Bullet for my Sweetheart (14 Days of Love and Lust Bikers & Mobsters)

CHAPTER ONE

Ruby

“Who’s a good boy?” I give pets to our newest intake at the shelter. A senior German Shepherd who was brought in after his owner passed away. There weren’t any friends or family who were equipped to take him in or willing.

Nothing is more heartbreaking than their first day here. Their world has been turned upside down. A new environment and their owners are nowhere to be found. Strange people. Other animals. It can be so stressful for them.

I love my job, but it can take a mental toll. We can’t save them all, but we can damn sure try. I snap his picture for our website and our social media pages. The pay isn’t the greatest, but I get to cuddle lots of cute cats and dogs anytime I want.

Back at my desk, I type up a cute caption and schedule the post to go up on our pages first thing in the morning. I’m hoping one of our fosters will have a spot for him, so he isn’t living his last years in one of our kennels.

I’d take him myself, but my building has a strict policy on large-breed dogs.

Petey folds his paws over his nose before deciding to hide under my desk and my feet. He’s not bothering me, so I let him stay while I chase leads for possible homes for him. We always get requests for puppies and kittens, but it’s the older dogs like Petey who often get looked over.

I get it. Taking in a senior dog can be mentally taxing because they don’t have much time left and most have health issues, but not all. People want younger pets to spend the most time with them. I kick a shoe off and rub my foot along the dog’s back. He’s such a sweetheart.

“Petey, come.” Belinda, one of the evening shift workers, leads him back to his kennel for a meal.

I slip my shoe back on and close my browser tabs. Tomorrow the cycle starts over. There will be more calls asking if we’re taking cats again. We do what we can, but it never feels like enough. I grab my jacket off the back of my chair and make sure I’m not forgetting anything.

I grab some flyers for the spay and neuter clinic we are doing next week. We work closely with another clinic to do these free events. Thanks to one of our donors who is covering the costs.

“See you later,” I call out as Belinda comes back to the front with unshed tears glittering in her hazel eyes. I shoot her a sympathetic smile. As rewarding as our jobs are, they are equally, if not more, heartbreaking.

“He’s refusing to eat.”

“He will. You know how it goes.”

“Yeah. I just hate how sad he is.”

“I’ve got someone I’m going to call.”

She nods. “Get out of here. You should have been gone ten minutes ago.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” I grab the small bag of dry cat food I’m borrowing for the cats in the alley behind my apartment building.

I’m working on befriending them before trying to capture them.

They stand a better chance of adoption if they are tamed when they come in.

Sometimes, if the feral ones are lucky, we can trap and release them to farmers outside the city. They make excellent barn cats.

On my walk home, I drop some of the flyers off at various businesses that don’t mind sticking up an advertisement or two for us.

Snowflakes dust my shoulders and hair as I continue down the sidewalk.

The moon is up and the sun is long gone.

The glow of the streetlights washes over me as I hurry toward the alley behind my building to leave dinner for the newest stray and her kittens.

Spring is typically kitten season, but that doesn’t stop them from reproducing year-round.

I pull the bag from my purse and give it a shake as I crouch down next to the dumpster. “Psst. Psst,” I call out softly, keeping my voice low.

The momma cat pokes her head out from under the dumpster and hisses at me.

“Hello to you too, darling.”

I move back slightly so she won’t feel threatened and sprinkle some food out. The poor thing is starving. Her tiny teeth gnash against the food. Angry noise emitting from her chest. Her babies poke their heads out from under the dumpster but don’t dare to venture any closer. I count at least four.

The mommy cat keeps her ears perked up and flat like the wings of an airplane, her head moving like it is on a swivel, turning at every new sound.

“You’re such a good momma,” I tell her and hold out my gloved hand for her to sniff.

She turns her nose up at me, and I smile.

“I’m going to win you over eventually, you know?

” I dump out some extra food, wishing I had thought to grab a bowl from my apartment to give her some water.

I’ll bring one down in the morning on my way to work if she’s still here.

Mommy cats move their babies often, looking for a safer location than the last. I’m afraid this is about as safe as she will find until she learns to trust me.

“I’ll pay the bitch,” a male voice whines.

“Shut the fuck up,” another man growls, and my spine straightens.

This doesn’t sound like a conversation I want to be privy to, but if I make my presence known, I may be inviting trouble.

I stay rooted next to the dumpster. The foul scent of rotting garbage burns my nostrils and turns my stomach.

I keep my focus on the mother cat, afraid if I make any sudden movements, I will not only draw attention to myself, but I’ll get attacked.

Mother cats are vicious when it comes to protecting their young. They will fight to the death for their babies.

“You’re a real fucking piece of shit, you know that?”

“I didn’t touch her. I didn’t know she was one of yours.”

The men scuffle, and a loud grunt sounds, followed by a cough and a wheeze.

“I told you what would happen. Whatever you did to her, I’m about to make it a hundred times more painful for you.”

Curiosity grips me. I peer around the side of the dumpster.

The mother cat hisses but retreats to her hiding space.

Two dark figures are about ten feet away.

One man has the other pinned against the back of the opposite building.

The larger of the two, the aggressor, pulls something out of his coat pocket.

The gleam of his blade shines in the dim light of a pole light.

Sharp and ready to inflict damage. His arm swings back, then plunges forward into the gut of the other man.

I watch as he stabs the man once more, both curious and equally horrified.

I lose my balance in my crouched position and fall forward.

Pain slices through me as my palm lands on a piece of glass. My eyes bulge out of my head.

I don’t know which poses the greater threat. The glass digging into my skin, giving me not only a deep cut but possibly an infection, or the man wielding a knife.

I cry out as I pull the glass from my hand, exposing myself. I spring to my feet as the armed man’s steely gaze meets mine from under his hood.

Oh shit.

Time seems to stand still as we stare at each other.

Me—terrified.

Him…I’m not sure.

Then the bastard smiles at me.

His lips turning up like that of the Joker, the villain from Batman. Smug and entertained, his smile widens as he points the bloody tip of his knife at me, then brings it to his mouth as though he’s telling me to stay quiet.

Fight or flight kicks in. I do what any sane person would do. I throw the bag of cat food at him and run the other direction.

My heart pounds in my chest as I run down the dark and dangerous alleyway, dodging boxes and pallets.

I don’t stop or glance back until I’m inside my building.

I take a moment to catch my breath, then peer out at the front entrance. There’s no one following me. At least not that I can see.

Did that really just happen?

I should call the police, but what if that leads the bad guy to me? Or should I say bad guys?

Does minding my own business make me a terrible person? Or does it mean I’m being smart?

Their argument sounded like the other dude did something bad.

My pulse pounds against my temples as I take the stairs to my apartment two at a time. Every so often I peep back to be sure I’m not being followed.

My pulse races, pounding at my temples.

I stop on a landing and suck in a shuddering breath.

I stare at the empty staircase, listening for movement.

Why am I slightly disappointed that he didn’t pursue me?

There must be something fucking wrong with me.

It’s got to be the shock of what just happened.

Inside the safety of my apartment, I slide the deadbolt into place and let out a whoosh of air.

The violent scene of one man stabbing the other replays in my head as I go through the motions of kicking my boots off and hanging up my coat. I dump my purse on the small table that sits in the entryway of my apartment.

I’m scared to turn on any lights. Afraid I’ll draw the attention of the man in the alley. Is he down there now finishing the job? I creep toward my window in my kitchen that faces the alley. I steal a glance down below, but I can’t see anything or anyone. Maybe it appeared worse than it was.

Maybe the guy deserved it.

Those steely eyes flash in my head.

I’ve never seen eyes like that before.

Then there’s his smile.

Calculated and dangerous.

Menacingly sexy.

Why are bad guys always so damn hot?

In books. In movies. The bad guy is always attractive.

My cell phone chirps from my purse, and I nearly jump out of my skin.

I check my phone. It’s only a text for twenty percent off my next pizza.

My stomach rumbles at the thought of greasy, cheesy goodness.

A man was just stabbed, and I’m thinking about food and the eyes of the assailant. There’s definitely something wrong with me. My mother must have dropped me as a child, or my dad didn’t hug me enough.

I laugh to myself at the ridiculous thought.

I flip on the lamp in the living room and continue down the short hallway to my bathroom to clean my wound.

I bite my lip as the cut stings under the warm soap and water.

I’ve always been a big baby when it comes to the sight of blood. It’s a wonder I didn’t pass out on the spot back there in the alley.

I let out a breath and cover my palm with some antibiotic ointment and slap a bandage over it. It isn’t as deep a cut as I had imagined. It’s really barely a scratch.

I have a nightly routine. I come in from work and lay out my pajamas on my bed. Then I turn on some music and light some candles before I take a shower.

After I shower, I have dinner and watch TV or read.

Except tonight I can’t stop thinking about the man holding the knife. It all happened so fast, but those eyes stared straight through my soul. They weren’t angry. Not surprised. Curious.

Not that curious is any better than the other options.

I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling, unable to get those damn steel eyes and that smile out of my head.

And how they held such violence, and how I’ve never seen anything more utterly terrifying or beautiful.

The ringing of my alarm clock blares in my ears.

I don’t know when I dozed off, but I slept like crap.

I kept imagining different scenarios involving the dangerous man from the alley.

Thoughts of him hunting me down and breaking into my apartment.

I should have reported it, but truthfully I live in a bad neighborhood and by the time the cops respond, most people are long gone.

I’m just glad some cat food is all I lost.

Whoever that other dude was may have lost his life.

I flip on the TV in the living room to listen to the morning news while I stick a pod in my coffee maker.

“Live on the scene now is our own Monica Jacobs. Tell us, Monica, do the police have a suspect in custody?”

“Sources say the victim was attacked in what they suspect is related to organized crime. The victim has ties to the notorious Medici Crime Family. The victim has been transported to Mercy General. Their condition is unknown at this time.”

“Thanks, Monica. Up next, Steve Bailey brings you the latest on the potential for ice and what you need to do to prepare in case of power outages.”

I click the TV off and grab my pink mug with ghosts painted on the front, and blow over the brim before taking a drink. I glance down at the alley behind my building, seeing the news van parked at the end. Everything looks different in daylight.

I was going to take that momma cat some water, but it will have to wait until tonight when there’s not so many people lurking around the alley.

Since I didn’t shower last night, I’m going to be late for work.

“There you are. I’ve been worried to death,” Haven jumps down my throat as soon as I walk through the door.

“Good morning to you too.”

“I saw your building on the news. A guy was murdered in your alley. Did you hear or see anything?”

“No, and how do you know it was murder?”

“He cut the guy’s dick off and shoved it down his throat.”

My throat goes dry, my eyes bug out as I stare at her, trying to process the words that just left her mouth. I think back to the alley. The heated words being exchanged.

“I didn’t touch her…”

“Hello.” Haven waves a palm across my face.

I blink. “Sorry. I had a disturbing visual.” I grimace. “Where did you hear that?”

“Alex stopped by about twenty minutes ago.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course he did.”

“He worries about you. It’s kind of sweet.”

“It wasn’t very sweet when he was screwing Elaine behind my back.”

“Right.” she purses her lips.

“I was planning on calling him, though.”

“Oh…”

“Petey. I thought maybe he’d know someone on the force who might need a companion.”

“Smart.” She grins.

“This is only about the dog.”

“Whatever you say.” She smiles bigger.

“Ugh.” I wouldn’t take Alex back if he were the last man on Earth.