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Chapter Seven

Fitz

“You, uh, you wanna get dessert?” Sawyer’s stare was intense as I wiped my mouth.

Was Sawyer really interested in tiramisu, which he’d mentioned was good, or did he want something else? Hell, maybe he found me as boring as I’d suspected and just wanted to go home.

“I’m not really a big one for sweets this late at night. I could have a beer, though.” I laughed at my own logic.

Alcohol was full of sugar, but I couldn’t have a slice of tiramisu? How fucking ridiculous was I?

“Yeah, sure. Let’s go somewhere quieter. I know a place we can listen to some music not far from here.”

I nodded and we split the check before heading out. “Why don’t you ride with me? We can leave your truck here for a while. I’ll bring you back to pick it up.”

I nodded before opening the door to get my badge and gun just in case. I hopped into his large truck and checked my Glock to ensure the safety was on before sliding it into the pocket of the passenger-side door.

Sawyer laughed. “You worried I might take you into the desert and shoot you?”

“Hey, I don’t know you well enough to make that call, but I like to be prepared.” He laughed with me. The crinkles around his eyes were sexy as fuck.

We made a stop at a gas station, and he ran inside, returning with a bag a few minutes later. He put it on the floorboard behind us and started the engine, making a couple of lefts until we were in the foothills of the Sheep Range Mountains.

“Where are we going?” His comment about going to the desert to kill me echoed through my head.

“There’s this great spot out here for stargazing. I like to ride my bike out here when I have some thinking to do.”

It was darker than dark by the time he pulled onto a dirt road that seemed to go nowhere and parked his truck. Sawyer left the accessories on and turned on a satellite radio station.

“I thought you meant a club.” I glanced out the front window to see a lot of stars, the likes of which I hadn’t seen since I was a kid on our ranch in West Texas.

Sawyer turned to open the sliding back window before he hopped out of the truck. He put the bag into the truck bed and lowered the tailgate. “This is better than any club.”

He pulled a blanket out of the toolbox and spread it on the tailgate before hopping onto it. “Well, come on.”

Beer cans hissed as Sawyer popped them open while I sat next to him. “Why do they call you Bones?”

It was something I wondered about but didn’t feel I could ask until now. My beer and glass of wine must have given me liquid courage.

Sawyer laughed. “I applied to nursing school after I graduated high school and when I found out how expensive it was, I knew I couldn’t afford to go. One of my friends talked to an Army recruiter about enlisting because he didn’t have a lot going for him, either.

“My friend told me his recruiter said I could get the training for free in the Army, so I enlisted, got the training, and became a medic. The club always needs someone with medical training, so I thought it would be a good skill to have. It kept me out of trouble, too.

“I’m a licensed practical nurse, not a registered nurse. I thought about getting my bachelor’s degree so I could be an RN, but I know enough for emergencies until we can get the doc we know to come to the club.”

That was interesting. “What does the club need with a nurse?” I had no idea what he meant.

“If we run into trouble with a rival club or anyone else, and some of our guys or girls get roughed up, we can’t go to the hospital. Doctors are mandatory reporters for gunshot wounds, and unless it’s life-threatening, we try to keep the hospital out of it. I can sew up cuts and tend to anything minor. Anything more serious, we have a friend in Arizona who runs a health clinic and will come up to give us a hand in an emergency. Oh, this is all hypothetical, I should say. I’ve heard that those things are possible.” He winked at me, the moonlight highlighting his handsome face.

“Ah. Is your club a one-percenter club?” A one-percenter club was an outlaw motorcycle club that operated outside of legal limits. I thought perhaps I was on the right track with my question.

Most motorcycle clubs were just a group of folks with a common interest in riding motorcycles and having fun as a group. A lot of them did charitable poker runs to support a particular charity or a club member who had fallen into some bad luck. As a former Deputy US Marshal, I was more than familiar with one-percenter clubs because I’d put people into WITSEC who had testified against a club for drug distribution, protection rackets, or human trafficking.

Studying Sawyer Abbott, I had a hard time imagining the man doing harm to anyone. He came across as kind and charitable, but what did I know?

Dallas had mentioned how badly Sawyer had been beaten up to allow others to rescue the Torrentes, and I had to wonder if it was a regular occurrence that he’d sacrifice himself for the benefit of others.

“We bordered on the one-percenter line when my grandfather, Harry, and even my dad, Keller, ran the club. Harry was one of the founders of this club. We’re a daughter club of the Reno Rough Riders.” Sawyer finished his beer and tossed the can toward the front of the truck bed and reached for another, so I downed mine and did the same.

“Where’d you grow up?” Sawyer asked me as he popped the tab on a can and handed it to me.

“West Texas. My family owns a ranch near Midland. My younger brother runs it. I go back a couple times a year, but we don’t get along so well so I don’t stay long. How about you?”

Much to my surprise, Sawyer put his hand over mine where I was leaning on the truck bed. My heart fluttered like a teenager. It had never happened before, and at fifty, I wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Maybe the age thing needed to be addressed and then we could call it off and not waste time?

“I grew up in Pahrump. My grandparents built the house where I live, which is behind the old farmhouse we use as a clubhouse now. My parents moved there when I was growing up and my grandparents moved off the property, and now, I live there. I can’t imagine moving, though it’s on the property the Cowboys own. I guess one day I’ll need to move somewhere else so the new president can have the house.”

His eyes were so damn green, it was as though I was looking at the clover in the field at the ranch. “Is your crew a blood in , blood out organization?”

It wasn’t a myth that those organizations existed and held grudges against anyone who crossed them. I didn’t like the idea that Sawyer and his brothers were of the same ilk.

Sawyer sighed as he pulled me closer. “I can’t say we are, but I can’t say we aren’t. What I can say is that I’m incredibly attracted to you. You’re sexy as hell.”

He was damn quick to change the subject. “Why on earth would you be interested in me?” I had to ask. I was too fucking old to play games.

Sawyer stared at me for a moment, those green eyes looking into my soul. “You’re hot, Fitz. I’d love to spend some time with you… naked. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I’m fifty. I’ve got aches and pains older than you, Sawyer. If I sit down for too long, I doze off. Nobody your age wants to spend time with folks my age.”

It was the honest-to-god’s truth. Why would a hot young guy like Sawyer have any interest in a man my age?

Sawyer smirked. “Come lie back here with me, and I’ll explain it to you as loudly as you need, old man.” He laughed as he pulled the blanket from under us and spread it out on the metal truck bed. I wasn’t looking forward to lying on the thing. My old bones would be hurting in short order.

Sawyer crawled toward the toolbox, opening it and pulling out a thick cushion and a bottle of whiskey. I couldn’t hold the laugh. “How old is that whiskey? Being in the sun in that chrome toolbox make it taste better?”

It was a new bottle, and after he opened it, he handed it to me. “Have some.”

I picked up the bottle, but before I took a sip, I stared at Sawyer. “You wanna take a swig first?” Did I trust the guy? Fuck if I knew.

Sawyer laughed and took the full bottle to his lips, sucking down a healthy glug. “I wouldn’t try to hurt you, Fitz. You’ve been upfront with me, so I’ll be upfront with you. I’m not a great guy. I’ve done shit that I won’t admit to doing because it would get me in trouble with the law, and I’ll probably do it again. That said, I really like you. I’ve enjoyed spending the evening with you.”

“Oh? You like me?”

The gorgeous man stared at me, taking the bottle and twisting on the cap before he moved over the top of me. “Yeah, I like you.”

He ducked and brushed his lips over mine. I reached to pull the elastic band from the back of his hair. The gorgeous locks fell all around me, and the smell of sandalwood and oranges filled our close proximity.

I grasped the beautiful brown-and-blond hair, sweeping the long curly locks away from his handsome face, pulling him closer. Before our lips met, I touched his chest to stop him. “I’m not a judgmental guy, Sawyer. I believe you’re a good man. I don’t give a damn about your history or whatever went down in the past. I’m just here in your present.”

“I like hearing that, Fitz.”

When his mouth met mine, I almost couldn’t breathe. His lips were firm, and my heart pounded at the feel of his hard body on top of mine.

Sawyer’s tongue swept over my lips, and I happily welcomed him inside. The taste of his mouth had my dick stiffening without my consent. God, I wanted to feel him inside me, but I wouldn’t beg him. He wasn’t one to commit as he’d already told me, and I wasn’t one not to.

Would one wild night be wrong? Hell, would it be enough? Could I not fall in love with the man? I was fifty-fucking-years old. What the hell was wrong with me?

Sawyer rubbed his hand over my jeans where my cock was fighting for release before he slid up to the button, flipping it open and sliding down the zipper. “I need to feel you, Fitz.”

Who was I to say no? It had been a long fucking time, so I lifted my ass to allow him to pull down my jeans, not sure how far he wanted to go.

I reached for Sawyer’s jeans and flipped the button, sliding down the zipper and grasping his ass to pull him further up my body. When I felt his cock on mine, I sucked in a breath. It had been a while since I’d been skin-to-skin with anyone.

“You’re so fucking sexy, Fitz.” His voice was breathy, not at all how I imagined he’d sound when he was turned on. I wanted him to fuck me, but I didn’t want to come across as being too easy—though with his hand in my pants, what was I expecting him to think?

Sawyer used the precome we were both leaking to stroke us. Feeling his hand wrapped around my cock and his rubbing next to mine made me stupid.

“Is this okay?” His voice was sensual. It had gravel in it, but it was deeper now since he was turned on, and fuck if I wasn’t hot for him.

“As long as you keep going.” I sucked in the warm night air, and my head spun.

Sawyer didn’t hesitate. His hands on me had me panting. My palm wrapped around his fist as he stroked us together. Velvet on steel. Nerves on edge. It was fucking unbelievable.

“Damn, Fitz. I wanna fuck you. I wanna leave this load inside you.”

His hand sped up, and my spine began to tingle. My thoughts were so jumbled I couldn’t put together two words to make a sentence, which wasn’t like me at all. I arched my hips as my climax hit me like a fucking train. I shot over both of our hands, and then a hot stream slid down my knuckles as Sawyer’s release flooded both of our fists.

He lifted my hand to his lips and licked the cum from it before leaning forward to kiss me and share the load. I hummed. The shared taste of the two of us had me craving more of him.

Sawyer sat up and adjusted his jeans. “I guess I better take you back to your truck.”

I pulled up my pants, zipping and buttoning everything before I sat up. “Yeah, uh, thanks for the light show.” I pointed to the stars that were unbelievable.

I hated that the night ended so fast. I definitely could have enjoyed more time with him, but he was ready to get rid of me as soon as his zipper was up.

Had I done something wrong? Should I have invited him to my new place to spend the night? Why was I such a fucking failure at relationships?

Monday morning, I went into the office early, still feeling restless after my Saturday night date. Hell, I could barely call it a date. Sawyer couldn’t get away from me fast enough, and I kept mulling it over and over in my head all Sunday long.

On Friday evening, I’d received my door code from Hardy so I punched it in and the door opened. I stopped at the entrance and listened, and when I was met with silence, it was a relief. It was seven, so I went into the kitchen and made myself a cup of coffee in the fancy coffee system.

When I returned to my desk, I pulled my laptop out of the backpack and booted up the device. My shitty date on Saturday night hadn’t been the only thing on my mind, though… TJ Middleton was there, too.

Sunday evening, I’d taken a break from my stewing and sent a message to Lawry Schatz, or “Casper” as they called him, one of the operatives and the IT guy at Golden Elite Associates-America who I’d met when I was working for Gabe Torrente.

I gave Casper the sparse information I had on TJ Middleton and asked him to do a quick look-see to find out anything he could about the kid. The kid seemed like a nice guy, but it seemed there might be more to his story.

When I opened my email, there was a response from the GEA-A hacker.

From: Lawry Schatz, GEA-A

To: Me

Date: 30 Sept 2024 06:30:22 AM

Re: Your request for info

Fitz,

Here’s what I found with a quick look. I can do a deeper dive if you need me to. We’re slow right now with Gabby and Dex in Italy with the family to celebrate Romeo’s first birthday. Let me know.

Casper

Attachment – Info Sheet

I reviewed the attachment, which confirmed what I’d been told about the kid. The fact he had a courtesan license wasn’t a surprise because as I understood things, it was a requirement for sex work in Nevada, along with regular health checks.

I believed Sawyer when he said he ran clean businesses. Otherwise, the brothels would be shut down by the health department in an instant.

It was the state government’s way of saying, “ It’s okay to pay for sex in Nye County, but we’re gonna make sure you’re safe if you’re stupid enough to try to go bareback .” Sadly, there were out-of-town fools who would try.

I also wasn’t stupid enough to think the Steel Cowboys didn’t have their fingers in pies of the less than legal variety, but it wasn’t my business. In a town like Vegas, they weren’t alone. Hell, I wasn’t some self-righteous prick anyway. I hadn’t always followed the letter of the law. I was more a spirit kinda guy.

The doorbell rang at the back door before I heard a code being entered, so I closed the email Casper had sent me and walked into the kitchen to get another cup of coffee.

Paws clicked on the Masonite floor alerting me that Dixie, the canine company mascot, was on her way to the kitchen. I quickly filled her bowl with fresh water and placed it in the corner of the kitchen near her large bed.

When the dog nuzzled my leg, I reached down to pet her. “Good morning, Miss Dixie. How was your weekend?”

Sparky and Monty came in after her. “She’s living the good life. She got groomed this weekend, and Jesse got to meet the woman who would take my place in a heartbeat.”

Monty was laughing, and Sparky’s face turned red, which had me hiding a chuckle so I didn’t piss off the bosses. I was coming to like the guys at Sparks Bail Bonds. They were a good group of people.

“Ryan thinks he’s a comedian because the dog groomer appears to have a crush on me, and my husband wouldn’t let me tell her I was married. Our weekend was nice and quiet, though there weren’t any bail calls, which is unusual. Maybe people are behaving around Vegas?”

Monty cracked up at that. Best behavior in Vegas was an oxymoron for most of the visitors who came to town. Sparky’s low chuckle confirmed my thoughts.

Sparky went to the cabinet and retrieved two mugs. He picked up a coffee pod from the carousel and held it up for Monty, who nodded and winked at him.

It was easy to see the two of them were very much in love. They made it look so easy. Maybe I just wasn’t meant to find a partner? Fuck, if I kept thinking like that, I’d probably eat my gun.

For the next hour, the other bounty hunters straggled in, and the phone finally began to ring at about eight. Monty picked it up from his desk as Sparky approached me, stopping beside my desk. “Got a minute?”

“Yes, of course. Is there somethin’ you need?”

He gave a slight nod. “Denise isn’t feeling well, so I told her to stay home. No need for all of us to get sick if she has the flu or something. Anyway, Jake’s off this week and Hardy has classes until one every day. Could I trouble you to sit at reception this morning and take calls? We’ll all rotate until Denise feels better.”

“Happy to help, boss.”

I took my laptop to the front desk and sat, smiling when Dixie came from the kitchen and relaxed next to my chair. I glanced down to see her toenails were painted red, which was funny. Sparky and Monty had a hell of a sense of humor when it came to the dog.

Kade Leonard—Leo—came in through the front door with a manila folder and a bag from a donut shop I recognized was near the Clark County jail.

Leo was a good-looking guy. Hell, all the guys at Sparks Bail Bonds were, but I only had one man on my mind. A certain biker was fucking with my head, and I couldn’t let him go.

“Donut?” Leo dropped the paperwork in Denise’s inbox and offered the bag to me.

I opened the sack, taking a napkin from the stack in his hand and reaching inside to snag a glazed donut. “Thank ya. You already have a call this mornin’?”

There was a log to record the calls and outcomes, though I didn’t see it among the books on Denise’s desk.

“Greeley and I had a court date to be sure a guy we’d bonded out showed up this morning. The guy did, and Greeley should be here in a few minutes. He had a stop to make at the clerk’s office.”

Leo reached into the waxed bag and pulled out a donut of his own before he went into the kitchen. Of course, Dixie followed him. The man had food, and she was a food whore.

Sparky came out of his office and glanced around before stepping over to the reception desk. “Did I hear Leo?”

“Yes. He took donuts to the kitchen. Do you know where the logbook is? He brought these,” I said as I held up the folder with the bond release papers inside.

“Oh, good. Benny Frances showed up?”

Leo strolled into the swamp with a mug of coffee. “Yeah. Somebody beat the hell out of him. It wasn’t me or Greeley. His dad was with him, but that guy’s no bigger than Hardy, so I think there’s an outside influence. He was picked up for shoplifting. Should we check into it? I brought back the release papers.” He pointed to the folder I was holding out to Sparky.

“Great. Yeah, let’s check into it, but there isn’t shit we can do about it if the kid doesn’t want help.”

Sparky took the folder, slapped it against his hand, and turned to me. “Thanks Fitz. Hardy told me you got your credentials on Friday, which works out great. I’ve got a new guy coming in today to interview for the other hunter spot I want to fill.

“His name is Jagger Hansen. He worked out of Reno for the Nevada State Patrol for fifteen years after he did five years with Reno PD as a patrolman. He wants to see if he can hack it down here where the lawless roam. We’ll see. Sometimes law enforcement can work out as recovery agents. Sometimes they can’t.”

I could see his point. Some law enforcement agents became one-man vigilante crews and refused to let shit go, pursuing old vendettas. It would be interesting to see how the trooper settled into the work we did as bail recovery agents.

“He should be here at ten, so just buzz me on the intercom.” He pointed to the large phone in front of me, which was twice the size of the one on my desk. I’d never worked a goddamn switchboard.

“Okay, uh, which button is that?” I felt like an idiot, but hell, nobody had shown me how to work the damn thing.

Sparky smirked. “Sorry, man. You fit in with us so well, I forget you’re still pretty new.” He proceeded to show me how the phone system worked. Hell, the job paid the same whether I was answering the phones or out chasing a skip—as Sparky had pointed out to all of us more than once.

At quarter to ten, a tall, well-built man entered, the ding-dong of the bell alerting everyone of an arrival. The guy stopped at the desk and stared at me. There was no way he wasn’t the trooper because he had that stick-up-his-ass look about him.

“Can I help you?”

The guy stared at me like I had a second head before he spoke. “Are you Jesse Sparks?”

I was guessing it was because I looked old. Hell, I was older than Jesse. Also too damn young to retire, so fuck the trooper.

“No. I’m Fitz Morgan. Are you Trooper Jagger Hansen?”

“Former Trooper. Just Jagger.” He extended his hand, and I shook it. I wasn’t rude. I wouldn’t treat him like a prick until I had confirmation that he was one—which I fully expected.

Monty stepped over to the desk. “Mr. Hansen? I’m Ryan Montgomery. Come with me.”

Turns out, I didn’t have to know how to use the intercom. Ryan Montgomery took the possible asshole back to Sparky’s office without me moving a muscle.