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)
“See this?” He turned the video around so Saltano could watch out of his undamaged eye. That eye widened as the guy watched himself rat out his supplier and the head of the organization. “Anyone finds out we were here, this video gets sent to Dante and Lobo. And, yes, we can make that happen very easily. I imagine they’d be a little pissed to find out you were the one to destroy their lives.”
“And that’s exactly what we’re gonna do,” Spec said. “So you might wanna find a new job.” After another rough pat that was more of a slap, he rose. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
Together he and Spec walked away from the sniveling asshole. When they were out of earshot, Spec grabbed Tracker’s arm. “The fuck was that, brother?”
Tracker blew out a breath and stared up at the dark sky. “Sorry.”
“I mean, it was good shit. It worked. You got good instincts, but I brought you here to keep me from getting too violent. Never in a million years did I think you’d be seconds from slitting the bastard’s throat.”
Nodding, Tracker met his brother’s gaze. “My head’s fucked today.”
“The cop?” Spec raised an eyebrow. This time he didn’t smirk or joke.
What the hell…
“She got under my damn skin, man. I’m just having a hard time shaking her out. No big deal.”
“Yeah, well, unfortunately for you, Curly might make you call her and give her this information. You trust her to have the club’s back?”
Did he trust her not to turn around and arrest them? That was quite a question. Jolene Baker was a cop, and as a rule, he didn’t trust cops. Not since his miserable childhood where they arrested him and then threw him back to his fucked-up family without so much as a “good luck, kid.” None of them worried for his safety or the path he’d embarked on toward ruining his future. Nope. Not one single cop in the entire department gave a shit. When combined with the fact that one of the men Tracker respected most in the world had spent more than a decade behind bars due to dirty cops, yeah, no fucking way did he trust cops.
But Jo seemed different. And not just because she was gorgeous, funny, and intelligent. She seemed to really care. The woman struggled with injustices in the police department. Or at least she appeared to. But where would she land if forced to choose? Would she choose to arrest him and Spec for beating the shit out of a man for information? Or would she brush it under the rug and take the information as a win, arresting the scumbags who actually deserved it.
Well, they deserved more than being arrested, but it looked like killing the bastards was off the menu.
Tracker swallowed and went with his gut. “I think I trust her,” he said, remembering her blissed-out eyes as she came.
Christ, he hoped he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his life, putting his club’s fate in the hands of a cop.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JO SUPPRESSED A groan that would have been pornographic at best, but she did close her eyes and sink into the delicious sensations. The real world faded away, leaving her floating on a cloud of bliss.
And then a small groan of satisfaction managed to slip out.
It felt that damn good.
She hadn’t taken a personal day since she started working and hadn’t had a pedicure in twice that time. After spending the entire previous day on her feet searching for the missing boy, her puppies were aching. The combination of warm water and jets on her soles nearly had her purring.
She deserved this treat, and as she rarely allowed herself to indulge, it was all the more pleasurable.
Back in her pageant days, manicures, pedicures, and drawn-out salon trips were a weekly occurrence, sometimes more depending on the scheduled events. Once she quit that world, she’d protested everything she’d considered stereotypically girly. She’d wore minimal makeup, rarely fussed over her hair, and kept nothing more than a coat of clear polish on her short, natural nails. But a pedicure was more of a self-care experience than a frilly grooming ritual. It gave her a chance to chill, so she partook occasionally.
“Looks like someone is enjoying their day off.” An amused yet friendly voice pulled Jo from her trance.
She blinked her eyes open, and instantly, all chill vibes evaporated. “Olivia,” she said, unable to keep the surprise and uncertainty out of her voice.
“Hi,” Olivia said with an affable grin as though they were old friends instead of on opposite sides of the law. Well, her man was, at least. She sat in the spa chair next to Jo, giving her another of those warm smiles. “Have you met Brooke yet?” she asked, turning toward the woman with her who sat in the empty chair on Olivia’s other side.