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)
As he watched them come together, the hair on the back of his neck rose. The man with his back to Tracker appeared twitchy, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds. The other man, striding in Tracker’s direction, walked with a confident swagger. He was heavier and slow in the sand but didn’t appear anxious like his buddy. The men met and exchanged a few words. Then something was passed between them.
Money.
Twitch shifted back and forth, peeking over his shoulder a few more times as his confident partner counted the cash. Then the man reached in his pocket and handed something over to Twitch.
Drugs. It had to be.
Tracker straightened in his chair.
“Tracker?” Jo asked. “What’s wrong?”
Something rang familiar about the way the confident guy moved. He was too far away for a clear look at his face, but Tracker swore he recognized him from somewhere. “Stand up, babe.” He tapped Jo’s hip.
She hopped off his lap at once. “What is it?” she asked, following his gaze with a frown.
He stood, ignoring the curious glances from his brothers and their women. “I think I know that guy.” He squinted.
Holy fuck.
“It’s Dante.” He shot off through the sand in a flash, racing toward where the two men had parted ways.
“Tracker, no!” Jo’s scream followed him, but he didn’t stop. All he could think about was the lifeless body of Lock’s sister and the infant fighting for his life in the NICU. Blood pounded in his ears as he pumped his arms and legs as fast as possible.
Spec, who was fit as a, well, special operations soldier, caught up in no time. He had a history with Dante. The asshole attacked Liv a few months back and spent a few days in the hospital courtesy of Spec.
Tracker grinned despite his breathlessness. The look on Dante’s face as he saw Spec barreling down on him would be worth the pain he’d feel tomorrow for this sprint through the sand in boots.
“He’s fucking dead,” Spec said, without showing signs of being remotely winded.
“Remember, we need Lobo.”
“I know. Doesn’t mean I can’t kill him after we get what we need.”
Dante had his back to them as he walked away from his deal.
Not a care in the world. No shits given about the lives he’d destroyed with his dirty drugs.
He’d care soon.
As they got closer, Dante sensed something behind him and turned around. His face went from inquiring to perplexed to horrified in a fraction of a second. Tracker didn’t have time to enjoy it.
Dante whirled around and ran.
But the man was large and not in a quarter of the shape Tracker and Spec were in.
Dante didn’t make it fifteen feet before Tracker went airborne. He landed flat against Dante’s back, crashing them both to the sand.
“Fuck yes. That was epic,” Spec called out as they hit the ground.
Sand sprayed up, then showered down all over them.
“Gotcha, fucker.” Beneath him, Dante struggled, but a swift kick to the ribs from Spec ended that. “You’ve just entered Hell. Hope you’re ready to meet the devil.”
Tracker hopped up, sending sand spewing in every direction. A good yank and a push from Spec was all it took to roll Dante to his back. Tracker dropped back down, planting a knee against the bastard’s sternum with much more force than necessary.
But it was fun.
Dante groaned and tried to spit sand from his mouth. Gritty saliva rolled down his cheek to his ear. Sand crystals coated his chin and eyebrows but did nothing to hide the fury of his expression. “Get the fuck off me,” he growled.
“Hmm… Spec, what do you think?” Tracker asked.
Spec snorted. “Not gonna happen.”
“You, assholes, have no idea what you’re messing with,” Dante sputtered and resumed struggling but Tracker’s knee compressing his barrel chest made it difficult for the man to breathe and fight.
“Hmm…” Tracker said. “I think we’re fucking up Lobo’s drug trade by grabbing one of his henchmen. Without you, he’ll need a new idiot to distribute his fentanyl-laced meth. Sound right?”
“Fuck you.”
“I’d say we know exactly what we’re messing with. But you, you have no idea the misery about to rain down on your pathetic life. You fucked with the wrong people, Dante.”
“Fuck off. I never sold to any of you dickheads. And if you’re pissed we’re raking in so much cash, then you shoulda got on board when Lobo offered to partner with your club.”
“Tracker, we gotta get his asshole outta here before someone notices us.”
Shit. Spec had a point. They couldn’t keep him hostage on a public beach forever. Fun as it was.
“How do you want to play this?”
“I’ll keep him here.” Spec tossed Tracker his keys. “You grab my truck. Drive it right out onto the sand. I got zip ties in the bed. We’ll hogtie this pig, then take him back to the farm. For a chat.” He winked at Dante, whose struggles resumed. “Stop fucking moving.” Spec kicked him again. And again. And a third time until Dante was groaning and whimpering.