Page 58 of Their Tracked Obsession

“Me?” I tilted my head to the side and nodded at her. “Maybe this is a you problem.”

“Bouncer!” the waitress shrieked.

I winced at the awful sound she produced while she made a scene.

Fuck! The bitch had a voice box on her! She yelled like a wild banshee.

A big, tough-looking motherfucker came over. He wore a name tag that read Eddie and a butt-ugly scowl.

“Hey. How’s it hanging, Ed?” I asked him in a friendly manner.

Saint took the distraction as an opportunity to snatch the cell phone out of my hand.

I turned around to Saint.

“Don’t you dare go on—” A tap on my shoulder shut me up, and I spun around.

A fist flew at my face. I ducked. The bouncer’s punch landed in the palm of Saint’s hand.

“No one messes with my best friend but me,” Saint grunted through clenched teeth and twisted the bouncer’s hand backward until it cracked.

“Ah!” he cried out in pain and bent to one knee.

Ace came to help.

“Help! Someone—” The waitresses’ shout sounded muffled with Ace’s hand over her mouth.

“Now, now.” Ace tsked while he showed his gun tucked inside the waistband of his pants. “We don’t want any trouble. Can I remove my hand?”

The petrified waitress flared her nostrils while she nodded. Her eyes were locked on his gun until he let his suit jacket fall back into place. Their eyes met in an intense staring match.

Ace took his hand away. “Good.”

Ace turned to me. “Go. I know you don’t want to be here, cousin. I’ve got this covered.”

“Thanks, Ace.” I gave him a curt nod.

Saint let go of the bouncer and the dickhead fell to the ground. He cradled his injured wrist in agony.

“Here’s the cousin I’ve been waiting to meet! Nice to meet—” I placed a hand on Saint’s chest.

“Fist bump explosion,” I said.

“What?” Saint narrowed his eyebrows.

I sighed. “Just do it.”

Saint made a fist in the air, and my cousin did the same. No contact. Only expanding fingers.

Ace chuckled with a shake of his head. “You two are weird.”

“Yep.” I popped the P.

“Go on. Get outta here,” Ace said.

Ace fastened the only button on his jacket and ran a hand through his hair. He headed back to the blackjack table, where he fit right in with the deck of cards. Despite the stripper’s dance, he remained uninterested, revealing his intentions with a money chip flash. He was ready to gamble and was probably damn good at it, considering his family owned a casino.

I turned my attention back to the waitress, who appeared scared. Good. I wouldn’t have her any other way.