Chapter 4
SANDRA
My alarm clock is a cold, wet nose in the side of my neck. “Ah! What—?”
Junkyard’s chin is resting on the couch, her amber eyes staring straight at me.
I’m curled up under a blanket in the break room.
Our empty take-out containers are on the counter of the kitchenette, but Piston is nowhere to be found.
I remember taking her out to do her business before our food came last night, and dozing with my head on the pillow and my toes tucked under his thigh while the sports announcers lulled me to sleep.
What time is it? I swipe for my phone, knocking it onto the floor first with sleep clumsy hands.
Crap. It’s already half an hour after I should be feeding the dogs and getting their kennels cleaned out, but my mouth feels like it has wall to wall carpeting and I could really use a shower, not to mention a change of clothes.
Junkyard whines, her tail hanging low and swishing impatiently.
“Ok, ok. It’s not your fault. Food and potty time, I get it.
” She follows close behind as I roll off the couch and head towards the kennels.
Her ears go back at the sound of barking on the other side of the door.
“Don’t worry. I know the first day at a new place is scary, but you’ll make friends in no time.
As much fun as it’s been to hang out, you can’t just run around loose all day.
The other dogs will get jealous, and I can’t be here twenty-four seven. ”
“Oh, hey! You’re awake.” Carl is already in place, doing the morning feeding routine when I open the door.
“Wait. If you’re here already, why didn’t you wake me up?”
He flushes. “Sorry, but your boyfriend told me to let you sleep.”
Detch Canine Rescue is a small operation.
Travis Jones, the owner; me, the only full time employee and general do-everything girl, and a few volunteers.
Carl is the most consistent, and he’s the only one that’s sticking around for the summer so we’re paying him as a part-timer until classes start back up again.
He’s a few years younger than me, studying architecture and landscape design.
His passions are zoo enclosures, habitat design, indie rock, and cornering anyone who’s willing to talk to him about any of that.
“Boyfriend? You mean Piston? He’s not my boyfriend.”
“If you say so.” Carl adjusts his glasses nervously. “All I know is that it felt more like an order than a suggestion. I want to live so I didn’t exactly ask a lot of questions. He said to tell you he’d be back later.”
“If you want to live?” I stare at him, waiting for the laugh but it doesn’t come. “Oh, come on. He’s not scary.”
Carl’s jaw drops. “He was armed, Sandra! I saw it when he put his gang jacket on.”
“It’s an MC.”
“What?”
“He’s in the Screaming Eagles. You’re from here. You know who they are.”
“Uh, yeah. Exactly. The guys who took out the mayor and like, crashed a plane last year. My parents are already freaked out that this place is so close to where they hang out.” Carl ducks his head behind Bigfoot, a giant fluffy black mutt who’s been here for two weeks and is convinced he’s really a lapdog.
When he puts it like that… I grit my teeth and grab supplies to get Junkyard’s kennel set up. “Fine, whatever. They’re bad scary men, I guess. Is that why you left me to do the intake last night on my own?”
All the dogs get a freshly washed bed, food and water bowls, and a few toys to start with. Junkyard’s a little skeptical when she follows me in, giving everything a good sniff, but any complaints are temporarily forgotten when I pour kibble in her bowl and she starts chowing down.
He manages to look a little guilty. “Sorry about that. I freaked out a little.”
“I’ll forgive you on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You finish the kennel cleaning, and keep an eye on the new stray, okay? Her name’s Junkyard. If Travis calls, tell him I borrowed the van and I’ll be back as soon as I can. I want to run home and get changed.”
"Of course. Go make yourself human. I'll make sure she settles in." He nods his head towards Junkyard's kennel. He might be a scaredy-cat, but he’s really good with the dogs. In that I can trust him.
"And could you try not to freak out if more bikers show up, okay?"
Days like this make me wish I had my own car. I’m lucky that there’s a halfway decent bus line near the rescue, but it only comes once an hour. I go out the side, and when I come around the front of the building, I spot a man with a mustache leaning against the wall next to the door, smoking.
“We open in about ten minutes. Do you need help with something?” I ask.
He looks up and drops the butt of his cigarette, mashing it into the parking lot with his dirty sneaker.
His jeans hang loose, but his t-shirt is stretched over a beer belly.
Beady eyes glance at the front of my shirt where the rescue logo is, and linger there a little longer than I like. “You work here?”
“Yeah, it’s me and a co-worker today.”
“Travis?”
It’s not unusual for people to come looking for my boss, but usually it’s for something business related.
“No. He’s not usually here on Tuesdays. Do you want me to take a message, or can I help you, maybe?
” I put on my customer service voice, trying to sound as friendly as possible while actually hoping he says no and comes back later because there’s just something off about the guy.
“I’m looking for a dog.”
No dogs here, is what I want to say, but I paste on a smile. “Are you thinking about adopting?”
“What? No. I had a bitch get loose a couple days ago and I heard some assholes found a dog last night.” He mutters something about purple haired freaks.
I run a hand through my hair, just to annoy him, but keep my expression neutral. Time to play dumb. “Oh, sorry. I haven’t been in yet. Do you have a picture?”
“Why the fuck would I have a picture? She’s a fucking dog. Brown with some white bits. Kinda wimpy. I tagged her ear, should be fucking obvious.” He looks one more question away from taking a swing at me, but grabs the front of my shirt instead.
I can’t help flinching, but I stare straight into his eyes and wait. It wasn’t a lie when I told Piston and the others that we can’t steal people’s dogs just because we don’t like them. Maybe I can’t save her in the long run, but I can buy her some time.
In the distance, I hear motorcycles and smile. “Was she wearing a collar? What’s her name?”
"Are you fucking with me?"
Beast, Zero and Piston pull into our little parking lot. The guy’s hand pulls tighter, pulling me closer as they glide to a stop.
Zero is the first to put down his kickstand and dismount with a smooth swing of his leg. “Is there a problem here?” There’s just a hint of growl in his dark voice. An edge that says he’s half hoping the answer is yes.
Maybe my danger meter really is messed up, because I like it.
"She stole my fucking dog."
Piston’s eyes are fixed on the spot where the guy is holding me. “Let her go.”
“Or what?” The guy seems to start to realize what he might be up against, but he’s not backing down. Maybe he has a death wish.
Beast, who was so polite and concerned last night, is the first to step forward, but Zero and Piston are right behind him. “Or we’ll fucking make you.”
"You pussies wouldn’t d—"
That's about as far as he gets before Zero’s arm goes around my waist, pulling me backwards as Beast grabs the front of the guy’s shirt in both fists and slings him into the wall.