by Wolfe, Layla
“Well, I’d have to have a face-to-face conversation with him about it.”
“Not going to happen. Not until Tormenta is found. Just give him an ol’ heads up about your intentions over the phone. Until then, you’re staying either here with June, or in P and E with Maddy.”
“Whichever one’s closest to you.” Again, I was falling all over myself to be with him, to please him! I needed to slap myself. Too bad my former order didn’t stress self-flagellation, for that’s what I felt I needed. “I heard you were buying some guy’s rock shop in P and E, down on Bargain Boulevard. You plan on hanging around here awhile?”
Now I had caught him unawares. It was nice to see him squirm, for once. He cleared his throat and frowned at me. “Maybe. You just call that so-called ‘Master’ of yours and we’ll see how things go.”
And he left the room.
Why should I break things off with Roscoe when Sax wasn’t offering me any hope of stability? He said I needed a better collar. Did that mean he intended on buying me one? Here was a guy who rode around the States for a living. Literally a nomad, he drove from show to show selling his gems. Just because he’d purchased a shop in Pure and Easy didn’t mean he intended to stick around! I hadn’t even gotten a chance to tell Sax what I’d done at the nail salon.
I knew Spanish from the abbey. Aside from Latin, it was one of their standard languages. Of course I didn’t have time to get an actual manicure, but I’d made appointments for both Maddy and myself. I had boldly made an assertion to Carla Madrona, the matron who ran the place. Slyly, I told her, “Le diré a Tony Tormenta que hiciste un buen trabajo.” I’ll tell Tony Tormenta what a good job you did.
Carla Madrona had turned as white as Santiago Slayer’s vinyl belt. “Mi Dios. Te ha enviado?” My God. Has he sent you?
I’d smiled enigmatically, and left then. I was already late for dinner at Lytton’s. But I’d felt I’d gained a confirmation of what Sax suspected. And yeah, there were slimy foot spas, people reusing tools on different customers, workers dropping things, then putting them back unsanitized.
I wandered toward the back deck, where everyone seemed to be conglomerated, but I stopped short of opening the sliding glass door. Sax wanted me to break it off with Roscoe. I was certainly willing to, but only if I knew Sax could provide me with more assurance. I knew he had submissives in every town. Brenda had told me. I may not have much self-esteem after the life I’d led—certainly giving up all your worldly possessions and wearing a habit didn’t lend itself to a giant ego—but I knew enough of the secular world to know one didn’t make rash decisions based on a lot of air, such as Sax was offering me.
But there was a voicemail from Roscoe! He’d finally called me back after over a week. “Hey, Slave. Got your texts and voicemails. You don’t need to leave me so many—I know you’re into me. Listen, I’m going to be doing a different scene for another week. Some relatives are coming into town from out of state. So don’t call me, I’ll call you, all right? Bye.”
That was it. “Bye.” I wound up staring at the phone as though the instrument itself had offended me. Roscoe had always spoken brusquely to me like that. If a Dom couldn’t speak that way, who could, right?
So I was about to saunter out onto the back deck when I saw June’s face collapse. She clapped her palms to her face and moaned an unearthly sound. Lytton was talking to her, his phone in his hand. I froze in place. June fled for the slider, slamming it open so hard it banged loudly.
“June!” I reached out to grab her arm as she ran past. “What happened?”
“Bee!” She looked at me wide-eyed, as though she hadn’t seen me standing there. Lytton came inside now, hovering with uncertainty around his wife. She took her hands from her mouth, her mouth in the shape of a wail. “Brenda’s dead!”
It took a while to sink in. I struggled to recall what Sax had told me about her being slashed. “Tony Tormenta?”
“Yes!” She made a bloodcurdling howl. “Tony Fucking Tormenta! He grabbed her when she was in Harte’s driveway, so he knows all about your plan, and I fucking think if we don’t all go into hiding in Niagara Falls he’s going to fucking come to get us, too!”
And she ran down the hall.
I looked at Lytton. He rarely looked helpless, but he did now.
Sax stood behind Lytton. He didn’t look helpless. He looked determined, his jaw grim.
And he was the man who gave me reassurance. Not Lytton, or the other two defenseless, powerless guys standing on the deck.
Sax was a wall, an immobile wall, and he was the one I wanted to hitch my wagon to.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SAX
“Did we bring anything to eat other than those Doritos?”
Sax stupidly started to answer Wolf Glaser’s question. “I’ve got some trail—”
But of course Tobiah Weingarten beat him to it. “What would you do if you were in astronaut training school? I’ll bet you wouldn’t want to eat the dehydrated beef stew with carrots they give you up in space.”
Wolf, in the back of the surveillance van with Tobiah, sighed heavily. “Yeah, but we’re not in some fucking astronaut training school. We’re five thousand feet out of Payson. And I always have pancakes with pecan syrup around about this time.”
Tobiah snorted. “At four AM? You must get up awful early for your important career in the parts shed at The Citadel.”
“Construction guys start early!” yelled Wolf.
“Cool it,” said Sax in a loud warning tone, much as one would use on dogs. He was in the passenger seat of the van, there not being any reason for him to be in back with the surveillance equipment Tobiah had installed. The van was one of Tobiah’s pet projects, as it turned out. Sax thought this was its maiden voyage.
Tobiah had gleaned from metadata in the Facebook photo of Brenda Ridings that Tormenta had posted it from his luxury hideaway home above Payson. The white-powdered peaks of the Mogollon Rim ringed the valley when they had driven up last night, Sax riding point, the van following, getting as far as they dared before the sun set. Sax had parked his scoot in a wash and covered it with branches as best as he could before grudgingly joining the other two in the van.
Predictably, it was just one jab and snipe after the other with those two. Was Ford in on Leo’s vendetta against him, too? Is that why Ford had stuck him with these two buffoons? Sax had already taken one walk over the ridge above them with night vision goggles in the nearly full moon to view the midcentury ranch house, but he didn’t see any activity, and no vehicles. He thought he might take another walk up there now, or he’d have to start knocking heads together.
Tobiah kept on. “When I took that astronaut training program at MIT, I had to eat a can of Russian jellied beef tongue from the seventies. Man, that was some harsh stuff. Real brutal training.”
Wolf said, “But without gravity wouldn’t the aromas just waft away? You wouldn’t be able to smell the food beforehand, which could be a good thing.”
This appeared to confuse Tobiah. His face glowed with irritation in the lights from his GPS screen. “Well, you can’t really taste it, either. In zero gravity, we had constantly stuffy noses because the fluid rises to the top half of your body.”
“Great,” scoffed Wolf. “I feel like I’m in a space capsule with you guys.”
Tobiah grumbled, “Sure wish I had some biocide to spray on you.” He was fiddling with his quadcopter, a remote-controlled drone with four props that would help them spy on Tormenta, if indeed Tormenta was even up there, without putting themselves at grave bodily risk. When Tormenta emerged from the house to enter his car, Sax and Wolf could easily jog up and pop off him and his possible compatriots. Of course, at four AM, there wasn’t much to see on Tobiah’s computer screen, so he was still charging the aerial vehicle.
“I’m talking a walk,” Sax informed his men. Relief washed over him as he exited the van. At this time of the still, crisp morning, the Ponderosa pine scent imbued his nostrils, and he bre
athed deeply. He remembered most of the pathway up the rise behind the van and the moon was still high, so he didn’t have to put on the night vision goggles until he neared the top. He clambered up a dry creek bed. A hundred years ago, heavy metals had been found near here. Sax wondered how many gold, copper, and silver traces he was gouging under his fingernails as he climbed.
Then he wondered about Beatrix Hellman—otherwise known as Sister Colette. That spanking scene had just about undone him. He didn’t figure her for an experienced submissive, but the way she deftly handled him, leaving him perpetually on the verge of shooting his load inside his jeans, had him wondering.
She’d been superb, the way she had protested, just the perfect combination for a Force-Me Queen. She was no novice, that was for sure, and Sax doubted that this Roscoe assmuncher had done much to train her. By the time he’d pulled her panties down to her knees, she was knowingly parting those lily-white thighs, and his slaps turned to caresses when his fingers had strayed lower, to her tight and surprisingly damp curls.
He was hooked. He’d only dumped her off his lap because he was truly, sincerely afraid he was going to go off in his pants like some fucking inexperienced kid. Playing the Daddy Dom game was always a turn-on, but once he realized that his “father” role could be interpreted more than one way, he’d just about lost his rocks. Oh, yes. She would look fine bound in some kinbaku hemp, those tiny titties of hers bursting from between the bindings.
Sax nearly lost track of what he was doing. That was inexcusable, so he placed the night vision goggles into position on his head. His last thought of Bee was that she had no clue what a safe word was. That told him all he needed to know about that abusive nozzle, that sorry excuse for a Dom.
Aha. Sax could easily see the mass of a sleek sports car now parked in the driveway. That hadn’t been there when he’d checked at the beginning of the night, so someone must’ve moved it out of the garage in anticipation of splitting. Tobiah’s drone only worked up to a hundred yards, so the idea was to walk up the hill with his notebook and little quadcopter, set it free, and hide in the bushes until the drone told them it was time to attack.
Meantime, this was the perfect opportunity for Sax to sneak out and place the tracker on the sports car.
The engine wasn’t running and no one seemed to be waiting. He prayed that there wouldn’t be any security cameras, or if there were, the guard would be asleep at the controls. The risk was worth it if they could get a tracker on the car, in case they failed to ambush the people getting into the vehicle.
Sax succeeded in placing the tracker and making it back down to the van, which Tobiah had brilliantly had painted to look like a flower delivery van. Sax just thought that “This Bud’s For You” sounded more like a marijuana delivery van. Although in general, it still looked like a rape van.
Sax told the two buffoons what he’d seen. “I think it’s time to walk up the hill toward the house.”
Wolf Glaser leaped into action. He’d been checking every implement on his utility belt a hundred times over the past several hours, and he was beyond battle-ready. “Maybe I’ll get to use my nunchuks for once.”
“No nunchuks,” Sax ordered. “We want to just slam them with our Glocks and be out of here. No fucking hand-to-hand combat, Wolf. Tobiah, remember, you can’t just run back to the van the second we go uphill toward the house. We’ll still need your drone telling us if more guys are coming from a different direction. If we pick them all off, we’ll have more than enough time to meander back to the van.”
“Ten-four,” Tobiah said obediently. For a bowl-headed dweeb, he seemed to have guts, to have what it took to work for an outlaw motorcycle club. “I’ll have eyes in the sky. But it’s still too dark out for my drone to see.”
Sax said, “We’ll walk up there, be prepared, be in place. Sun should be bright enough in half an hour. Sunrise five-sixteen.”
Wolf made a lip fart as he leaped efficiently from the van’s sliding door. “Good thing you dressed like a fucking leaf-headed burning bush,” he said. He referred to Tobiah’s head-to-toe camo outfit, including a pullover hat adorned with fake leaves that left only a visor-sized eye opening. “Wouldn’t want to mistake you for a pole, or a microwave oven.”
Tobiah bridled. “That’s the idea, you moron. Better they think I’m a bush than an obnoxious, clanging superhero Dominant who got lost on his way to The Racquet Club.”
“The Racquet Club?” Wolf whisper-shouted. Everyone was now outside the van, and sound carried far in this silent, windless canyon. “Isn’t that the bondage place in Flagstaff? How’d you know about that place unless you like a golden shower yourself, byte-boy?”
“Knock it off,” growled Sax. He didn’t want to advertise that he used to be a regular at that club. He didn’t want to set the Prospect straight that golden showers were more of a myth among lifestylers. “We don’t need any fucking infighting while we’re trying to accomplish a mission.”
Maybe the word “mission” drilled some sense into the two rivals, but they suddenly straightened up. In the dim early morning light, Sax looked sternly at the beak-nosed face of the IT guy. He hadn’t yet put up his leafy hood, and he brandished his notebook and tiny helicopter with serious sobriety. Wolf Glaser had not only his Glock in its holster but a street sweeper and an AK in addition to his usual toys and tools. He looked like he was heading into a major firefight. Sax didn’t mind the extra firepower. He’d made sure even Tobiah had a pocket rocket, a .380 Smith and Wesson, shoved into his waistband. It was agreed they’d hold their fire if they only saw Tormenta’s minions. Much as they’d like to, it wouldn’t behoove them to piss Tormenta off further and tip their hand. He’d just run away and slash more women.
They were able to get within a hundred yards of the front door while still remaining hidden behind the curve of the hill. Now they just had to wait for the sky to become a bit brighter.
“I think you should nail that sexy former nun, Boss,” Wolf whispered chummily.
“He was already doing a pretty good job of it,” goofed Tobiah.
Did everyone except him know Beatrix had been on her way to becoming a nun? “Shut the fuck up. I don’t want to ‘nail’ anyone,” he lied. “I just want to sell minerals and be a service to the club.”
But Wolf was insistent. “She’s like goody two-shoes hot. Just thinking of her wearing a nun’s habit is enough to give you a Captain Standish.”
Tobiah scoffed. “What are you, five years old? Seriously, a Captain Standish?” Even though he had to whisper, he affected a mock-dork voice. “‘Not tonight, dearest, I can’t seem to find my Aaron’s rod.’ ‘My joy knob got a little bit stuck.’”
Sax couldn’t resist joining in. “‘My giggle stick is melting.’”
“Ah, c’mon!” Wolf Glaser was pissed. “Women appreciate it if you don’t talk in such coarse, direct language. They don’t want to hear about your cock, your cream. They’d rather hear about you crossing the crime scene tape, burying evidence, or getting involved in an 11-99.”
Tobiah fell for it. “What’s an 11-99?”
Wolf had a straight face. “An officer down.”
Tobiah rolled his eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake! Most women—well, I’ll just speak for my current flame, Tracy—love hearing that lowdown and dirty talk. My woman really gets off on talking about how rock-hard my rod is.”
Sax said, “Sounds like a romance novel.”
Wolf spat, “Oh yeah, right. Tracy’s really going to give a shit about your microscopic winkie dinkie. She’s obviously never had a real man.”
That was about the limit, Sax could tell. Any second now and they’d be strangling each other while uttering oaths about ding-dongs or fishing rods. “Tobiah!” he rasped. “It’s got to be bright enough to send up your little plane. Do it now! Keep it over the roof, so they don’t see it, but we can see them. You’ll see the Corvette out in the driveway—I think it’s silver.”
“Here we go.” With shining eyes, To
biah made the four blades of the quadcopter whirr soundlessly. By tilting his iPad screen, he gave it lift-off. It soared at a top speed of fifteen miles per hour, apparently an amazing feat for a remote copter—Sax wouldn’t really know. Even Wolf Glaser was impressed.
“You can see the live video feed, everything the drone is seeing? Cool.”
“Yeah,” said Tobiah excitedly. “It’s a flight recorder. If we need footage later, it’ll be here. Check out the wide-angle view! I can see all the way to that snow!”
“Listen,” said Sax, “make it look into windows, can you do that?”
“Sure! That’s what it’s made for—for spying on your neighbor taking a shower.”
“Not that anyone would want to do that,” harrumphed Wolf.
Tobiah said, “Let me check out the backyard, look in the windows there. When they come out the front door, I’ll be ready to hover over the roof so they don’t see me. Whoa! We’ve got a visual. There is a dude taking a shower! Gross! Who wants to see that?”
Sax looked over Tobiah’s shoulder. “We might want to see it, unfortunately, if it’s Tony Tormenta.”
“Can’t tell. He’s behind that foggy sort of shower door.”
“Come back to him in five. We’ve got to determine whether Tormenta is even in the house. He could’ve had a goon make that Facebook post from here just to throw us off the track. Hey, what’s that outbuilding, that shed? Go check that out.”
“Ten four,” said Tobiah, while Wolf rolled his eyes.
Wolf had had a different idea the entire time. He voiced it again now. “I still say we just run on up there and hide behind the car. When someone comes out the front door, we just Bam! Pow! You know, give them the business.”
Sax was losing patience with his right-hand man. “No. We discussed that. We can’t just start blasting away on any old guy. Then they blast back at us, and we don’t achieve a single thing.”
