Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“Jinx, let’s let go grab some coffee for everyone. It’s gonna be a long night,” Ty said in a voice that meant business.
Jinx skewered the guard with a deadly stare for a few more seconds before nodding once and stalking off with a grunt.
“You got this?” Ty muttered. The guy was a great VP for the club but wasn’t exactly a people person. He’d choose following Jinx any day over de-escalating Lock and the guard, hence the SOS call to Tracker.
“Yeah,” Tracker said. “Just keep a lid on that volcano if you can.”
“On it.” Ty jogged down the hallway after Jinx.
Tracker turned his back on the guard to focus on Lock. He ran his hand across his mohawk. What he wouldn’t give to be back in Jo’s kitchen sparring with her. Even her hatred was better than this shit situation.
What they needed was Pulse, their club brother, who also happened to be an ER nurse at that very medical center. He’d be able to pull some strings and get Lock the details he wanted. Unfortunately, he worked the day shift and would have gone home hours ago.
“Look,” the guard said from behind him. He spoke in a low tone as though hoping Lock wouldn’t hear. “He can’t go back. That’s the bottom line. But if you can get him to calm down, he can stay in the waiting room.”
As though that would do any good.
Tracker sighed before glancing over his shoulder. “Got it.” He didn’t bother thanking the guy. Letting Lock sit in the waiting room while God knew what went on with his sister was the least the security guard could do. Soon as he found out what the fuck was going on, Tracker would fire off a text to Pulse. Maybe he could still be of help while not on shift.
“Come outside with me,” he said to Lock as he approached. “Catch me up to speed.”
After a final scowl at the guard and a heartbroken glance at the ER doors, Lock nodded. “Okay.”
Together they made their way outside. Used to sideways glances for his ink and MC cut, the stares of other patients and concerned family members didn’t bother him in the least.
Once they made it out into the warm, humid night air, Lock walked a few steps, then leaned his back against the brick. He closed his eyes and blew out an agitated breath.
One benefit of being a tattoo artist was the ability to talk to people. Tracker spent all day working one on one with people from all walks of life. He could talk to anyone about anything and often ended up listening to their trials and woes. More than one client had told him he listened better than their therapist.
“Didn’t know you had a sister, man,” he said, resting his back against the warm brick next to Lock.
“Yeah. Twin. Twenty-six minutes younger than I am.”
Tracker stayed quiet.
“We’re not close,” Lock said in a voice heavy with regret. “She’s a fucking mess. Can’t keep a job, meth addict, new piece-of-shit boyfriend every other week. Last I heard, she got knocked-up by some asshole who smacked her around, but that was more than six months ago.”
Well, fuck.
Lock opened his eyes and speared Tracker with a narrowed gaze. “I’m not a dick. I haven’t abandoned her or anything. Fuck, I’ve tried everything short of tying her up and locking her away to get her clean and away from that shit.”
“Whoa, brother, I didn’t think that for a second.” Lock was a damn good man who’d never abandon a family member in need.
“She…” His shoulders slumped. “It’s like she fucking wants to live a shit life.”
“Nah, you know the addiction doesn’t work that way.” Tracker had first-hand experience with that sad fact.
“Yeah. A friend of hers called me tonight. Said Deanna was acting weird. Paranoid and agitated and shit. While I was on with her, she started flipping her shit and screaming about how Dee fell and started shaking. Having a fucking seizure.”
Meth overdose. Jesus, these fuckheads distributing that shit in their town needed to be dealt with.
“Her friend said she’s eight and a half months pregnant.” Lock sounded close to tears.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, brother.”
Nodding, he gazed off into the parking lot. “They won’t tell me shit in there.”
“I’ll call Pulse. He’ll be able to help.”
Then he’d call Curly because the club couldn’t stand idly by any longer. Someone had to put down Lobo and his crew, and the Handlers were just the ones to do it.
Too bad Tracker fucked up their one and only chance at getting information from the cops.
CHAPTER NINE
THIS WAS A mistake.
A mistake worse than eating an entire sleeve of Oreos in one sitting. In that case, at least she’d thought it was a good idea while she was deep in it. She’d had a blissful few moments of cookie goodness and happiness. This she knew beforehand was a horrendous idea.