The Bare Bones (The Bare Bones MC) by Layla Wolfe Page A

meditate. It was a healing energy, it was said.
    Ford was actually on the fence about it. In one way, it was a fascinating concept. In another way, it was embarrassing bullshit. There had been a giant “Harmonic Convergence” here in 1987 with Shirley MacLaine that had just annoyed the crap out of the Bare Bones, among others. The earth was going to slip of its axis unless Shirley and thousands of other pilgrims got together and chanted. It must have worked, because the earth hadn’t hurtled into space.
    The location of the Citadel on Mescal Mountain was alleged to be a vortex location, and once in a while some goof on peyote would be discovered meditating behind the mechanic’s shed. It was eerie. Sometimes you’d be eating dinner in the dining room and a cloud of patchouli incense would drift in the window. The Bare Bones didn’t own the air, but sometimes Ford was already in a foul enough mood that he’d stomp down there and bang some cosmic heads together.
    But Speed was a true believer. He was terrified of the vortexes, and took routes to avoid them, even if it meant more mileage on his run. “He’s going to be shitting his pants when we send him out there,” Ford agreed. He knew it was evil to take his romantic frustrations out on Madison’s brother. It was a cold, cruel world. Being Veep of a biker club meant he had to become even colder and crueler than the next guy.
    Outside in the sun now, Turk touched Ford’s arm. They stopped walking. A transport trailer hauling a couple of mini excavators rolled into the hangar. “I wanted to ask you something. Hope I’m not out of line. When you were in Flag, did you see Madison?”
    Fury nearly obliterated Ford’s vision. Anytime anyone brought up Madison—which wasn’t often if they wanted to keep their skin—Ford literally saw red. Now he had to remind himself this was his best friend. He and Turk had held up their first ice cream truck together. So he steeled himself and admitted, “Yeah. Why?”
    “Just wondering. You’ve been kind of…surlier than normal since you got back. Course, that could be because of your moms and all. But that wouldn’t explain why you’ve been so rough with Speed when you’re his sponsor.”
    Turk was sharp, Ford had to give him credit for that. And it was best not to lie to a brother. Ford exhaled deeply, deflated. “No, you’re right. We had a…an encounter.”
    “I take it congratulations aren’t in order.” Turk knew a lot about Ford’s history with Madison. A man had to blow off steam sometimes, and Ford had needed many outings over the years with Turk, many brothel crawls, some trips to Vegas, just to blot Madison from his mind.
    “No. She let me give her a skull job in some fucking quiet room, then she booted my ass back to P&E.”
    Even Turk looked surprised. He was a romantic asshole who had always wanted the best for Ford. And Turk thought Madison was the best. He worshipped her almost as much as Ford did. “That’s harsh. What were her reasons? Is she really against the club?”
    Ford felt a screen close over his eyes as all emotion drained from him. He was like one of those double-lidded lizards who could shut off all feelings at will, and the person he’d be talking to would know . His face turned that bitter and mean. The psychologist said it was due to his combat experience, his traumatic brain injury. Ford knew he’d been that way forever. Life hadn’t been kind to him. “No. As it turns out, she’s only against me .”
    Turk tried his luck, and pushed it. “Then why’d she let you go for a moustache ride? That’s rough.”
    “I think she wanted to rub it in even more. I think she wanted to kick me when I was down, trip me up, and shove my face into broken glass.”
    “Broken glass being her pussy.” Turk was being a good friend, and hating the people his brother hated.
    “Exactly. Hey, Speed!”
    The prospect was strolling by with a socket wrench in his hand. He was a pretty damned good