Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
She kneels in the mud without hesitation, sequins flashing in the rain, hat tipping forward until her face is shadowed. “Hey, boy,” she says softly. Her hand hovers an inch above his muzzle. He leans forward, sniffs once, then presses into her touch.
“Keep your fucking face out of his reach,” I snap.
She leans back and smiles at the beast. Even pale, even shaken, that kindness radiates off her like heat.
I keep my hand on his collar, ready to pull him back if he changes his mind. But he doesn’t. He pushes closer, ribs sharp under his coat, soaking her with rain as she strokes his head.
I let go. He doesn’t lunge. He stays right there with her.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get him out of here.”
Together, we guide him to my car. Great. It’s going to smell like wet dog now. He stumbles a little, weak from hunger, but keeps pace between us. When Ella opens the passenger side door and slides inside, tugging him toward her, he hesitates only a second before jumping in, curling on her lap like it’s the first safe place he’s had in months.
They’re too big for the space.
Her jacket drips across the seat, sparkle dull under the rain. Her face is still pale, eyes shadowed, but her shoulders loosen as she strokes the dog’s head. Then she reaches into her pocket and brings out a couple of plain burger patties wrapped in paper.
He scarfs them down as if he hasn’t eaten in days.
I close the door and walk around to the driver’s side to slip inside. The storm’s eased only slightly, rain steady on the windshield as the engine turns over. The wipers smear water into streaks as I pull onto the road, wanting to get out of this depressing neighborhood.
Ella leans against the dog, murmuring to him, her voice soft but sure. He presses closer, eyes half closed, his whole body trembling.
I glance at her, just once, then back to the road.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I say.
She looks up at me, surprise flickering through the pale mask of her face. “He would’ve died out there.”
“So?”
Her lips part, like she can’t believe I asked. “So I couldn’t leave him.”
I don’t answer right away. The tires hum over wet pavement, the storm muttering low against the roof. I flick another glance at her. Her hand never stops stroking the dog. Her face is still pale, but the shock has shifted—her focus is on the animal, not the body cooling in the kitchen we left behind.
“You always do this?” I ask finally.
“Do what?”
“Save strays.”
Her mouth curves in not quite a smile. “Somebody has to.”
The dog groans low in his chest, curling tighter against her. She murmurs something I can’t catch, her voice dropping into that same soft cadence that calmed him outside.
I grip the wheel tighter, jaw hard. Thirty minutes ago I’d seen her sparkling like a fool on a security feed. Now she’s sitting pale and stubborn in my passenger seat, a half-dead dog leaning on her like she’s his anchor. “What shelter do you want?”
She looks longingly at the dog. “Eastside. They’re a good one.”
I’m surprised she doesn’t try to keep him and then remember she’ll be on the run soon. She might have a softness for dogs, but her brain is always calculating.
The shelter’s not far. A low building on the edge of town, lights still burning in the storm. I pull into the lot, cut the engine, and sit for a moment, watching her stroke the dog’s head.
I study her profile, pale skin, damp curls clinging to her face under the cowboy hat. “I’ll take him in.”
Her bottom lip trembles.
Cold rage is easy. It burns clean, sharp, leaves no questions. What I feel looking at her—mud on her knees, sequins catching light even here, kindness bleeding out of her when it shouldn’t—that’s harder to name.
I kill when I need to. So does she. She nearly took Thorn away in a brutal and slow death. I have to remember that fact.
She lifts her head, her eyes filling. “Can we keep him?”
THIRTEEN
Ella
We slip into Malice Media’s private garage, and the air changes, becoming too still and cold. Shadows stretch long against the concrete, and inside them, men wait with guns half hidden. They don’t move, but I feel their eyes tracking me.
A shiver races up my arms before I can smother it. I clamp down on Leo’s leash, holding him close, grounding myself in his warm, solid weight. My dog. Mine. I still don’t understand why Justice let me keep him. He doesn’t strike me as a man who leaves anything to chance, especially not something alive, something that eats and breathes and requires attention. But here we are.
Leo pads beside me without a sound, big head swinging left and right. He doesn’t like the shadows either, though he doesn’t cower. I think he can feel the freedom that’s now his.