Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
As he scanned the crowd, trying to get a feel for the players and who owned the dogs, Curly’s gaze met Scott’s. His enforcer cocked his head and arched an eyebrow before shaking his head and heading Curly’s way.
So much for flying under the radar. He’d secured his hair in a knot at the base of his scalp before putting on a black hoodie. The damn curls made him identifiable to almost everyone who saw him. While the disguise worked with the distracted beast at the door, he should have known Scott wouldn’t fool so easily. His new enforcer had some well-developed observation skills.
“Thought you agreed to wait outside in the truck,” Scott said with a wry grin as he settled his back against the wall next to Curly.
“Why do I feel like you were specifically looking for me?”
“Because I knew you couldn’t stay away.” Scott shrugged. Though he came off as chill with a relaxed posture, his sharp eyes told a different story. Scott, the special operations soldier, was one hundred percent attuned to everything happening around them.
If Curly had to place bets, he’d wager Scott already tagged every dog owner, the highest bidders, and how much Prick stood to earn tonight.
“I’d do the same. Not much for sitting on the sidelines. You see that?” Scott asked as he discreetly pointed toward a lean man chatting with Prick.
Curly followed his friend’s gaze, and sure enough, Officer fucking Gains, the same damn motherfucker who’d pulled Curly over the other day, laughed with Prick as he stuffed a full envelope into his back pocket.
A payoff for sure.
That explained the shitty security. Fuck, the complete lack of security. Why bother if they had the cops on their payroll? “Fuck,” he whispered. “I knew that asshole had an in with the cops, but I didn’t think they were fucking besties.” And he’d known Gains was dirty as three-day-old underwear.
“Mm-hmm,” Scott agreed while still riveted to the room. “Makes our job harder.” Then he flashed Curly a grin that would have had him writing out a will if they weren’t on the same team. “Lucky for me, I love a challenge. You sure you just don’t want me to kill him and be done with it? Be easy enough to make it look like an accident.”
Curly snorted out a half-laugh but one glance at Scott’s face, and he realized the man wasn’t joking. He’d do it. Kill Prick in cold blood without an ounce of remorse. Hell, the gleam in his eye said he’d probably enjoy it. “I’m not afraid to do what has to be done as self-defense, or if there is no fucking way out,” Curly said, making his voice like ice. “But I ain’t sanctioning you killing a man in cold blood cuz we got beef with him.” He’d killed before and had a feeling he would again, but he sure as fuck wouldn’t be stupid about it, and killing Prick would be stupid. Too many people, Officer Gaines included, would turn their investigative gazes toward him the second they found Prick pulseless.
Scott shrugged. “Works for me. Guess we’re going with plan B.” He lifted a paper bag and jiggled it in front of Curly’s face.
“The fuck is that?” They spoke in low tones to keep the attention off themselves though everyone there seemed more interested in drinking, placing bets, and checking out the dogs than noticing random two men chatting in the corner.
“I had a brilliant fucking idea. Came to me right as I was making some grub this afternoon.” He shook the bag again, eyes sparkling.
“Think you’ve drawn it out long enough? What the fuck’s in the bag?”
“Hot dogs.”
Curly frowned. “Hot dogs?”
With a nod, Scott’s gaze tracked Prick as he crossed the humid as fuck barn to green a man with a hand slap and a laugh. “Hotdogs and Xanax.”
“Come again?”
“Man, I’d love to, but, no offense, you’re not really my type. Dick just doesn’t do it for me.”
“Jesus, cut the shit. What the fuck are you doing with hotdogs and Xanax?”
“Saving the dogs, brother. Your woman was stressed as fuck about not being able to rescue all the dogs tonight, right?”
“Right…” Stressed out didn’t begin to cover it. Last night, after they’d sated themselves with food, wine, and core-shaking orgasms, Curly had passed out only to be woken by the sound of Brooke’s tears sometime late in the night. She’s apologized a hundred times only to unravel when he finally got her to admit what had her so upset.
She’d been lying awake consumed with worry not only for Curly and his men but for the dogs they wouldn’t be able to save that evening. More than likely, one more would die, and, for sure, some would be injured. Possibly severely.
Knowing what would happen to the dogs tonight so close to her home and not being able to do a damn thing to prevent it was killing her. One thing he’d learned about Brooke over the past few weeks, besides her love of Thai food and early morning sex, was her absolute hatred of being helpless. Brooke was the type of woman who’d try to move a mountain then berate herself for not being strong enough if the peak wouldn’t budge. If Scott had a plot that would spare her anguish over the fate of these dogs, Curly was more than happy to entertain it.