Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
“There’s my babies,” he murmured to them. Both dogs circled his legs as he straightened and did a chin lift to Judge, who returned it.
“Any luck?” Judge asked.
“Fuck no,” the man answered and shrugged out of his coat, hanging it by the door.
Trip now realized why he wore the coat. The man was packing. He wore a leather double shoulder holster, with both holsters filled.
“Trip,” Trip introduced himself as the man’s dark eyes landed on him again.
Those dark eyes slid to Judge, then back to Trip.
He pursed his lips, patted both dogs on the head one more time and then said, “Deacon.”
Trip didn’t think Judge had a brother, but he kind of remembered hearing Judge had a younger sister. In fact, a lot younger, if he remembered correctly.
Deacon eyeballed Trip’s cut, then his gaze sliced back to Judge. “He here for a bond?”
“No,” Judge grunted.
“What’s he here for?”
“You a cop?” Trip asked.
“I look like a cop?”
No, he didn’t. Not with the hair, the beard, and both arms heavily tattooed. Not to mention, the gold ring piercing his left nostril. “Wonderin’ why you’re packin’. Could be undercover.”
Deacon’s grin was tight. “Packin’ ‘cause I work here.”
“Didn’t think this was a bad part of town.”
“It ain’t. Carry ‘cause I’m a bounty hunter. I work for my cousin.”
Cousin.
Right. There were a few similarities between the two, but they weren’t enough to be twins, that was for damn sure.
“This the guy Dutch was yappin’ about?” Deacon asked Judge.
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“Dutch has been doin’ a lot of yappin’ lately,” Trip grumbled.
“Not every day someone comes into town wantin’ to raise the dead. Gives folks somethin’ to yap about,” Deacon said.
“Not wantin’ to raise the dead. Wantin’ to start fresh. Also, have a proposition.”
“Ah, fuck,” Deacon groaned, moving behind the counter and removing his shoulder holster. “What’s the proposition?” he asked Judge.
Judge shrugged, his eyes still on Trip. “Haven’t heard that part yet.”
“What part did you hear?”
“The part about me steppin’ into Ox’s boots.”
“Fuck,” Deacon groaned again. “Gonna guess the answer to that one.” He twisted his head toward Trip. “Let’s hear the rest.”
“Besides the Fury, also gettin’ the repo business up and goin’. Thinkin’ since you have skip tracin’ experience, you could provide that service for me when I need it.”
Deacon snorted. Judge remained silent.
“But probably already knew that since Dutch has been runnin’ his mouth.”
Judge finally spoke. “State gonna give you a repo license since you’re a felon?”
That snag was another reason why he was there. “Probably not.”
“Then you might just wanna tow for Dutch.”
“Dutch has his own rollback.”
“Then you’re shit outta luck.”
“License doesn’t have to be in my name.”
“Askin’ for a fuck of a lot, Trip. Not only to wear the Fury’s colors, but to be Sergeant at Arms. A risk to my business. Then you’re hintin’ at me puttin’ your repo license in my name. Another fuckin’ risk. Haven’t seen you in twenty fuckin’ years. You walk the fuck in here and want to do nothin’ but take. What the fuck do I get outta all of this besides your dick up my ass? Anal ain’t my thing unless I’m the one givin’ it.”
“I’ll fuckin’ do it,” Deacon announced, shocking the shit out of Trip.
“Do what?” Judge barked, glancing behind him at his cousin.
“Put the repo license in my name. If they’re just lookin’ for felonies and misdemeanors, I’ll be good.”
“What do you want in exchange?” Trip asked him. He might be Judge’s cousin, but he didn’t know Deacon. And the man jumped at the chance way too quickly.
“A cut.”
Of course. “A cut of the business?”
“Want a cut. Wanna wear the Fury’s colors.”
“That it?”
“And a cut of the business.”
And there it was.
“Ten percent and I’ll do all your skip tracin’. Since I’m a bounty hunter I can help you find people. I won’t do any of the towin’, though. Got too much shit to keep me busy here.”
Ten percent. Trip had been ready to offer anyone who stepped up to get the repo license some sort of cut, but he wasn’t sure about ten percent. That was a nice chunk of change. However, if Deacon was good at hunting people, he’d also be good at finding vehicles and their deadbeat loan holders. Plus, it didn’t hurt that Deacon could pack legally, unlike Trip. If he needed help in a tight spot, Deacon might be able to step in.
Even at ten percent, it was a good deal. He’d get the repo business rolling, he’d get another Fury member, and... “You good with scratch?”
“Fuckin’ great with snatch and scratch. Do most of the bookkeepin’ here. Why?”
“Need a Treasurer. You in?”
Deacon grinned. “Yeah, I’m fuckin’ in.”
“You got a sled?”
“Got a decent one. But once I start gettin’ that ten percent, buyin’ me a new 1250 Custom. Seen those fuckers? Shit’s badass as fuck. It’ll keep me rollin’ in pussy.”