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 reared back. His small chair rolled several inches away to add to the dramatic flair as he said, “Dude, back the fuck off. You fuckin’ stink. Ever heard of a goddamn bath?”
This might have been the first time Dev actually looked his client in the eyes.
Initial assessment wrong.
He’d dubbed this guy a poser. Now he recognized the demon stirring behind those soulless eyes.
Not the first time he’d seen pure evil in human form. Hell, he had lived his entire life on the other side of the law, but this guy had sinister intent beneath all those foul smells and dirty, oversized clothes. If auras were a thing, Stink’s was dark and dangerous. Void of rehabilitation.
Stink and Smoke merged into one person.
Yeah. Fuck that.
How had he missed so much while tattooing this fucker?
Dev felt more off than ever before. He blamed Tena, his ex-wife. She was making his life and their daughters’ lives a living hell. He barely had time to wipe his ass under all her constant emotional bullshit.
That was a thin argument for what he’d missed but one he let hold because the only other person to blame was himself, and he didn’t like that one bit.
“Renegade” ended. Dev’s fucking mind raced. Nothing new. But it still amazed him how his thoughts could travel so many directions during the mere four minutes of that song.
“Turn it down, Millie,” Dev called out.
What he needed was a bump to make his shit right.
Thin lips sneered at Dev in some sort of commiserating grin. “No time, bro. I’m drivin’ cross-country to finish a job I carelessly didn’t the first time.”
Yeah. Dev had gotten the grin wrong too. Damn it. He saw no humor in that wicked expression. Something unseen yet dementedly pleasurable played in his client’s head. This was the only time he’d stopped yapping his mouth since he had first arrived at the parlor.
A ‘job’ usually equaled some sort of mob-boss speak, describing the end of a person’s life.
“I’d ask about what job you had such a hard-on to finish, but then you’d have to speak. Your breath’s a shithole, man.” Dev reached behind him, grabbing several breath mints from a tray he kept handy. He placed a handful of individually wrapped candies on the small table separating the two of them.
The oil holding Stink’s hair back from his face looked natural, not from any over-the-counter manscaping product. His client wore all black, but not well. Biker boots, jeans, a T-shirt, and a heavy black pleather jacket he’d hung over the armrest of the chair. He was boney, with hard edges to his face and body. The kind of skinny that spoke of decades of addiction.
Dev scanned the jacket. They were in fucking Dallas, Texas. Even deep as they were in the fall months, no one ever voluntarily wore more clothes than necessary. Climate change was kicking this part of the world’s ass. Hot as the devil’s anus most days.
Thanksgiving looked like it would involve a swimming pool party this year.
“Between you and me.” Stink popped a breath mint into his mouth and reached for his cell phone in his back pocket. He searched the phone, giving a cocky lift of his brow as he spoke the secret words.
“Keep eatin’ those.” Dev motioned his head to get Stink to chew more of the mints. One would never be enough.
Stink chomped as he swiped his finger over the screen. “I’m out for fuckin’ blood. Don’t know how the menace survived our first…interaction, but I ain’t gonna leave shit half done this time. I hate this prissy fucker. Ruined my goddamn life.”
Dev narrowed his eyes, instantly taking the side of this unknown life-ruiner.
“Who you after?” Dev asked quietly, rolling farther backward on the stool, laying the machine on the bureau behind him. Their session had officially come to an end. All he needed now was as much information as he could gather if he planned to step in and help out.
Dev stood to his full height, peeling off then tossing his disposable gloves into the trash, or close to it, and again stretched his back, shoulders, and neck muscles, trying to appear interested. He reached over to his sound system, pushing the button to mute the music altogether, making sure he heard every word.
When Stink aimed the cell phone’s screen his way, the image shocked Dev, but he kept his composure, refusing to show how offensive he found the photo. That said something since Dev had seen a lot of fucked-up shit. The victim, a man, was nude, bound and gagged, bleeding profusely from the slices all over his body. Raised and angry cigarette burns peppered his chest. The gaping leg wound alone spoke of some dark, demented torture shit happening.
“Go on. Take a look. His name’s Julian Cullen. You know him?” Hate dripped from Stink’s tone.