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)
Any hint of amusement vanished from Tracker’s face. “Finish your statement,” he said, voice a threat she couldn’t let him carry through on.
Jo shook her head. “No,” she said, holding a hand up to her partner. “That’s not what he meant to say, and he’s finished talking,” she snapped.
Both men stared at her.
Andrew, as though she were a traitor, and Tracker with a thinly veiled contempt, she should be relieved to see as it meant he wouldn’t try to worm his way back into her bed, but she hated it almost as much as she detested this situation she found herself in.
Softening her tone, she looked to the sexy tattoo artist. “Tracker, may we please speak with Lock? We do not have a warrant, so he is not under any obligation to speak with us, but…”
Andrew scoffed in disgust, and she ground her teeth together so hard her jaw squeaked.
“But,” she continued, glaring daggers at her partner. “We are committed to finding out where his sister got the drugs, and he could have valuable information. I promise he isn’t in any trouble or under suspicion of any wrongdoing at this time. None of you are.”
A bit of a stretch Andrew would no doubt ream her for later, but at this point, he’d done so much damage, the chances of them getting through the door were about as high as her fucking Tracker that night.
Which was zero.
Tracker stared at her for so long that her brain went haywire, and she began to wonder if he still wanted her.
If he felt true sorrow for deceiving her.
If he actually found her attractive.
If he’d liked fucking her.
If he wanted to do it again…
As she reached her limit of being the bug on the microscope slide, Tracker shifted his gaze to Andrew. “She does the talking.” Then he looked at her again. “Either of you says one fucking thing to make his grieving worse, I’ll melt your badges and make a fucking belt buckle out of them.”
“If you think…”
She slapped a hand on Andrew’s chest. “We’re not here to piss off anyone or upset him further. We’re here to get justice for a dead woman and the baby boy she left behind.”
Tracker gave one sharp nod. “Fine. Come in,” he said, giving them his back as he walked into the clubhouse.
Swallowing, Jo trailed Tracker. She was there on professional business that technically didn’t have anything to do with him. So why did the hair on the back of her neck rise to attention as though she was following him into the lion’s den?
CHAPTER TEN
EVERY EYE IN the place narrowed in disgust and suspicion as Jo and Andrew-fucking-Simpson made their way into the Hell’s Handlers’ private space.
Tracker turned to find Jo with her head high and her expression neutral yet open, whereas her douchebag partner scowled right back at every man giving him the death glare. He sure as shit wouldn’t make any friends that way. Hell, he’d have a damn hard time getting a single man in there to speak to him at this rate. Not that anyone in his club had any desire to make a cop’s job easier.
Jo included. Tracker sure hadn’t wanted or planned on befriending her.
He meant to pump her. First, full of his cock, then once she was satisfied and loose-lipped, for information. Somehow, he’d fucked up what should have been a simple transaction. And now she stood in his clubhouse, hating him enough to interrogate his grieving brother and unwilling to help him out in any way. He’d better pay damn good attention to traffic laws while she simmered because she’d probably toss his ass in jail for squeaking through at the tail end of yellow light.
Dozens of warring emotions battled it out inside him.
He tried to let his hatred of cops and Officer Andrew Fuckstick, in particular, combined with his protectiveness over his mourning brother take precedence, but with Jo hovering a few feet away, he couldn’t squash the annoying desire to shield her from the wrath of bikers as well.
Not that she needed it.
His lips quirked as she raised an eyebrow at him.
Yeah, she’d handle this group just fine.
Still, he stood closer than was wise for reasons he wasn’t willing to acknowledge. That reason didn’t have a damn thing to do with the fact that he knew how sexy those tits were beneath her uniform and how they’d most likely be encased in a bra that took them from sexy to downright sinful.
His cock stirred, so he dug his fingernails into his palm to keep from popping a full-on boner for a cop in front of the hateful eyes of his entire club. It worked, though he might need a Band-Aid because he was pretty sure he drew blood.
“Let me guess,” Jinx said, voice low and lethal. “You two blueberries are here to express your condolences to Lock?”