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.
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.
