Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
“That’s not like you.” Ty shot back.
“Aren’t you just hilarious tonight? I’m fucking serious, though. You own the lot next to your shop, don’t you?” Tracker asked Ty.
With a nod, Ty said, “Yeah, I snatched it up years ago when it went up for sale. Didn’t want something shitty opening up next to me. Haven’t had the capital to do anything with it, though.”
Well, now Tracker had Curly thoroughly intrigued. “What are you thinking?”
“Car wash. It deals in a lot of cash and can be fucking profitable as hell on its own. If we’re gonna be lending money, we may have to wash some on occasion, and having access to a cash business will make that easier. And it goes along well with what Ty already has going. We can offer full detailing too, not just car wash. Fuck, maybe mobile detailing. That shit’s popular right now.”
“Well, look at you with the fucking good ideas,” Ty said.
Curly stroked his lower lip as he pondered Tracker’s proposal. It was a damn fine idea, and he had more than enough capital to get it up and running without putting a dent in his finances.
“Good shit, right?” Tracker, the cocky fucker asked. But he’d give credit where it was due.
“Damn good shit. Fuck, Tracker, this could be perfect.”
“I’ll do some research and run some numbers for you so we can see what we might be looking at to get up and running.”
“Thanks, brother,” Curly said. Then he glanced back toward the bar, and his heart leaped to his throat. “Shit. Where the fuck’s Prick?”
Tracker and Ty swiveled toward the bar and cursed as well. Jinx and Pulse sat side by side, speaking back and forth, but Prick was nowhere to be found,
“Texting Jinx,” Tracker said as his fingers flew over his phone.
Damnit, how could he have been so fucking careless? Curly scanned the bar for any glimpse of Prick, but the place was too packed now and the lights too dim to properly search.
“Jinx said Prick went to take a leak,” Tracker announced as he looked up with a grim expression.
“Fuck!” He shot out of his seat and began to shoulder his way through the crowd, ignoring the surprised cries of dismay whenever he checked someone.
“Shit, Curly, wait!” Ty shouted behind him, but fuck that. He should never have taken his eyes off Prick, and now that he had, Brooke could be in danger.
If that fucker had come within three feet of Brooke, this entire plan would have been a waste of time. He’d be putting an end to the dogfighting right then and there by wrapping his hands around Prick’s throat and squeezing until he crushed the bastard’s windpipe.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
OF COURSE, THE ladies’ room was out of paper towels. Wouldn’t be a bar restroom if it was fully stocked. At least they’d had toilet paper, and the stalls were clean. And by clean, she meant they didn’t make her shudder in horror. Brooke peered at her reflection while shaking her hands dry. Curly had been right. A few moments away from the table where she couldn’t stare at Prick had calmed her nerves.
She wanted this plan to work with every cell in her body. She wanted to bust up the fighting ring, arrest every jackass involved, and arrange whatever help necessary for the mistreated dogs. But most of all, she wanted to see the look on Prick’s face when his entire operation blew up. If another dog ended up on David’s operating table in the middle of the night needing an emergency amputation, she couldn’t be held responsible for her reaction. Men like Prick with such little regard for living creatures didn’t deserve leniency. They deserved whatever the hell they got, whether it was a jail sentence or a pine box.
The vehement reaction was over the top, even for her animal-loving self. But she couldn’t help it. Those animals suffered every day, even when not fighting. They were isolated, trained with harsh methods and punishment, taught to fear and attack other animals. It was sickening. The psychological impact of isolation, constant condemnation, and absence of affection was a hundred times harder to overcome than the physical injuries.
She knew firsthand. After Evan’s one physical assault, her bruises healed within weeks, whereas she still bore the wounds of his emotional abuse.
Now, on top of her hatred of Prick over the dogfighting ring, she’d had to process the fact that the man helped send Curly to jail for a crime he didn’t commit. She’d thought about it way too much since she found out, and each time, her heart cracked a little more.
And that was something she was terrified to delve into further. She barely knew Curly. Sure, she could feel sympathy for the rotten hand he’d been dealt, but she feared it was more than that. She wanted vengeance for him. Wanted someone to pay for what they’d done to him. Brooke was tired of assholes getting away with treating others like shit.