Have Gun, Will Travel (The Bare Bones MC Book 5) Read Online Free

curiosity got the better of Sax eventually, and he rode up to Flag. He was fortunate—or maybe he’d worked it out this way—that most of the minerals he sold were small, thumbnail-sized and could be kept in his saddlebags. He had several storage units and safe deposit boxes scattered across the nation, mostly close to world-class mines where he obtained product.
    As he rode, he had ample time to ruminate on sordid subjects like his age, his feud with his brother, the futility of his existence. Above all, Sax was forty-fucking-five years old and his nomadic lifestyle was beginning to wear on him. He was getting to be too old to be riding around the country, haunting bondage clubs to get his kinky rocks off. He was a born Dom, but it was growing old lording it over nameless, faceless subs. There were several women in several cities he could call “his” slaves. He knew their names, they hooked up, and he even went to some of their apartments and spent the night.
    Still, it wasn’t like having The One. One was all Sax needed. One who’d be the perfect balance of submissive with perhaps a bit of the switch thrown in, a sassy woman who might top from the bottom now and then. That took imagination and verve, none of which his current subs had. They were routine, by the book subs, and their lingo and protocol was boring him. He was maturing, he supposed. He wanted someone who’d challenge him.
    More than anything, he didn’t want to look like these burnt-out old bikers with crazy, frizzed grey hair and permanent bugs in their teeth. Holes in their throats from smoking too much, or corroded, picket fence teeth from doing too much meth. Sax was a clean liver and he worked out in the gym of every hotel he stayed in. He prided himself on his physique and the fact that almost all of his hair was still there, smooth, and barely flecked with grey. But still. That wouldn’t last forever. Lately, he’d had an empty, yearning ache in the pit of his stomach, and it wasn’t just for kinbaku rope binding. He wanted something more stable and soothing, and that unsettled him more than anything.
    He met Harte at an old biker bar up the road from the North Fourth Street address of the Bare Bones’ club. Sax realized with shame that Harte had chosen it because, unlike most biker bars where scoots were lined up at an angle out front to make a show of power, this bar had a side lot where Sax’s Softail Harley was less likely to be noticed.
    Harte’s gorgeously shiny head of ginger curls could be seen from the front door, even from Sax’s view in the back of the darkened bar. His chest was flooded with joy to see Harte again. Harte didn’t see him, glued to a game on the TV behind the bar. He was drinking some dark liquor, brandy or whisky, and Sax frowned. Harte had been a clean liver like him, as far as he knew. Maybe he was just upset about this associate of Leo’s. Lord knew, Leo gave a person enough reasons to drink in the middle of the day.
    Was it his imagination, or did Harte’s eyes mist over when he got an eyeful of Sax? They embraced in a thug hug and even gripped hands after taking their respective bar stools. But soon they were down to brass tacks.
    “Ah,” said Harte, yanking his hand from Sax’s to rake it through his hair. He should’ve been a rock star with hair like that, but instead he’d joined Leo’s construction company. Harte was even in the Laborer’s Union like Leo. It was an old family business founded by their father before them, so Sax guessed it was an upstanding path to follow. He was just selfish wishing Harte had chosen one of the sciences, like he had. And, of course, they used the construction company as a money laundering front for darker, more lucrative enterprises.
    “It’s a major clusterfuck, Uncle.” Harte sighed, his hand wrapped around the whisky glass. “You probably never met Cassie Hasselbeck—she’s only about my age, and didn’t start hanging around until she was