Shelter From The Storm (The Bare Bones MC Book 6) by Layla Wolfe

learning the particulars of the pot trade. But even a lesson on feminized clones didn’t distract me for more than four minutes, and my mind was back on his muscular ass, the carved ripple of his abs, the meaning behind the Ezekiel verse on his back.
    “There was something Fox said about an explosion?” I said meekly. I was too weak to pull my arrows from the hay bales—hell, I was a biochemist , not an athlete—so I had to use this rubber clamp thing to yank them. Even then, I was straining so badly I had to put my knee against the target.
    Wolf frowned. “Explosion?”
    I lowered my voice. Slushy and a real buff, macho older guy named Sax were taking their arrows out of two more bales ten yards farther than ours. “The other day, at The Hip Quiver. Fox said there was an explosion, and the two of you ran off.”
    “Oh. That.” He sauntered over, sticking his arrows into his own hip quiver that was slung jauntily around his waist. Then he babbled like a boy on Christmas Eve. “Yeah, it was something! One of the Leaves of Grass transport trucks exploded! Well, it didn’t spontaneously explode. Someone firebombed it to sabotage our weed shipment. Just to be assholes. It was acramazing. ” To add to my hot and bothered mood, Wolf easily whipped my six arrows from the bale like taking candles from a cake. He grinned ear to ear as he handed me the whole sheaf.
    “Oh. So I guess you guys… finished whatever you needed to do?”
    Wolf lost the grin, and huffed. “Just ask what you want to know, woman. We like plain talk around here.”
    “Do you? I mean, every time I accidentally ask a question about Lytton, or Ford, or even about August who isn’t even a member of the motorcycle club, I get hit with this stony stare. Like I was asking for a backdoor into a terrorist’s cellphone logs.”
    “You want to know where Fox went.” Wolf started walking back to the shooting line, and I had to jog to keep up. “Just speak plain English! Women never fail to amaze me with their roundabout, backstabbing, completely obtuse —”
    “Yes,” I cried to get Wolf back on track. “That’s what I want to know. I don’t really care about your business. I want to know if Fox is still around.”
    “I thought as much. You know, women and cats will do as they please. Men and dogs should just relax and get used to the idea.”
    “Actually, in this case it’s the men who are doing as they pl—”
    “Ah, women are like a scaly wall, unable to be climbed!” Wolf froze, his fist accusing God of wrongdoing. “Wait. Women are like a fortress you cannot destroy. Wait.”
    “Tracy again?” Slushy and Sax had returned their arrows to the arrow holders, so I followed suit and took my bow off the rack. “Maybe you should date someone else, Wolf. Get your mind off Tracy.”
    “Who said it was about Tracy? Weren’t we talking about Fox? You know, why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?”
    I paused, about to nock an arrow. “Why buy a pig just to get a little sausage?”
    Wolf looked confused, so I shot.
    Aside from getting me away from my work, I was really enjoying archery. The indoor range was all right, but someone had set up this whole outdoor range behind the hangar, and it was like being on the moon. Maddie told me that hippies often came up there to meditate, believing it to be a powerful vortex for their kundalini or some such horseshit. I could see why, though. The vista was open for miles, a vast landscape of sandstone castles formed by eons of wind. The Army, of course, had chosen the best site for their airbase back in the early twentieth century. The whole base was shut down, mothballed, being turned over to civilian use. A few facilities still housed Navy men, and I’d seen some officers with government plates. The Bare Bones had just taken over one of their unused hangars, and it came with views a realtor would give her left bunghole for.
    “Anyway,” said Wolf, effortlessly getting another bullseye,