Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
She tried to touch him again, and this time, he barked out, “Answer the man’s question.”
“Hmph, you’re no fun.” She huffed and spun away, walking back toward the bed where she’d left her two partners mid-sixty-nine. Jinx could count the bones of her spine.
“Check the first bedroom on the left down the hall.” She sounded bored as hell as she waved a lazy hand toward the hallway before picking a pipe off the bed and taking a long hit.
Jinx followed his brothers down the foggy hallway before having to watch the woman join the others back on the futon. Witnessing them fuck wasn’t even close to sexy. Greasy hair, dirty fingernails, and fumbling half-baked movements didn’t do shit for him besides make him grateful as hell to have Harper.
Spec reached the room first and pounded a fist on the door.
“The fuck you want?” they heard from the other side of the closed door. It had a crooked sign that read Leave Me The Fuck Alone.
Sorry, buddy, not today.
“Information,” Spec said.
“What kind of information?”
Enough was enough. He didn’t want to spend one more minute than necessary in this godforsaken dump. “Open the damn door,” Jinx shouted, smacking the side of his fist against it.
“Not until you tell me who the fuck you are and what the fuck you want.” The reply came instantly, but the tone was tinged with nerves.
Spec put a hand on Jinx’s chest. “We’re looking for someone. Guy with a four-leaf clover tat on his hand.”
Silence, then rustling, sounded behind the door. After a moment, it opened a crack. Neon blue shone into the hallway from the room. “Haven’t seen him lately,” the guy said.
“Can’t fucking see you. Open it up.” Spec nudged the door.
It opened a smidge more. “Said I haven’t seen him.” Whoever this joker was, he wore a gray sweatshirt with the hood pulled up and over his face. Baggy jeans and threadbare Converse completed the outfit.
Spec grunted, shoved the door open the rest of the way, and got in the guy’s face.
He backed up a few steps. “What the fuck? Said I haven’t seen him. Get the fuck out.”
“Get his hood off,” Spec ordered.
Jinx towered over the loser, having at least eight inches on him. He wasn’t scrawny, but certainly not an impressive specimen. As he reached up to yank the hood back, the guy reacted with startling speed.
A knife appeared from nowhere, slashing through the air with deadly intent. A tattooed four-leaf clover caught Jinx’s attention a second before searing pain burned through his arm as the blade made contact. “Fuck!”
The guy threw an elbow into an unsuspecting Tracker’s face, then darted between him and Jinx. Another slice of pain, this time in his side, had Jinx unable to make chase.
“He fucking stabbed me.” The knife still protruded from his side.
“Don’t pull it,” Tracker shouted one second before Jinx planned to do exactly that.
Tracker rushed over. Blood streamed from his nose, but he ignored it. As a volunteer for search and rescue, he had a fair amount of first-aid knowledge, so Jinx would do whatever he said.
“He okay?” Spec called out.
“I got Jinx. Go after him,” Tracker called back. “Sit.” He pointed to the bed behind Jinx.
Spec pulled out his gun and rushed out of the room after the man who’d sent Lock to the hospital and put bruises on Harper.
Blood poured down his arm from the clean slice, but it was the knife in his side that had him worried.
“Lemme see,” Tracker said as he crouched next to Jinx.
“You know you’re fucking bleeding?” Jinx asked.
“I know, but a stab wound beats a broken nose, so let me see.”
Any amount of movement shifted the knife and made it hurt like a son of a bitch. Together, they lifted the edge of Jinx’s shirt so Tracker could assess the wound. Blood had already soaked into his white T-shirt, and the knife held it pinned to his body, making it nearly impossible to get a good look. “Fuck.” He hissed when Tracker prodded the area around the knife. “I’m gonna end up in the fucking hospital, aren’t I?”
“ ’Fraid so, brother.” Tracker wiped under his nose, leaving a streak of blood on the back of his hand. “But first, we gotta manage to get the fuck outta here.”
Spec reappeared. “Lost him. Fucker is fast as shit. Think he hopped the back fence, and it’s too goddamn dark to see shit.” He glanced from Jinx to Tracker. “Called Curly. He’s sending Ty with a prospect and a cage. Ty will take you to the ER, and the prospect will ride your bike back.”
Jinx’s head fell back on his shoulders. What a fucking mess.
“Want me to call Harper?” Tracker asked.
Fuck. She was going to lose her shit.
“No. I don’t want her to see me like this. Wait until I’m patched up and they tell me I’m not dying. Then I’ll go see her.”