The Bare Bones (The Bare Bones MC)

by Wolfe, Layla

  I was considering it. One week? I barely made that much in a year, much less one week. And to clear my brother’s debt to the club? I knew it was too good to be true. “Can I work regular hours? Eight to five?”

  “Oh, that’s the catch. You live there for the entire week. You’re not allowed to leave the hangar because you’re on call twenty-four-seven.”

  I frowned. “Sounds like you thought this well out beforehand.”

  Cropper looked modest. “Me and my Sergeant-at-Arms come up with some good ones when we put our heads together.”

  I frowned even harder. “Okay. And at the end of the week Speed gets his cut back with the full three-piece patch?”

  “He’ll be rocking his colors, dollface.”

  “And won’t owe you a thing?”

  “Debt-free, a hundred percent.”

  “And you don’t touch me. You don’t manhandle me. You or Riker.”

  Cropper held his hands up as though surrendering. “No lookie, no touchie. You’re too old for us anyway.”

  “Damned straight I’m too old for you. All right, let’s shake on it. Not that I trust your word, but I have no choice.”

  We shook, and that’s when Ford came back out of the swinging double doors. I was about to let go of Cropper’s hand but he pulled me even closer and said in a low growl, “And don’t tell Torino about our deal. Far as he knows, I’m waiting for Speed to go back to work to give him back his cut. Make a big ceremony of it, you know?”

  “But Torino—Ford—works at the Citadel. He’ll see me. He’ll wonder why I’m there.”

  “Not when he’s off doing business for me. You’re my property for one week. You obey my every order. Hey, son. How’s the prospect doing?”

  My stomach churned as I pasted on a fake smile and followed Ford back behind the double doors. What the fuck had I just agreed to? Well, as long as he adhered to his word to not touch me, I could handle any diseased lady parts he tossed at me. I had a strong stomach, obviously.

  I was still naïve about the honor of men, or lack of it. I had succeeded in running from Cropper several times now. His ego couldn’t handle the fact that I wasn’t dropping to my knees at the exalted fucking sight of him, like every other girl up until now had.

  All I had in mind was saving my brother from a year of servitude. I had no idea I was in for a week of my own.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  FORD

  “You make me tremendously happy to hold me undivided—to let me be the artist, as it were, and yet not forgo the man, the animal, the hungry, insatiable lover. No woman has ever granted me all the privileges I need—and you, why you sing out so blithely, so boldly, with a laugh even—yes, you invite me to go ahead, be myself, venture anything. I adore you for that. That is where you are truly regal, a woman extraordinary. What a woman you are! I laugh to myself now when I think of you. I have no fear of your femaleness.” ~ Henry Miller

  Ford was in a pretty good mood until they got to New River. As the most experienced rider, he was the tail gunner of the group chosen to make the Florence run. He rode behind the chase vehicle, a truck driven by the prospect Wild Man. Speed’s broken arm would prohibit him from doing lots of things for a while to come.

  They had loaded a ridiculous amount of Russian iron into the Illuminati box truck. Ford was uncomfortable with the reasons given him why this book cooker was so fucking valuable. What made Slushy McGill worth so many AKs and 62s? There were probably thirty guns back there. Ford had talked to Ruben Ochoa, cartel leader, guy they usually went through for arms. This time he wasn’t giving them drugs in return for the Russian ladies—he was giving them a person. That alone was strange.

  How good of a bookkeeper could this guy possibly be? And why was this whole deal made without Ford’s knowledge? Cropper claimed that he, Ford, had been too occupied mooning over Madison. Hardly. The deal went down the whole time after Ford’s stay in Flagstaff and before the rally. He knew he was moody, tragic, and surly, but he was hardly preoccupied.

  Any deal made behind his back was suspicious. He was glad he’d been invited to head up this run. Now he could get the 411 on the deal. Even the swap, the hand-off, was suspicious. Ruben had told him to wait until they got to New River to call him again for further instructions. Until then, Ford didn’t even know where the swap would take place. He knew that he wasn’t picking up Mr. McGill from “Gladiator School,” as the Florence state prison was known. Ruben would have that honor. Which made it even more dubious the poor guy would be useful to the Bare Bones afterward.

  Ford felt free, proud, satisfied by the way things were going with Maddy. It was beyond his most lovelorn expectations that she had agreed to be collared by him. That was how he’d decided to mark her as his property until, or if, he could convince her to wear a “property of” patch.

  She had finally agreed to leave that moronic doctor. She was no doubt doing that today. Corinne had finally vacated his house on Mescal Mountain. Ford had made a clean sweep of the house just this morning to make sure no Bone Lickers remained, and he’d had a locksmith over to change the locks.

  Ford wasn’t taking any chances on offending Madison. He realized that for the first time in his life, he’d have to be monogamous. That was fine with him. It would be strange at first, but he knew he had only used sweetbutts as a way of blowing off steam. He knew he could never clear the Citadel hangar of them because too many other brothers wanted them around, including Cropper. He was sure that once the Bone Lickers all knew Madison was his old lady, none of them would come on to him again. They usually followed orders.

  So everyone pulled off to the side of the highway in New River, per Ford’s orders. Ford talked to Ruben, who gave him the coordinates of a section of county road near Florence where Ruben would take possession of the iron.

  “Do you have McGill, ese?” Ford was obliged to ask, point-blank, because it really didn’t sound like Ruben did.

  “Oh sure, I’ve got McGill all right,” was all Ruben would say.

  Ford had done business with the Ochoa cartel his entire life, so he really couldn’t question the plan. Barely any of their plans had ever gone awry and they were a staunch ally of the Bare Bones.

  So Ford agreed to it and hung up. He went to stand next to Turk, and the two men smoked cigarettes. Turk was riding point, so Ford handed him the coordinates he’d written down.

  “This McGill guy did time on a RICO for money laundering for Ochoa,” Ford told Turk. “I don’t think he snitched for a deal, so I don’t know why Ochoa wants to cut him loose. Seems like his skills would be a good thing to keep close to his backyard.”

  “Must be about twenty large of information we know he’s got, judging from the load we’re carrying,” said Turk. “Maybe we’re just using him for that intel, then booting him too.”

  “Beats me. Wish I was kept more in the loop on this one.”

  “Faux Pas is not going to appreciate being booted for this guy to be Treasurer.”

  “Not gonna happen. We might use him as a sort of consigliore, but he’s not patching in or anything. I’ve got the feeling he’s a good citizen. I think he’s a lawyer, actually.”

  Turk snorted. “Nothing wrong with that. Just make sure he doesn’t get too close to club business. That way he’s got plausible deniability.”

  “Yeah. He could actually be useful helping us set up shell companies, if he makes it through what Ochoa has in store for him today. There’s got to be a reason he’s getting rid of him.”

  “And why we’re paying such a high price for someone else’s garbage. Hey, when’s Madison moving into your house?”

  “As soon as she dumps that fucking doctor on his dead ass and drives some of her shit down here.” Ford wondered. “Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, I just saw her this morning at the Citadel. She had a doctor’s sort of bag and was going into one of the rooms with Clara.”

  Clara was the former Hellions sweetbutt. Ford wondered what the hell Madison was doing
at the Citadel when she was supposed to be in Flag getting things in order. “What the fuck? Let me call her.”

  Ford only got Madison’s voicemail. He left a message for her to call him. Ford had no choice but to continue on to Florence if he wanted to make the appointed meeting with Ruben. It was another hundred miles, but they had to maintain a steady pace so as not to get any Fast Riding Awards.

  While the Mexicans took possession of the guns, Ford asked Ruben, “What’s so special about this guy? And if he’s that great, why aren’t you keeping him?”

  “No lo sé, Torino, but I’ll tell you one thing.” Ruben wore the cholo hairnet and gold teeth of the bad motherfucker, although he was about a foot shorter than Ford. He’d kept his face ink-free, but Ford had seen a black handprint on his chest before. The guy smelled as though he never bathed, which was strange for such a major player. “Whatever intel he’s got, he’s not telling us. I apologize in advance for his condition, but you can understand our desire to find out what’s so special about him.”

  Ford frowned. “Condition? Wait, no one said anything about—”

  Ruben was already stalking off, raising his arm to signal the driver of the black SUV.

  “Wait one fuck, ese!” Ford yelled.

  Not only did Ruben not wait one fuck, he jumped into the passenger seat before the driver opened the rear side door. The SUV rocked around, exactly as though someone were beating on someone in the back. The driver yanked what looked like a crash test dummy out and onto the ground.

  “Fuckers,” growled Ford, and jogged off toward the SUV. He was able to at least pull the poor bookkeeper’s leg out of the way of the tire before the truck roared off. Ford saluted the truck with his middle finger. “Motherfuck! Now’s the time we could’ve used Madison,” he told Turk, who had raced over to help.

  “Agh,” moaned the poor lawyer. He was just an average freshly shaven Joe with a bad comb-over. That was good. He didn’t stand out. His nose was bloody and no doubt broken, but no other injuries were evident. “Am I in Mexico yet?”

  Turk and Ford carried Slushy to the Illuminati truck. “I hate to tell you,” said Ford, “but you’re not going to Mexico. You belong to us now.”

  “What the fuck?” Slushy sputtered, burbling through his mouthful of blood, and, no doubt, teeth. “I was supposed to go to Nuevo Léon! Ochoa gave me this burner phone and told me to expect a call. You’re not the guys taking me to Léon? Agh!”

  Wild Man helped pull Slushy up into the truck’s passenger seat. He flowed like a weak river into the seat and Ford saw he wasn’t cut out in any way, shape, or form for the lifestyle. If he was supposed to be their lawyer, he’d have to have an office at the Citadel next to Ford’s, so Ford could administer a beatdown to anyone who tried to get next to him. Maybe give him a quiet office adjacent to their archery range, something mild-mannered.

  Ford took the burner from Slushy. “How long ago he’d give you this?”

  “I don’t know…an hour ago? I can’t keep track of time well since they hit me over the head repeatedly with a baseball bat since picking me up at Gladiator School.”

  Turk nodded. “Concussion. Don’t go to sleep.”

  Ford said, “No message on here yet, as far as I can see. What’s your deal with Ochoa? Why’d you do time?”

  Slushy held his hands out. “Listen. I’m just a civilian. I’m not anybody’s lawyer anymore. From here on in, I’m Mr. Under the Radar, just another dickhead with a regular job and some heirloom tomatoes in my garden, you know? I just want to eat my hummus and read HuffPo and watch Mad Men. Fuck, guys! Ochoa told me I was going to manage a Cinnabon.”

  “I appreciate your predicament,” Ford said patiently. He gestured to Wild Man, sitting in the driver’s seat, to hand the man the box of tissue. “But you have to understand ours. We just gave Ochoa enough Russian ladies to arm a small banana republic, all for the privilege of having your company and your valuable information. So you have to feel me, too.”

  “You feeling us?” Turk asked.

  “Ow!” whined Slushy, tentatively touching his skull with his fingertips. “I feel you guys, but I feel these bumps even worse. Where you from?” He squinted at them with the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut. “Bare Bones? Oh, there were a few of you in the joint. Nice guys. Leastways, someone must’ve told them to be nice to me, ‘cause they never offered to stroll with me down Bosco Boulevard or give me a baloney colonic. Jesus. You ever been in the joint?”

  “No,” said Ford. He’d been in Juvie as a kid which he knew didn’t come close. He’d been there for murder, but still, it was Juvie, not the big house.

  “Yes,” said Turk. He’d served a year in Kingman on a weapons charge, a game-changer for a man as beautiful as him.

  “Well, let me tell you. It’s no late night guest spot. And I never narked about anything to anyone, even if it meant someone was going to pop it in my toaster. No offense.”

  Why was Slushy apologizing to Turk? Ford was distracted from further questions when the phone in his hand buzzed—a text. Ford read it, but it didn’t make any sense to him, so he showed it to Slushy. When understanding dawned on Slushy’s face, it wasn’t the good kind.

  Slushy threw the phone back at Ford. He screwed up his one remaining good eye and whined. “God fucking dammit! What sort of karma am I paying back? Why, God, why? I knew I never should’ve played doctor with that neighbor girl, or stolen those Ding Dongs from Raley’s, or skimmed off the top of Ochoa’s meth-making business!”

  “Wait,” said Ford calmly. “What was that?”

  Slushy really did look like a giant baby. Someone had made a bow of the drawstring at the waist of his sweatpants, and had the sense of humor to give him a powder pink T-shirt. “Laura Groper! She wasn’t really into it, so I know I forced myself on her! My father was a doctor so I stole his stethoscope and—”

  “Not the playing doctor part.” Ford was running out of patience. “That last bit, about skimming off Ochoa’s meth profits.” That could be the key to why Cropper wanted this guy so badly. He could have a shitload of cash stashed somewhere.

  “Oh, yeah, sure.” Slushy dabbed at his upper lip with the tissue. He was slumped over, utterly forlorn, his tennis shoes dangling out of the high truck cab. “I took some off the top. No one ever noticed, so I took some more. The feds didn’t even get me for that part. I was nabbed under RICO just for working for Ochoa. Nothing specific they nailed me on, which is why I only did six months.”

  “What does the text mean?” Ford turned to Turk. “It says to go down to a place called Hardscrabble Ranch and get a key from a Soledad Jonas. Where’s this ranch, Slushy? Wild Man, get the man a beer.”

  They always kept a cooler for emergencies in the back, so Wild Man vanished out the driver’s door.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Slushy kicked his feet aimlessly. “It’s just a ranch, down south.”

  “You’ll have to be more specific,” said Ford.

  “It’s a ranch in Nogales. Guys, why can’t we just invest in laser tag? It’s the wave of the future. Look at all the up sides to it. Clean, simple, not much overhead, why, the profit potential is outstanding! You’ll need control stations and phaser packs—”

  “We already have an archery range for that,” said Turk. “Why do we want to get a key from this Jonas woman, Slushy?”

  Slushy kicked his feet some more and gladly chugged half the beer Wild Man handed him. He wiped his mouth on his forearm. “Oh, I don’t know. A tunnel.”

  Turk and Ford looked at each other openmouthed. Ford said, “A tunnel?” Nogales was on the Mexican border.

  They looked back to Slushy. He was obviously not eagerly anticipating revisiting this Hardscrabble Ranch. He seemed as depressed as a sloth on speed, and Ford couldn’t blame him. He’d probably thought he was home free when he’d served his sentence. “Yeah, a tunnel,” he said reluctantly.

  “As in, a tunnel under the ground?”

  “Yes. That sort.” Slushy chugged the re
st of the beer.

  Brightening up, Ford and Turk shared happier looks.

  “Well, then,” said Turk, slapping Slushy on the arm. “Let’s go.”

  Ford said, “Hey, look on the bright side. You’re out of the joint. You’re with us. Nothing will happen to you when you’re with us.”

  Slushy was still sullen. His swollen lower lip made him look petulant. “Why do I doubt that very much, judging from the looks of you?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MADISON

  I was going to the worst and most glorious place in the world, and I didn’t even know it yet.

  You probably don’t believe that I didn’t see any deceit coming from a mile off. You must think I’m the biggest most gullible doofus on the planet to have agreed to Cropper’s deal.

  I needed to save my brother. A week of my own servitude seemed like a feeble price to pay for saving Speed from an entire year of it.

  Cropper also appealed to my professional integrity. Examining a bunch of sluts would be for the betterment of mankind.

  For one, I didn’t think they were going to take my phone and car keys away. I protested how was I going to get down to the lab, but Cropper solved that problem by having Ziggy chauffeur the blood and piss samples down with my authorization. Positive chlamydia results were rampant, making me worry about the state of Ford and therefore me, but that’s a different story.

  Getting the women to stop having sex for a week was another. I couldn’t force the antibiotics on them, and I had to appeal to the men, especially as potential carriers, to refrain for a week.

  That was probably the last nail in my coffin, telling the men to refrain. There was an enormous wave of protests that first day.

  Riker protested the loudest. “Crop, why the hell’d you bring her in here if she’s just going to tell us to stop burying our bones?” Riker stopped suddenly and chuckled to himself. “Well, I know why you brought her here. But it’s the principal.”

  What did Riker mean by that? The old WWII hangar was getting mighty claustrophobic by the end of the second day. There were two wings of offices on either side of the hangar proper, both accessed by flights of stairs. The views of the red rocks out the plentiful windows were enough to make you weep with religious ecstasy.