Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
Bonnie
“Listen, sir, I am going to need you to calm down,” I said in an oh-so-serious voice. “This problem is not going to get solved by being difficult,” I went on. “No, no. I don’t care how much you grumble. The rules are the rules. And if you don’t behave, I am going to need to hang you up,” I told him, pointing over toward the doorway where the blue hammock was hanging. “And we both know how much you hate the nail trim hammock, Mr. Butters.”
“Woooo,” Mr. Butters whined, snatching his paw back from me.
“Listen, I know it’s scary. But you have to be a big, brave boy,” I cooed at him, pulling his golden paw back out. “That’s a good boy,” I told him as I finally got a nail snipped. “Oh, you’re the goodest little fluff-face, yes, you are. See? I told you it wasn’t so bad. I think the dryer is much scarier than the nail trim. And you already got through that.”
“I think that is the most I’ve ever heard you speak,” Courtney, my boss, said as she leaned in the doorway, the whole front of her black apron covered in various types of fur.
Mine looked the same. Plus a lot of wetness from Mr. Butters’s bath. When I first started, I used to frantically tape roll my apron between clients. It was funny how quickly that went out the window. I was pretty sure I swallowed half a pound of fur a shift these days.
And yet, it was the happiest I’d ever been.
Lots of dogs. Very few humans. What was not to love?
“Oh, sorry. Is his mom waiting?” I asked, snipping another two nails as he was distracted by waggling at Courtney.
“No, not yet. She’s probably getting him some whipped cream at the coffee place,” Courtney said, coming closer. “Yes, I know. You love your whipped cream,” she cooed at Mr. Butters. “Girl, get that last foot quick.”
Happy for the assist, I finished Mr. Butters’s nails in record time before reaching for his tie-dye bandana and putting it on him.
“Yes, I love you too, buddy,” I said as he licked my cheek.
“I’ve never met a Golden who wasn’t the sweetest thing on planet Earth,” Courtney said as we both lifted him down off the grooming station.
“I’ve never met a single dog I haven’t fallen completely in love with,” I admitted as I gave Mr. Butters a small treat.
“I noticed,” Courtney agreed, reaching up to tighten her ponytail full of long chestnut hair. “They all love you right back.”
“Except Glinda.”
Glinda was a two-hundred-pound pure black Great Dane who was too big for any of our washing stations and needed to be bathed inside a walk-in shower meant for employees. That was something Courtney said she’d had installed half a year into owning the place, along with a wardrobe cabinet full of fresh clothes because she said she was a little tired of leaving work smelling like wet dog.
I was pretty sure she only felt that way because Courtney, unlike me, was a bit of a social butterfly and left work to go see friends more often than not.
I left work to grab drive-up groceries to avoid having to brave a busy grocery store, then went home to my empty apartment where no one was around to care what I smelled like.
Not even, as much as it broke my heart to admit, another dog, since my stupid apartment building didn’t allow animals.
“Well, to be fair, Glinda doesn’t even really like her owner very much,” Courtney said, shrugging. “She’s a big scaredy cat who knows how to use her significant body weight to her advantage. I take a shower each time I shower her. And she has to go to the vet to be sedated to get her nails trimmed.”
“Her brother is a sweetie pie, though.”
“Funnily enough, he doesn’t care for me. Okay. So, that’s it for today.”
“You finished Spinelli already?” I asked, thinking of how long it took to de-shed a husky.
“Yep. He went home five minutes ago. Just in time. Gotta clean up, and then I need to shower and dress for my date.”
“If you want, you can head out early,” I offered.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that.”
“Sure you can. I don’t have anywhere to be. And I kind of like cleaning up. I’ve got this.”
“Have I mentioned how happy I am that I hired you?” she asked.
“Not in the past half an hour.”
“Well, I am. Even if I know I should probably feel guilty about it.”
“Guilty? Why?”
“Because humans need human relationships. And working here lets you hide from them all day long.”
“There’s nothing to feel guilty about. This is my happy place.”
“And I love that. Really, I do,” Courtney said. “But, also, please… go out and see people on occasion.”
“Does my weekly trip to the craft store count?” I asked, getting her to roll her brown eyes.
“No, no, it does not. Unless you meet some super fine man who fucks you silly in the yarn aisle or something. Okay. You’re the best. I love you for this. Wish me luck.”
“Luck with what?”
“Getting fucked in the yarn aisle,” she said with a silly little chest wiggle before rushing out.
Alone, I handed Mr. Butters off to his mom—who had a cup of whipped cream in hand—then went through the motions of scrubbing the place from top to bottom.
Honestly, I was happy to be busy.
Because as much as I did truly enjoy my quiet little life, I also wasn’t immune to the occasional feelings of missing out. Especially since starting to work at the Fur Seasons Spa and around my very social boss.
I understood we were completely different people, but I couldn’t help but wonder what it must be like to have her massive, ever-changing group of friends who dragged her to everything from wine and painting nights to weekend getaways. Or, of course, the revolving door of men who were practically tripping over themselves—and sometimes each other!—for her attention.
It was fantasy, of course.
I imagined myself in Courtney’s shoes the same way I’d imagine myself in the shoes of some action chick in a movie or the human girl in a book that some sexy fae guy was all head over heels for.
I didn’t actually want it.
Well, okay. I wouldn’t exactly, you know, mind hot guys falling all over themselves for me. Or even just… one guy.
I liked my quiet, cozy little life: nights at home, making lovely meals, reading books, doing crafts, curling up on the couch to watch movies. But I wouldn’t be opposed to having someone there with me.
I’d been so damn alone for so long.
I’d finally been strong enough to go no-contact with my toxic family two years before. And I hadn’t had any sort of serious relationship in, geez, three years.
Fine.
To be honest, I hadn’t had any sort of relationship—serious or not—in three years.
I wouldn’t mind finding someone nice and quiet like me. Someone who had his own hobbies—gaming, reading, building stuff, whatever—so we could just hang out near each other while doing our own activities. ‘Parallel play,’ I heard it called.
But, well, I guess those quiet guys were likely all holed up in their own apartments doing their hobbies like I was, so meeting them seemed unlikely.
So if I wasn’t going to be able to meet some dreamy guy, then I needed to move to a new apartment and get myself a dog friend—or three—to hang out with.
Luckily, this gig paid a lot better than my last job, so I was maybe only six months away from being able to not renew my lease and find a better place.
Then I could stop window-shopping the dog rescue pages on social media and actually put in my own application. It could only work in my favor that I could bring my dog with me to work.
I scrubbed the utility sink, glancing up at myself in the mirror that had little dog paws etched on one of the corners.
My white-blonde hair was pulled into a clip to keep it out of the way, but a few wisps had fallen down around my face, which was a little red and splotchy from cleaning.
My mascara was smudged around my gray eyes. Courtney had mentioned several times before that I shouldn’t bother with makeup on the job. But Courtney had nice thick, dark lashes. My natural lashes were a light shade of brown that kind of disappeared if I didn’t darken them a bit. The same went for my brows that I tinted every few weeks.
I used a wet finger to rub some of it away before tossing my apron into the hamper to wash in the morning, grabbing my thick cardigan—that I may or may not have crocheted myself—and heading toward the front.
I double-checked the lights and security system before making my way out into the lot.
The sole light in the back had burned out, and I tried not to let my mind run away with me as I made my way toward my beat-up old sedan, bleeping the locks at the last possible second.
In the end, though, that precaution proved kind of pointless.
Because I was already in my seat, stabbing my key into the ignition when the door whipped open.
I couldn’t even scream before the blow landed to my head.
But I was out cold before I could even feel any pain.
__
“Ow,” I whimpered, the pain a bass band behind my eyes, the disorientation making it hard, at first, to remember what was going on, why I was in pain.
“I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” a voice said as I lifted my arms, wanting to press the heels of my hands to my eyes.
My belly dropped to my feet.
I didn’t know that voice.
But I knew that whoever it belonged to, I wasn’t supposed to be around him.
No, I was supposed to be at work.
No, I was supposed to be leaving. I’d finished cleaning up and was walking out, noticing the light off.
Then I was climbing in the car, sticking my key in the ignition, and…
My eyes shot open, ignoring the pain screaming in my head. From the blow I’d taken to the head.
Wherever I was, it was dark. I blinked, trying to adjust to the low light, but all there were shadows all around, closing in, swallowing up all of the air, making my throat…
No.
No, I had to focus.
This was not the time for a panic attack.
I mean, it was . But it wasn’t a time when I could afford to lose myself to it.
I had to focus.
I had to figure out where I was.
Why I was there.
What this man wanted from me.
You know what he wants , that awful little voice whispered in the back of my mind.
I wasn’t one of the girls who could consume endless true crime content. The more I watched, the more my pulse would pound and my mind would race. Until I was in a full-blown anxiety spiral.
That said, I was informed enough to know that there was basically only one reason a strange man wanted to grab you and take you.
“Uh-uh,” he said as I lifted my arms again, ready to defend myself if necessary. “You might want to rethink all that moving around,” the voice said.
Then, suddenly, a light was flashing on, temporarily blinding me with its brightness. The pain behind my eyes intensified as my heartbeat thundered in my chest, neck, wrists…
Breathe.
I needed to breathe.
Calm down.
Focus.
I swallowed past the lump in my throat and blinked until my eyes adjusted.
It was a simple exposed bulb hanging down from a ceiling, illuminating the cinderblock walls and cement floors that were splashed here and there with different colored paint.
Okay.
A basement.
I was in a basement.
That was— scary, horrible, challenging —good to know.
Basements often had interior and exterior exits.
And, hey, even those tiny little windows, even if I wasn’t sure I could wedge my body through one of them.
It wasn’t hopeless. I could still get away.
I could see my attacker, standing several feet away, still somewhat in shadow. Not that it would matter even if I could see him fully. He was not only decked out in black but wearing a ski mask and gloves.
That was… good, right?
Mask and gloves meant he didn’t want to be seen. If I saw his face, that was the scary part. Because he didn’t care if I could identify him. Because he was probably going to kill me.
A disguise, I forced myself to think, was a positive thing.
I was sitting on a chair but was shocked to remember that I’d been able to lift my hands.
I wasn’t cuffed or chained or anything.
But he said I didn’t want to move around.
Why wouldn’t…
But then I looked down.
“Oh, God,” I gasped.
Gone was my big, chunky, handmade cardigan.
In its place was a vest of some sort.
But not just any vest.
Oh, no.
A vest covered in… explosives?
Right?
That’s what it had to be. There were little blocks all connected with yellow wires.
I’d seen enough movies to know an explosive vest when I saw one.
When I was wearing one.
“No. No no no no no,” I whimpered, my hands automatically going toward the bottom of the vest, wanting to rip it off, to toss it away, to run for my life.
“That’s not very smart,” the voice called. “I’d really hate to blow you up before you deliver my message.”
“What… message?” I asked, feeling like someone was closing their hands around my throat, squeezing.
“Spoilers,” he said, dragging the s out.
“What do you want with me? I’m… nobody,” I said, sniffling hard, trying to rationalize with the tears flooding my eyes.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Bonnie Lou Clewski,” the man said, making my stomach slosh around.
How did he know who I was?
“What do you want?”
“For you to deliver a message,” he said, moving closer.
Close enough for me to see that there was something in his gloved hand. Something he was pressing his finger firmly against.
Was that a trigger?
It had to be.
The kind where, if his finger moved, the bomb went off.
So I couldn’t try to rush him, attack him, run away. All he would need to do was lift his thumb, and the bomb would go off.
I would… blow up.
I hated the whimper that escaped me, but there was no stopping it.
How was this real life?
Who got a bomb strapped to their chest? Outside of war zones or spy movies?
“Who do I need to send a message to?” I asked, my voice a little squeak.
“Sully.”