Chapter Nine
By day three, Penny had become the compound's unofficial animal wrangler.
It started with a hot spot.
One of the brothers—a massive man called Tailwater who looked like he could bench-press a truck—showed up at her cabin with a hound dog under his arm and panic in his eyes.
"He keeps scratching," Tailwater said, holding the dog out like an offering. "Won't stop. I tried that spray from the feed store and it made it worse."
Penny took the hound, turned him over, and found a raw, weeping patch behind his left ear. Classic hot spot—probably started from a flea bite, made worse by obsessive licking.
"You got any clippers?" she asked.
Twenty minutes later, the hot spot was shaved, cleaned, and treated with the medicated ointment she'd packed in her emergency kit. The hound—whose name was apparently Boudreaux—was already calmer, the frantic scratching replaced by sleepy contentment.
Tailwater looked at her like she'd performed a miracle.
"How much do I owe you?"
"Nothing." She handed the dog back. "Just keep him from licking it. Cone of shame if you have one."
Word spread fast.
By noon, she'd treated a prospect's pit bull for an ear infection, shown another brother how to properly trim nails without causing bleeding, and diagnosed a suspicious limp in one of the compound dogs as nothing more than a thorn stuck between toes.
Her rescue dogs took to compound life like they'd been born to it.
Professor claimed the sunny spot on the lodge porch and held court there, accepting belly rubs from anyone who passed.
Ginger found purpose in her self-appointed role as the cabin's guardian, patrolling the perimeter with intense focus.
Waffle stayed glued to Penny's ankle, which meant Waffle went everywhere she went.
Including to watch Eddy.
She couldn't help it. Every time she looked toward the water, he was there—sitting on the dock, standing at the tree line, moving through the compound with that unsettling stillness that made her heart rate spike.
River was always with him. The shepherd stayed closer to Eddy than any animal Penny had ever seen—not anxious-close, not needy-close, but bonded in a way that spoke of complete trust. Where Eddy went, River went. When Eddy stopped, River stopped. They moved like two parts of the same creature.
She'd worked with dogs her whole adult life. She knew what that kind of bond looked like.
It only happened when both parties had been through something together. Something that forged them into a unit.
What happened to you? she wondered, watching Eddy watch the water. What made you and that dog so inseparable?
She didn't ask. Wasn't sure she was ready for the answer.
The afternoon brought more animals and more brothers.
A grizzled older man named Proof—the one who'd set up the cabin, she learned—brought her his aging beagle for a general checkup. "She's been slow lately," he said, worry creasing his weathered face. "Not eating like she used to."
Penny examined the dog carefully, checking teeth and gums and joints. "How old is she?"
"Twelve. Maybe thirteen. Got her from a shelter, so nobody knows for sure."
"She's got some arthritis starting in her hips.
Probably makes her uncomfortable, which affects her appetite.
" Penny rubbed the beagle's ears, earning a grateful tail wag.
"I can show you some exercises that'll help with mobility.
And maybe try warming her food a little—sometimes older dogs prefer it that way. "
Proof nodded, taking mental notes. "You're good at this."
"It's what I do." She handed the beagle back. "Or what I did. Before..."
She didn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to.
"You'll do it again," Proof said with quiet certainty. "Whatever they broke, it gets rebuilt. That's how it works around here."
He left before she could respond, and Penny stood in the middle of the compound with his words echoing in her head.
Whatever they broke, it gets rebuilt.
She wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe that Pampered Paws could rise from the ashes, that her waitlist of loyal clients would still be there when she reopened, that everything she'd built hadn't been destroyed beyond repair.
But every time she thought about the future, she saw Biscuit's body on the concrete.
Saw the note: Next time it's not a dog.
Late afternoon, she found herself on the dock.
Not Eddy's dock—a different one, smaller, tucked into a quiet cove away from the main compound. She'd discovered it during Ginger's patrol rounds, a weathered wooden platform barely big enough for two people, half-hidden by overhanging willows.
She sat at the edge with her feet dangling over the water, Waffle in her lap, watching the light change on the lake.
Three days. She'd been here three days, and already the compound was starting to feel familiar. The rhythm of it—bikes coming and going, brothers gathering at the lodge, the smell of Maggie's barbecue drifting across the property—had started to seep into her bones.
It felt like belonging. Which was dangerous, because she didn't belong here. She was a guest. A refugee. Someone else's problem until the threat passed.
Her phone buzzed.
Mom.
Penny's heart lurched. She fumbled the phone, nearly dropped it in the lake, caught it with shaking hands.
"Mom?"
"Penny." Her mother's voice was barely a whisper. "Baby, I can't—I only have a minute—"
"Where are you? Are you okay? I've been trying to call—"
"He took my phone. I found it while he's out but I don't know how long—" Linda's voice cracked. "Baby, I'm so scared. He knows about the bikers. Knows about what happened at the cabin. He's been—"
The sound of a door slamming. Linda gasped.
"Mom?"
"I have to go. I love you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"
The line went dead.
Penny stared at the phone in her hand. The screen showed the call had lasted forty-seven seconds.
Forty-seven seconds of her mother's terror, and then nothing.
She tried calling back. Straight to voicemail.
Again. Voicemail.
Again. Again. Again.
Nothing.
The lake blurred in front of her. She was crying, she realized distantly. Tears streaming down her face while Waffle whined and licked her chin.
Her mother was trapped with a monster, and there wasn't a damn thing Penny could do about it.
Eventually, she made her way back to the cabin.
The compound had gone quiet—dinner hour, probably, everyone gathered at the lodge. She sat on her porch instead of going inside, Waffle curled in her lap, staring at her phone like she could will it to ring.
It didn't.
The light faded. Gold to orange to pink. Her tears had dried, leaving her face tight and salty. The compound sounds drifted across the property—laughter from the lodge, the clink of bottles, someone's radio playing country music.
Normal life. Going on around her while her mother was trapped with a monster.
Footsteps on the gravel path.
She didn't look up. Didn't need to.
Eddy climbed the porch steps and sat down beside her. Not touching, but close. River settled at his feet with a heavy sigh.
He didn't say anything.
Neither did she.
The silence stretched between them—not awkward, not demanding. Just present. Two people sitting with weight they couldn't carry alone.
Penny kept staring at her phone. Eddy kept staring at the water.
At some point, his hand moved from his knee to the space between them. Palm up. Open.
An offering she didn't have to take.
She took it anyway.
His fingers closed around hers, warm and solid, and he still didn't speak. Didn't ask what happened. Didn't try to fix it.
Just sat with her while the night came down around them.
Her mother was trapped. Her business was destroyed. Her life had been shattered into pieces she didn't know how to reassemble.
But Eddy's hand was warm in hers, and he was here, and for right now—just this moment—that was enough.
She didn't let go.
Neither did he.