones and other clubs. Clubs that have since become our enemies, like the Cutlasses, the Dotards. Can you believe we used to be brother clubs with those assholes? Back when Sax was Veep we’d do the Four Corners run together with those dumbshits.”
“Wolf.” Ford was standing next to us, putting some kind of handgun into the back of his jeans. “One more thing. I want you to get in touch with Tobiah Weingarten. You’re gonna need his technical savvy to run down Tormenta. He can put a tracker on any vehicle you can find, and he’s got some new drone spy planes that’re pretty cool.”
Wolf’s face turned to stone at the mention of the IT guy. Tobiah was the business manager for Lytton’s Leaves of Grass pot plantation up on Mormon Mountain. Although not a patched member, he’d been doing all kinds of high-tech spy stuff for the Bare Bones brothers. “Tobiah Weingarten? That bowl-headed nerd? I can’t work with that guy, Ford. That dorkwad had too many atomic swirlies or something and it’s gone to his brain.”
Ford didn’t seem in the mood to have his authority challenged. He sighed. “Why do you hate that guy so heavily, Wolf? You act like he stole your girlfriend from you or something.”
Wolf held his hand to his chest. “Girlfriend? What girlfriend? As you know, the club is my girlfriend, Ford.”
“Good.” Ford clapped Wolf on the shoulder. “Then you won’t mind working with him. Can you scoot up there now? He’s waiting for you.”
I chuckled as Ford split and Wolf grumbled to himself. I followed him to the stairs that led to t
he parking lot.
“God damned gaywad. I’d like to give him a few purple nurples and tittie twisters myself.”
I was amused. “Because of a girl?”
Wolf made an exaggerated face of disgust. “Girl? No, why does everyone keep saying a girl? I don’t have time for a girl.” Wolf held the door open for me. “Where the hell are you going? I thought we were supposed to protect you, for you to stay with Maddy at least.”
I shrugged as I jogged down the metal staircase. “Oh, nowhere. Time to get my nails done. Isn’t there a salon near the weed dispensary?”
“I guess so. You can ask August. He’s the ganjier at the pot store. Are you sure this is safe? Let me check with Sax. Wait, what’s his phone number?”
“See you soon!” I left Wolf standing in the dust without giving him Sax’s phone number. I didn’t want any Prospect getting in my way. I could be very headstrong. Sax might be able to tell me what to do, which is why I hadn’t told him my plans. But a damned Prospect? No way in hell.
I had a mission, just like the old days. It gave me a sense of purpose, a reason to live. A happiness I hadn’t felt in years.
CHAPTER SIX
SAX
Sax made his best effort at the nail salon. But what could he really do? He couldn’t pass for a guy who looked like he wanted a pedicure, and he couldn’t just bust in the back office and look at their books.
But it did look like a sweatshop with probably a hundred health code violations. Some technicians weren’t wearing gloves as they worked on clients, Sax crunched toenails under his boots, and there were rings around the whirlpool footbaths. It was likely that Ford or Lytton had some health inspectors in their pockets who could do some digging. Almost all of the workers were Hispanic. Sax understood the cussing of the mannish woman who appeared to be in charge.
“Joder! Mierda!” Fuck! Shit! “Me cago en la madre que te parió!” I shit on the mother who gave birth to you!
“Excuse me,” said Sax in English, so the barrel-chested woman with spindly legs wouldn’t know that he understood her swearing. “I’m wondering if you have any gift certificates I could give my girlfriend.”
The woman pasted on an evil grin to explain her gift card process, but found time in her explanation to break away and yell over her shoulder. “Mover el culo perezoso y limpiar esas máquinas de cortar!” Get off your lazy ass and clean those clippers! For women who were berated so much, the employees sure didn’t seem to be obeying her, maybe because she seemed to need more of them. Only four women scurried around tending to fifteen clients.
Sax decided to cut to the chase. Pulling out his smartphone, he thumbed to a photo of Tony Tormenta. It was one of his infamous Facebook portraits from days of old, but Sax had cropped out the guns and bags of white powder so as not to “lead” her.
“¿Conoces a este hombre?” Do you know this man?
Her face blanched under her pockmarked skin as she looked at the photo. He realized later perhaps he should have spoken in English, because maybe she was panic-stricken to realize he spoke fairly decent Spanish. He had to, in all his travels.
Still, she responded in English. “Never seen him in my life. What did he do, kill some woman?”
What a strange thing to say. “Do you mind if I show your employees this photo?”
Her fake smile froze. Her pupils became black pebbles of nastiness. “They are too busy to look at photos. Can’t you see? If you want to show salon owners photos, go crosstown to l’Amour Nails and talk to that woman Nguyen. She is probably familiar with rapists. Now, please. I have much work to do.”
Sax realized he’d have to come up with a new plan for infiltrating the salon. As he turned to leave, a Mexican woman was entering the front door. But when she saw him, fright flashed through her eyes. She changed her mind, and fled down the street.
She could have thought he was an inspector from the health department. Or she could have thought he was one of Tormenta’s thugs. Sax had to admit, there was no way he could erase his aura of thuggishness. Even without his cut on, hos hoodie zipped over his wifebeater, he looked like what he was—a hired gun. Of course he had his Glock stuck into the back of his jeans under the hoodie.
Sax texted Beatrix as he walked. He’d parked a few blocks away so as not to frighten anyone with the sight of his ’98 Springer Softail.
On my way to pick you up at The Citadel.
Her answer was immediate. Never mind. I’ll head to Lytton’s myself.
No, stay where you are. I don’t want you traveling alone.
I’m already on my way. No big deal.
I don’t like it. You need to learn to obey. Have Wolf Glaser chase you there if you have to.
Then there was silence. He also didn’t want her texting while driving, so he didn’t harass her anymore. But as he turned his fuel switch on, he thought about how they’d need to set very stringent parameters for the young missy. He liked that she was a “free spirit,” basically a brat, but if she was going to stay safe and alive, she’d have to obey him.
He’d put a fucking tracker on her car if he had to—in fact, that was a very good idea. He didn’t want that fucking Wolf Glaser idiot hanging around him, getting in the way—he could assign Wolf to be her bodyguard. She could stay at Maddy’s along with Wolf. That would give Sax the freedom to finish his job, return as the lion of the day in supreme glory, and sweep up the innocent gardener—educate her in the “low protocol” joys of being dominated by an expert service Master who didn’t mind someone pushing back a little.
He didn’t see Beatrix’s cage on Lake Mary Road. When he arrived at Lytton’s palatial, glassy, wood-beamed new home on Mormon Mountain and didn’t see her cage, he checked his phone. Nothing from the camp counselor he was now beginning to jones for like an addict. The more she rebelled and disobeyed him, the more she drew him in. She was definitely topping him from the bottom, far more than he was accustomed to. A good bottom could enact some freaky rebel play—Lord knew, Sax enjoyed the power exchange as well as the next guy. But Beatrix Hellman had been disobeying him in almost every facet possible since the moment they’d met. More than ever, Sax wondered with a fever who the hell her Dom was.
He had a beer with Lytton out on their deck. Passing black-bottomed clouds sent almost psychedelic shadows racing across the surface of Mormon Lake. Blocky boulders strewn under great swaths of Ponderosa pine covered much of the hill beneath Lytton’s house, and once again, Sax longed for some stability in his life. This was what Lytton was allowed to look at every day. Sax was embarrassed that Lytton could already tell that he couldn’t control Beatrix. If he was a good Sir, they would have arrived together.
“I’ve known Bee for about a year,” confided Lytton. He was the spitting image of his half-brother Ford—the hawk’s nose, the gorgeous velvety skin, the flashing, passionate eyes. That Lytton’s mother had been Apache lent Lytton the added dimension of mystery. Lytton was Dr. Driving Hawk. He held a PhD in chemistry from MIT, giving Sax an automatic kinship with him. Sax, too, was also technically a doctor, his doctorate from the University of Michigan, so the two men had a bond. They were also both former club-goers at The Racquet Club in Flagstaff. Sax thought Lytton had been known as Master Hawk in the olden days. “I knew she was in the lifestyle by her collar, but nothing else really says that about her. It’s sort of intriguing.”
“Yeah, about that.” Sax was glad the subject had been broached for him. “Who’s this Sir guy she’s got, anyway? I’m not saying this because I like her, but he seems like kind of a dick.”
Looking from side to side, Lytton took a step closer. “I tend to agree. June told me that one of the Flag sweetbutts told her that Beatrix was trying to cover up some arm and leg bruises one day. I mean, fine, if they’re into impact play and all. But this asshole had clearly caned places you don’t normally go, like her femurs, her radius, her humerus. June said it just looked like he’d brutalized her.”
Sax wasn’t very good at keeping emotions in
side, especially anger. “I suspected that. I suspect Bee is a newbie to the lifestyle, and maybe doesn’t know the difference between someone dominating her, and someone abusing her.”
“You’re right there,” Lytton agreed heatedly. “Especially after living such a sheltered life in the convent.”
Sax’s blood ran cold. “What?”
All expression dropped from Lytton’s face. “The convent. You know, up in Boulder. Colorado,” he added, as though that was the only detail missing from the story.
“Convent,” Sax repeated stupidly. It was taking a hell of a long time to sink in, he knew. He really had no other choice, though, than to stand there like a moron with his brain running out his ears. He was truly blindsided by what was starting to sound like an utter lie. A fucking convent? He’d concluded that Funkhauser had been blowing it out his ass when he’d told Sax she had been named “Sister Colette” in her life as a nun. Was Lytton just perpetuating the same strange lie?
“Yeah, you know. She was a novitiate, which I think is the step before taking her first vows to become a nun. You knew that,” Lytton stated.
Too prideful to risk appearing ignorant, Sax took the high ground. “Something about that, yeah. That’s the first side of her that strikes you. She’s got this very innocent schoolgirl aura about her.” He forced himself to grin casually, almost lasciviously, risking looking like a pervert just to take the focus off the fact that he hadn’t believed Funkhauser. “Her naivety was the first thing that struck me.”
Lytton grinned too. “She’s definitely got that innocence, especially compared to the sweetbutts who are her friends. You’re probably right. That’s probably why she lets that asshole literally walk all over her. She probably doesn’t know any better.”
“When did she leave the convent, do you know? Is this guy her first Master?”
“I think he is. She’s only been hanging around the Flag clubhouse for a year or so. That’s how long she’s owned the nursery. But no one knows why she decided to give up becoming a nun. Must’ve had some massive crisis of faith.”
