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Tracker laughed. “Fuck yes. I’d live there if we wouldn’t die of starvation.”
Thank fuck Tracker refrained from commenting on how Jinx didn’t refute the ol’ lady comment. Harper wasn’t his ol’ lady. The one time he brought it up, about a week ago, she’d gone into full-on prickles mode, snipping and erecting a steel barrier between them for the day. That was a topic he wouldn’t be revisiting anytime soon.
She wasn’t ready, and he had to respect that, even if it sucked.
They rounded the house to the pitch-black backyard, which was even nicer than the front. And by nice, he meant a complete shithole. The lawn hadn’t been mowed in a century, and a foot-tall fire ant hill by the back door served as a nightmare-inducing boobytrap.
“Jesus fuck, imagine stepping in that fucker?” Tracker said with a full-body shudder. “I’d rather face the dog.”
“Aww, you afraid of a little buggy?” Jinx asked with a laugh.
“I’ll give you a thousand bucks if you stick your hand on that hill right now, asshole. Cold hard cash.”
Still laughing, Jinx shook his head. “Fuck no. I ain’t that stupid.”
“Then keep your fucking comments to yourself, dickhead.” Tracker shoved his shoulder.
“Can’t believe I’m the one fucking saying this shit, but you think you could stop acting like children and get your heads in the game?”
“Ooh, Daddy Spec means business. We better be good boys,” Jinx mocked.
“Fuck off,” Spec retorted, but his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. He reached the sliding back door, which was covered inside by a dark curtain. “Ready?” he asked as he grabbed the handle.
Tracker nodded, as did Jinx when he met Spec’s gaze. “Do it.”
They had no idea if the man they wanted would be inside or what the asshole even looked like. Harper hadn’t gotten a good look at his face, but they knew he was average-sized, pale-skinned with facial hair, and known to hang out in this shithole. At the very least, they hoped to come out with a name and a better description.
Spec tugged on the door. It opened with ease, screeching as it slid along the unoiled track.
None of them were surprised the door wasn’t locked. Crack houses weren’t known for their security. Ironic, considering the thousands of dollars in illicit drugs they probably had within these walls.
“Fuck me,” Jinx said as he stepped inside and was assaulted with the acrid stench of smoke and sweat. He waved a hand in front of his face. The thick, gray haze filling the room made it impossible to see more than five feet in front of his face, especially since only one dim table lamp shone from the far corner of the room.
Whispers bounced off the wall along with the slap of skin on skin, in the classic sound of fucking.
Two seconds in and Jinx craved a shower.
He buried his nose in the crook of his elbow and coughed as his eyes stung. “We’re gonna get fucking lung cancer if we’re here for more than five minutes,” he mumbled. The walls were streaked with brownish-yellow stains from day after day of smoke and filth.
“Seriously. This place is fucking nasty.” Tracker waved a hand in front of his face, but the smoke was so thick it barely swirled away. “Burns my damn eyes too.”
As he followed Spec down a hallway, his eyes adjusted to the dark. They entered a common area with two futons and a small sofa. Two rail-thin women were passed out on the couch, half on top of each other. Four others—three men and a woman—sat on the futon to his left, smoking and staring at nothing. Two more women and a dude occupied the final dingy futon, fucking each other like they weren’t in a disgusting dump surrounded by other people.
Not one of the occupants reacted to seeing three large bikers tromping through the room. They were probably used to junkies coming and going at all hours of the night.
“Christ,” Jinx muttered. “What a shitshow.”
“Listen up,” Spec shouted. A few glassy eyes shifted his way. “Looking for someone. White dude, average size. Hangs here a lot. Got a four-leaf clover tatted on his hand.”
One of the women involved in the sleazy threesome untangled herself from the pile of limbs. Fully naked, she strode over with her ribs protruding, her small tits sagging, and the saddest fucking eyes. “Well, aren’t you a big boy,” she said as she approached Jinx with an interested gleam in her otherwise flat expression. “Looking for a place to party?” She lifted a hand toward his chest.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he ground out before she could get her bony fingers on him.
She pouted, but it wasn’t sexy, only pitiful, like this entire place. “Promise I’m better than whoever you’re currently fucking,” she crooned.
Dissing Harper wouldn’t earn her any favors. Even before Harper, he’d have passed on this one without a second glance. She didn’t need another man to fuck her. She needed a damn rehab facility.
