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)
Spec shrugged. “You haven’t. But you also don’t bang the same chick for a few weeks like you were doing with that cop.”
It wasn’t easy, but Tracker forced a neutral expression. “Seriously? That wasn’t anything. I was trying to get information. Didn’t work.” He shrugged. “End of story.”
“Huh.” Spec scratched at his stubble. “Only met her a few times, but I liked her.”
That had Tracker freezing in place. “You liked her?”
“Yeah. She’s hot as fuck, doesn’t take shit, seems smart, ballsy. Great tits. What’s not to like?”
“Uh, she’s a fucking cop.” And even though he knew Spec had no interest in Jo—the guy was ass over heels in love with his ol’ lady—he couldn’t stem the prickly irritation at hearing another man appreciate Jo’s… attributes.
Spec stayed quiet, but his damn smirk broke Tracker’s resolve to remain unaffected.
“What?” he finally barked.
Laughing, Spec shook his head. “You wanna hit me right now, don’t you?”
“I wanna hit you a lot.”
“Yeah, but right now, you really wanna hit me because I said your woman had great tits. Which she does. Olivia agrees with me.” He winked, and Tracker almost did hit him.
“First off, she’s not my woman, and she’ll never be my woman. And second, if you and Olivia want to perv on other women, that’s your prerogative. I don’t give a shit either way.”
Spec whistled. “Damn, you really like this one.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Tracker muttered.
A hard elbow dug into his arm. “I’m just fucking with you. But I did like her. Too bad she’s a cop cuz that shit can’t ever happen. Imagine Curly’s reaction to you dating a cop? Hoo-boy.”
“Yeah. Look, can we get in there and smash this guy’s face in already?”
Spec studied him for a moment with a frown. Just when Tracker thought he’d press the issue again, he nodded. “Yeah. Let’s roll. Gotta get the prospect home in time for his mommy to put him to bed.”
They laughed together as they resumed walking. Tracker reached the door first and pulled it open for his brother.
“Holy cheap-ass tiki bar,” Spec muttered as they stepped into the bar. It was the best way to describe the dimly lit room decorated with palm leaves, coconuts, and beach paraphernalia that looked like it came from the misfit bin at a bargain store.
Three people drank at the bar while twice that many ate in booths around the edge of a dance floor. One older gentleman danced to the steel drum song playing from the speakers. His tan skin had a leathery quality like the alligator Tracker had seen strolling across the street the week prior.
One of the patrons sat at the far end of the bar with three empty Corona bottles and one barely touched. “That him?” The cash bulging out of his jeans back pocket basically broadcast his status as a drug dealer.
Amateur.
“Gotta be. My guy told me to look for a scrawny bastard with shitty ink who was twitchy as fuck.”
“Well, that’s him then.” The tattoos were terrible. Shaky lines, uneven shading, and horrendous proportions. Tracker would bet his shop those were done by an eighteen-year-old out of his parents’ garage.
“Let the party begin.” Spec strode through the crappy restaurant with long, sure steps. A man on a mission. Tracker followed immediately behind. When he reached their fidgety target at the bar, he grabbed him by the back of the neck and yanked him off his chair as though he were nothing more than a ragdoll. “A word?” he said as the guy sputtered.
The bartender yelled, “Hey!” and grabbed a bat from behind the bar.
Tracker speared him with a glare he didn’t break out often. “You don’t wanna do that. This shit has nothing to do with you.” The lethal promise in his gaze had the bartender nodding and lowering his weapon. Once he was sure he wouldn’t be cracked across the back of the head with a bat, he caught up to Spec, who was dragging their new friend toward the back exit. He scooted in front of them and shoved the door open. A quick peek revealed a dimly lit alley with two dumpsters and no prying eyes. “We’re good.”
Spec yanked the struggling dealer through the door. Before the humid night air had a chance to register, Spec slammed the guy against the wall. He groaned as his skull cracked on the wood.
“You Saltano?” Spec asked.
Tracker kept one eye on Spec and one on the empty alley.
“Who the fuck wants to know?”
Tracker grunted while Spec snickered at the bravado. It wouldn’t last long. A few well-aimed punches or a gun to the knee would shrink his testicles real quick. A broken nose or eye socket tended to take even the most inflated assholes down to size in a snap.
“You wanna tell him who we are?” Spec asked over his shoulder.
Fuck yeah, he did. Actually, Tracker wanted to be the one to dole out the pain for a change, but as enforcer, this was Spec’s show. “We’re friends of Deanna,” he said, letting his anger bleed out through his voice. “You know, the gorgeous young woman you killed. We’re friends of the baby you orphaned too.”