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)
“Actually, that’s great. Wanna meet me at that bar, the Blue Gulf, in twenty? You know the one?” Spec asked.
Tracker frowned. “The Blue Gulf? Isn’t that a super shitty, rundown place? Why the fuck we drinking there?”
“We’re not. I got word that Dominic Saltano is doing business out of there.”
“No shit? Lock know?” Tracker started the engine.
“Nope. Figured it’d be best if I have a little chat with the guy first.” As the enforcer for the club, this fell right under Spec’s job description. But being so personal to Lock, their brother might not see it that way. He’d be pissed as fuck not to have the first crack at the guy who most likely gave his sister the fatal hit of meth. Yet, Tracker couldn’t blame Spec for keeping their brother in the dark. He’d have done the same. In fact, “Fuck yeah, I’ll meet you there. I’m dying to release a little pent-up tension.”
Spec chuckled. “Ever heard of getting laid? Works wonders.”
“Fuck off.”
Now the ass clown was full-on laughing. “So you got my back?”
“Always.” Tracker pulled out onto the road, leaving behind his good deed and heading toward his even better deed. Looks like a tension-relieving fight was in the cards after all.
Once upon a time, actually only a few months ago, Spec had trouble controlling his anger around pieces of shit like Saltano. He’d been known to go a bit overboard when it came to taking care of the club’s enemies. Situations that could have been solved with a punch or two ended up with bullets flying and a shitload of messy clean-up. Since his ol’ lady, Olivia, came into the picture, Spec had mellowed but tended to take a buddy when delivering a beatdown just in case he needed someone to pull him out of a murderous haze. Though, in this case, Tracker had no problem letting Spec kill the fucker if it turned out he was responsible for the death of Lock’s sister.
Exactly twenty minutes later, he pulled into the near-empty lot of the Blue Gulf and parked his truck beside Spec’s bike. A new prospect, Jack, had accompanied Spec. He sat listening to instructions, most likely about staying outside and watching the bikes. Good, he could keep an eye on Betty as well since Tracker would have to leave the windows open for her.
“Hey, man,” Spec said as Tracker exited his truck. He wore a muscle tank under his cut, displaying some new ink Tracker had given him a few weeks before. Looked damn good if he said so himself.
“Hey.” Tracker held his fist out, which Spec bumped. He nodded to the prospect, who lifted a hand in greeting. “This place is a shithole.”
Spec snorted a laugh. “Yeah, I think it’s where Jimmy Buffet goes to die. No one here but old stoners and beach bums thirty years past their prime.”
“Hmm… perfect spot to distribute meth.”
“Exactly.” Spec turned to Jack. “My bike has so much as a fingerprint on it when I get back, you’ll be breathing through a straw with a wired jaw for the next six weeks.”
The prospect’s eyes widened, making it nearly impossible for Tracker to hide his grin. The club only had two prospects, but damn, it was fun to mess with them. “Same goes for my truck. My baby girl is in there. Anything happens to her, and you’ll wish you could breathe through a straw.”
“Got it,” the skinny kid with a mop of curly hair said as he nodded vigorously.
For the life of him, Tracker couldn’t remember the guy’s name. According to Brooke and Olivia, he was adorable and would be a total hottie when he filled out a little. Whatever the hell that meant. So far, he seemed like he’d be a good addition to the club, but time would tell. Nights like tonight went a long way toward showing a prospect’s true colors.
“All right, how we playing this?” Tracker asked as he and Spec strode toward the wooden door of the Blue Gulf. It had a scratched porthole window. A torn fishing net and oar hung above the entrance. “We going in as customers?”
“Nah, fuck that. I plan to grab him by throat and squeeze until he fesses up or pisses his pants. I’m good either way. That okay by you?”’
Tracker grinned as he cracked his knuckles. “Hell yeah. I’m in the mood to fuck shit up, so let’s do this.”
Spec raised an eyebrow. “Everything good? You’re usually chill and happy all the damn time.”
Not lately. Lately, he’d been tense and fucked in the head. Great to know he wasn’t hiding it as well as he’d assumed. “Yeah, I’m cool.”
Coming to a halt, Spec tilted his head, studying him. “It’s woman problems, isn’t it?”
Tracker stopped as well. “What? No. When the hell have you known me to have woman problems?”