“Where’s my sister?” Is the first thing out of T’s goddamn mouth when I open the door at the club after dropping Samantha off at work.
Jesus. “Uh, I think I left her at a grocery store,” I deadpan, walking into his room out back and shutting the door behind me.
Opening his mouth to say something, I cut him off. “At fucking work. Calm the fuck down, yeah. She’s good.” He may not know the shit that happens between me and his sister, but he knows goddamn well I wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Even if I wasn’t fucking her, I’d give my life to keep her safe.
“Good.”
There’s some naked blonde bitch passed out on his bed, on her stomach, spread eagle. I swear to fuck, I see some internal organs the way the bitch lets her legs drop open, her loose cunt on full display.
“You fuck that bitch?” I ask him, kicking the leg of the bed.
T chuckles, looking down at his friend, with a bit of disgust on his face. “Can’t remember.”
“Hope you wrapped your shit. The bitch looks like she’s carryin’ around a little extra baggage.”
“Always, man.”
Grabbing the bitch’s foot, he shakes it. “Yo, sweetheart, wake the fuck up.”
She groans, rolling over, and I get an eyeful of a used and abused body. Bitch has been rode hard and put away wet. Christ. “Up!” he shouts, slapping her thigh. “Get the fuck outta here.”
It takes her a second, but she gets up and staggers toward the door, still naked. “See you later?” she asks him, hanging off the door, smiling. There’s makeup all over her face, lipstick on her snaggled teeth.
Looking at her, I thank my lucky stars the princess is the bitch I’m fucking and not this whore. Samantha’s a goddamn dream compared to this chick. I’m the luckiest asshole alive.
T doesn’t answer her, just tosses a tiny piece of dress at her, telling her, “Just get the fuck outta here,” as she frowns at him.
“Fuck you.”
“Pass.”
She grumbles something before storming through the door, slamming it behind her.
“Later, bitch,” he shouts at the door, laughing.
I don’t know how T does it. Finds the craziest, nastiest bitch at the party and brings her home. Sick fucker.
“You done?” I ask, grabbing a chair from the small dinette and sitting down, ready to get down to business.
Pulling on a tee, he nods. “Yep.”
“The flowers came from Blooms, a town over. Tapped their security camera.”
Fingers steepled and head nodding, he’s not telling me shit I don’t already know. As much as I appreciate the help, this is all shit I’ve covered. “The fat fucker we had in the shed two nights ago walks in, spends about ten minutes in there ordering and leaves, right?”
Tyler narrows his eyes. “Why you wastin’ my time then if you know this shit already?”
“You see him pay with a credit card?” I toss back, arms crossed, staring at the laptop screen on the table in front of us.
“Yeah?” he answers slowly, the lightbulb striking. “You want me to hack their credit card transactions?” he asks, but he’s already on it.
“I would, but that technology isn’t my shit. I’m good at old-school trackin’, not this internet shit.”
“Could take a bit.”
“Fine. Just want it done.”
The name the fat fucker gave us provided nothing. Either made up or some sort of nickname, so the digging on the name was all for fucking nothing because I’m back to square fucking one.
T grabs the computer and starts banging on the keyboard, blowing through websites and shit. “I’m gonna assume you saw the car in the background, through the store window?” he asks, staring at the screen.
“Dark color. Some old four-door piece of shit.” It was black and white, grainy, so make and model weren’t decipherable, but also not that damn important. Could be the one the prospect saw outside of Samantha’s place the other night. His name is what’s important. Finding this motherfucker is what’s important.
He nods. “That’d be the one.”
I don’t know who this fucker is. Don’t know if he’s somebody or just some nobody with a connection to people with resources, but that’s what I’m about to find out.
Out back, we work through some shit, cracking codes and breeching systems until we find a name.
Juan Diaz.
“Name ring a bell?” I ask T.
Tyler shakes his head. “Nah. It’s Mexican, though.” He leans closer to the screen, his eyes going wide. “Oh fuck.”
“What?”
“Motherfucker just purchased more roses about fifteen minutes ago.”
My blood runs cold. “Fuck.” I’m out the door and in my truck in seconds. I can’t get to Samantha fast enough.