Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 132031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Dev’s brows dropped, his eyes riveted on the man’s face. When he didn’t take the phone or turn to a new photo, Stink flipped through several more. Whoever this guy Julian was, he’d been tortured by multiple men if these images told the story.
“Should I know him?”
Stink lifted a shoulder in a boney-ass shrug. “He’s one of those high and mighty prostitutes. He dated the guy who owns the Dishology restaurant group. They came to Dallas all the time.” The dude’s breathing increased with his growing agitation. His eyes shifted back and forth as if lost to memories.
“Nope, never heard of the guy.” Dev had barely heard of Dishology and didn’t know the DFW connection to the company.
“I’m not a goddamn queer. It’s him, you know. He makes me want it.” Stink’s sudden outburst almost made Dev laugh out loud. Seriously, this guy had some fucked-up mental shit going on.
“I like dick,” Dev mumbled. Of course, Dev had no idea about the depth of Stink’s fascination and didn’t care. He’d have let the guy walk out of there with a bad tattoo, but now those pictures alone gave Dev a reason to end him. He had the victim’s name and a possible place of employment. All he needed was an end destination to know where Julian lived. Fucker needed to leave his parlor before Dev blew it and finished him off right there.
That bothersome cunt DA had local law enforcement all over him and his club. It’d be damn hard to hide the body locally with all the constant surveillance. His fist clenched tighter at the missed opportunity.
“He ruined my fuckin’ life. How he survived makes no damn sense.” Stink shook his head and stared at his phone screen. “I left my mark though. He sure can’t be as pretty as he once was.” The ugly, hate-filled sneer returned, but the man’s gaze was lost again to a memory. “Fuckin’ perverted fuck. I showed him perverted.”
“Where you headed?” Dev asked, going to stand in the doorframe of his private inking room. He crossed his arms over his chest, his hands fisted tightly, and waited for Stink to clue in that their session had ended.
“Coronado, California.” Hate and malevolence no longer laced his words. Stink switched gears so fast Dev had to retrace his steps to think about what he may have missed. “I saw you were in one of those one-percenter biker gangs.”
“Club,” Dev immediately corrected. Then rolled his eyes at himself for engaging this twat.
“I see myself like that. Besides the sheer pleasure it’s gonna give me, I could make this kill like an initiation into your gang, but I’d wanna come in as a full patch member.” He grabbed his pleather jacket. “I look good in leather. What do you think?”
Fucking loser had ignored his correction in terms. The idea this guy wanted in the club…
Oh hell no.
But apparently he had all the balls in the world sitting in his chair. As if killing someone showed a person’s true grit and nature and spoke to their ability to be a full-fledged club member.
Stupid fuck.
The way the local authorities were breathing down his club’s back, they certainly didn’t need this tweaker out in the world, talking up his plans to join the Disciples of Havoc.
He’d already decided Stink was at the end of his life, but fuck if he didn’t want to be able to make that decision again for the first time.
Dev gave a non-committal grunt, left Stink sitting there, and headed toward the cash register in the main room. He had all the information he needed, and Millie had her work cut out for her in disinfecting the bacteria Stink left behind.
“I think we’ve had enough for today,” Dev said with all the annoyance this situation had collected.
“Bullshit. I booked four hours.” Stink bristled, but Dev was already behind the front desk, working the iPad service system to charge the total payment due. Since he always required half down at the time the appointment was booked, he had credit card payment information already in the system.
“I’ll schedule you two hours when you’re headin’ back through Dallas,” Dev suggested and gave himself a two-hundred-dollar tip for all the shit smells and bad attitude he’d had to deal with today.
“What about wrappin’ it? And that green ointment stuff,” Stink asked, coming through the doorway, his arm still sticking out.
Dev ignored him as he worked through a plan in his head. The Disciples of Havoc had an extension of the club in San Diego. As the charge finalized in the system, he used the pad to log in to the cameras positioned in the parking lot. He scanned back until he spotted Stink arriving.
Dickweed wanted to become a full patch member and didn’t have the decency to roll up on a Disciples business on his sled. Dev resisted the growl of annoyance bubbling up in his chest. He screenshotted the fucker’s cage, making sure to capture a clean image of the smoke gray Charger’s license plate number.