Defensive Line (The Unlovabulls #1)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The Fighters

Lily

Finding the dirt road off the main road was the hardest part. It was well hidden. But a good way in, the overgrowth gave way to fenced pasture down each side and the dirt turned into pavement.

We were lucky to have a nearly full moon. Brody killed his headlights.

Trees cropped up sporadically, then got thicker the further we went. The structure, if you could call it that, was an older metal building hemmed in on three sides by brush and trees, with a pasture on the fourth. It resembled something you’d see in a bad horror movie and yell at the dumbasses on the screen not to go inside. And guess what we were about to do.

Twenty-five yards from the front, a padlocked gate blocked the road and Brody pulled to a stop.

We moved quickly and quietly, climbing the gate.

But something was wrong. My heart dropped before we ever made it inside.

“There’s no barking, Brody. No noise.”

He took my hand. “Yeah, I noticed.”

The two garage-style doors on the front had rusted handles. He gave one a try, then the other, but neither would budge.

“There may be another door,” I said, and we traipsed through the pasture hoping to find another way in. The uniform windows we found, one of which was partially broken, were covered in dirt. They bracketed a back door. “There. Look.”

His eyes followed my finger to the jagged shards.

“In for a penny,” he said, and walked to the edge of the trees, came back with a branch, and broke a good part of the window out.

We were in the middle of the property and at two a.m. there was nobody around to hear, but I shushed him anyway. Pulling off his shirt, he threw it over the broken glass and made the precarious climb through the window.

I stood there trying to watch every which way for any indication we’d drawn attention, but all I heard was a couple of cattle mooing in the distance.

A light inside came on and I wanted to scream at the man. I settled for a whisper-yell. “Brody, turn the light off!” Then the door popped open and there he stood, pulling his T-shirt on, which now had a few holes. His face was a mask of anger. “The dogs are gone, but they were here.”

The smell hit me. A mixture of piss and shit, vomit and illness. It took everything I had not to retch when I stepped inside. “No. No, no, no. Please, no. Goddamn it.”

They’d been busy.

Empty shelves big enough to hold medium-sized and smaller kennels lined the perimeter of the building. The space underneath the shelving was big enough for large and extra-large. Walking to one shelf, I found where a puddle had soaked into the wood, recently. Dabbing my finger in it, I held it to my nose and the tears fell. “It’s urine.”

“Yeah.” I turned to find Brody squatted on the ground underneath the shelving. “There’s poop on the wall over here. Look around to see if you can find fur or food or anything.”

I studied the shelves. At the back, in the crack, black muck stuck to the wall. I pulled over a milk crate and flipped it over, stepping on top. The muck was a mixture of fur and poop and God knew what else.

That’s when I lost it. I stepped off the crate as a quiet sob racked my chest. They’d been here until very recently, probably earlier today.

And we’d missed them. We’d waited too long and missed them. I could have done this. Came out here while Brody was at camp and gotten everything I needed. Last night, while I was safe in his bed, they were here. Waiting. My legs started to wobble, and tears streamed down my face.

“All this...” I turned in a circle, letting my eyes follow the shelving. “So many dogs, Brody. So many...and they’re gone. What if they’ve been dumped like Mack?” I tried to swallow the knot in my throat. “Or worse?” I couldn’t even allow myself to give voice to the meaning that implied.

If I’d just gotten here sooner. If I hadn’t promised to wait.

I’d never felt so beaten, so absolutely desolate in my life. Despair was a monster in my abdomen clawing up my chest cavity, creating wound after wound.

I’d failed them. Again.

I ran to the door and vomited my despair. My rage for the monsters who did this to these poor dogs. My self-loathing for my failure.

There was no air-conditioning or heating in the building. I could just imagine dogs crammed into a metal building in the Texas heat, one on top of the other, and lucky if they were only one to a kennel. Most kennels would have several.

Females bred every time they came into heat for the entirety of their lives, only to have their babies ripped from them way too young.

Dogs that had never touched grass, never smelled freedom, had never known a kind touch. I wasn’t so sure death was the worst fate. At least it would’ve brought them peace.

But the cycle would start again with new dogs, in a new location.

Brody pulled me into his arms. “Shhh. We’re gonna find them, Lily, I promise. They won’t destroy their investment that easily. They likely moved them elsewhere.”

That was probably true, but... “Is that really the better fate, Brody? Look at this place.”

“It is. Because we’re going to find them.” With both hands, he framed my jaw. “And they will know love and safety and care in their lives because we won’t quit on them. We can’t. They need us. They’ll just have to wait a little longer, is all.”

I let myself drift back to watching CC interact with Brody the first time. The first time Mack had asked me to play. The expression on a dog’s face when it found its very own person.

I hated this feeling. It was heartbreaking, and for every ten times I felt this heartbreak, the one time we won, and a dog went to a good home or made a breakthrough or learned to trust again... That feeling would always outweigh this heartbreak.

Always. No, I’d never give up on them.

There was another problem. A big one. This wasn’t some small operation that only supplied local pet shops. The bay doors. The heavy truck tires that rutted the sides of the road. “This is... It’s big. More than a hundred dogs, maybe. They’re not only supplying to local shops and selling online. This mill could have a pipeline with brokers selling all over the place.”

Even if we managed to find the dogs again, there were way more involved than I was prepared to handle with my connections. Even if local shelters and rescues could take on that many dogs—which wasn’t likely—these were bully breeds. They were going to be very under-socialized dogs that didn’t trust humans. Rescues wouldn’t adopt out a dog that might bite. How many of them would have to be destroyed because they weren’t trustworthy around humans through no fault of their own? Even at a no-kill shelter, they’d be cared for, healthy, but just trading one cage for another.

I wiped at my tears.

I had no idea how to handle a mill this size.

“We need to get out of here. Let me get some pictures.”

I was in over my head.

“Lil.”

“Huh?”

Brody kicked dust and grass over my puke pile. “We have to go, darlin’.”

That’s when I heard the saddest whine. So small and hoarse. Both of our eyes widened. “Did you hear it?”

“Yep.” Within a fraction of a second, Brody moved inside to a pile of milk crates and wooden pallets. Bending down, he slipped his arm behind the pile.

“Brody, it could be rats.”

“Nope.” The most desperate little squeal prickled the air as he pulled his arm back and cradled something to his chest.

A tiny brown bulldog puppy, maybe four or five weeks old. “Ohmygod.”

It wasn’t much bigger than the hand holding it. “Shhh, buddy. It’s okay. Shhh,” Brody whispered, trying to soothe a baby calling for its mama.

Fresh tears tracked down my cheeks as I stroked the puppy’s head. Its own little eyes were crusted over with god knew what. With extra care, I pulled the skin on its back away—it didn’t snap back. The pup was badly dehydrated. As gently as possible, I lifted its lip to check the color of its gums and found them pink with tiny milk teeth, but not as hearty as they should have been. “We need to get it to a vet.”

Brody passed me the pup. “You head back to the truck. I’ll close this up.”

After carefully crawling over the gate, I wrapped the pup in a shirt from Brody’s back seat and settled him on my lap. No, they wouldn’t kill their cash cow.

Watching the little pup wiggle, I knew I couldn’t give up. If I had to start all over again, that’s what I’d do. These dogs deserved justice.

Not every aggressive dog could be rehabilitated, but I was damn good at what I did, and confident that I could train quite a few dogs that other agencies might put down for being aggressive.

What I needed was my own place. A rescue to house the dogs that would be deemed unadoptable elsewhere. Dogs like CC and Mack that took more than a regular rescue could handle. If I had to work with them one at a time, that’s what I’d do. I knew if I told Rob, he’d volunteer to help me. So would the other animal behaviorists I knew.

The problem would be feeding, housing, supplies and medical costs. Money.

Little dude wiggled in my lap. “Shh. It’s okay, baby. We’re going to get you patched up.”

The door opened, and Brody slid in, but I kept comforting the pup. “And when you’re old enough, we’ll find you the bestest home ever. Then we’re going to find your mama and get her patched up, too.”

“How is he?”

“Weak, but she’s a fighter.”

“Let’s get her to the vet, then.” Exhausted, the little pup settled into the blanket and fell asleep as Brody turned and left the way we came.

We got the baby into Dr. Avalos’s care and made it back to my house physically and emotionally exhausted.

As overcrowded as my queen-sized bed was with dogs and a hulking man, when Brody slipped in and slid his arms around me, there was no place I would have rather been.

Tomorrow, I needed to start making calls, do some research into other organizations, but for tonight I’d sleep in this amazing man’s arms. The one who wanted to make sure I knew I could depend on him. Who’d told Dr. Avalos he was paying for all of the bulldog’s vet bills.

I was completely in love with him. Unequivocally.

Tonight, there was just Brody, and sleep.

I’d save the tough stuff for tomorrow.