Chapter Fifteen
Penny was in Eddy's cabin, half-asleep with her head on his chest, when her phone buzzed. She almost ignored it—had been ignoring most calls and texts for days, letting the outside world stay outside while she healed.
But something made her reach for it.
Philip's name on the screen. Five photos attached. No message.
She opened the first one and felt her heart stop.
"Penny?" Eddy's voice came from far away. "What is it?"
She couldn't answer. Could only stare at the image on her screen while everything inside her went cold and hollow.
Pampered Paws.
Or what was left of it.
The drive took twenty-seven minutes.
Penny didn't remember most of it. Eddy drove her van while she sat in the passenger seat, scrolling through the photos again and again, trying to make them mean something different.
The grooming station, demolished. Clippers smashed, tables overturned, mirrors shattered into glittering fragments on the floor.
The kennels, torn apart. Gate doors ripped from hinges, bedding shredded, food bowls scattered across the concrete like someone had kicked them for fun.
The walls, spray-painted with words she couldn't bring herself to read twice.
And the front door. The final photo. A dog collar—red nylon, like Biscuit's—nailed to the wood at eye level.
A message she understood perfectly.
Philip was waiting in the parking lot.
He looked gray. Shaken. The young man who'd joked about quitting to become a rock star now stood with his arms wrapped around himself like he was trying to hold his pieces together.
"I came to check on things," he said as Penny climbed out of the van. "Diane called yesterday, said someone had been driving by slow. I figured I'd do a walkthrough before my shift at the gas station."
"When did you find it?"
"About an hour ago. I called the cops first, then you." He swallowed hard. "Penny, I'm sorry. I should have—"
"It's not your fault." The words came out hollow. Automatic. "Did you see anyone?"
"No. They were already gone." He gestured helplessly at the building. "I didn't go inside. Just looked through the windows and called you."
Eddy's hand landed on her shoulder, warm and solid. "Stay here. Let me clear it first."
"No." She shook off his grip. "I need to see."
She walked toward the building before anyone could stop her.
The smell hit her first.
Not death—thank God, not death—but destruction. Spilled chemicals, torn fabric, the acrid bite of spray paint fumes. The front door hung crooked on its hinges, the collar still nailed to the center of the wood.
Red nylon. Silver tag. No name engraved—just a blank oval where a name should have been.
Next time it's not a dog.
Penny pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The reception area was unrecognizable.
Her desk—the antique she'd refinished herself, the one piece of furniture that had belonged to her grandmother—was overturned, drawers pulled out, contents scattered.
The computer was smashed, screen cracked into a spiderweb pattern.
The rack of dog toys had been pulled down and trampled, squeakers crushed flat.
The wall behind the counter was covered in spray paint. Black letters, three feet tall:
SHOULD HAVE COOPERATED
She kept walking.
The grooming station was worse.
Her clippers—professional-grade, seven hundred dollars each—lay in pieces on the floor.
Someone had taken a hammer to them. The grooming tables were overturned, one of them bent at an angle that suggested someone had jumped on it repeatedly.
Her collection of ribbons from county fairs, the proof that she'd built something worth being proud of, had been torn down and shredded.
She bent and picked up a fragment. Best in Show, 2023. Mango the beagle, anxiety case that nobody else would groom. She'd spent three sessions just getting him comfortable with the sound of clippers before she touched his coat.
The ribbon came apart in her hands.
The kennels were last.
She stood in the doorway for a long moment, afraid to look. Afraid of what she might find.
Then she stepped inside.
The gates hung open, some completely removed. The bedding had been pulled out and torn apart, foam stuffing scattered like snow across the concrete floor. Food and water bowls lay everywhere, dented and crushed.
But the kennels were empty.
No bodies. No blood. Just destruction.
She sagged against the doorframe, relief hitting her so hard her knees nearly buckled.
"There were no animals here," she whispered. "I closed the business. Sent everyone home."
"They didn't know that." Eddy's voice came from behind her, tight with fury. "They came ready to kill whatever they found."
She turned to look at him.
He stood in the doorway of the kennel area, jaw clenched, hands curled into fists at his sides. River pressed against his leg, hackles raised, growling low at the destruction around them.
"They left a message," he said. "On the office wall. You need to see it."
"I saw the spray paint."
"Not that one."
He led her back to the reception area, past the overturned desk and the shattered computer, to the small office she'd used for paperwork and phone calls.
The door was open. The walls inside were untouched—no spray paint, no damage.
Just a single photo, taped to the center of her desk.
Her mother.
Linda sat at a kitchen table Penny didn't recognize, eyes red and swollen, face pale. She was holding a newspaper—yesterday's date visible in the corner—and beneath it, written in the same black marker as the threat on Biscuit's body:
NEXT TIME IT'S HER
Penny's vision went white.
She didn't remember sitting down.
One moment she was standing, staring at the photo. The next, she was on the floor of her destroyed office, back against the wall, knees pulled to her chest.
The cheerful surface didn't crack.
It shattered.
All the smiling through chaos, all the holding things together, all the managing and organizing and pretending everything would be okay—it fell away, and underneath was nothing but a blank, hollow space where her hope used to be.
She didn't cry. Tears would have been easier.
Instead, she just... stopped. Sat in the wreckage of everything she'd built and felt the weight of twenty-nine years of survival finally crush the air from her lungs.
Eddy crouched in front of her. "Penny."
She couldn't look at him.
"Penny, talk to me."
"He has my mother." The words came out flat. Dead. "He destroyed my business. He's going to keep taking things until I give him what he wants or until there's nothing left."
"We won't let that happen."
"How?" She finally met his eyes, and whatever he saw there made his expression tighten. "He's got resources. He's got men. He's got my mother, Eddy. The only family I have in the world, trapped in a house with a monster who kills animals for fun."
"Welch gave us his location. His schedule. We're planning—"
"Plans don't matter!" She surged to her feet, sudden fury cutting through the numbness.
"Plans didn't stop him from killing Biscuit.
Plans didn't stop him from attacking the compound.
Plans didn't stop this." She gestured at the destruction around them.
"He's always one step ahead because he doesn't play by rules.
He just takes and destroys and threatens until people give up. "
Eddy rose to face her. "You're not giving up."
"What else am I supposed to do?"
He grabbed her arms, pulled her close until their faces were inches apart. "You fight. The same way you've been fighting your whole goddamn life. You built this place from nothing—a van and a dream, you said. You can build it again."
"What's the point? He'll just destroy it again."
"Not if he's dead."
The words hung in the air between them. Cold. Certain.
"The man who did this," Eddy continued, his voice dropping low. "Craig Hensley. Kirby's youngest enforcer, handles intimidation and threats. He's the one who targets families and pets because Kirby taught him that emotional leverage breaks people faster."
"You know who did this?"
"Kirby's got a pattern. Samples handled the hands-on work. Welch handled logistics. Hensley handles fear." His jaw tightened. "After tonight, Hensley's not handling anything."
Penny searched his face. Looking for doubt, hesitation, any sign that he wasn't prepared to do exactly what he was promising.
She found nothing but cold resolve.
"And Kirby?"
"His time's coming. Soon."
She pulled back from his grip and turned to face the destruction. The shattered clippers. The torn ribbons. The photo of her mother with terror in her eyes.
Something shifted inside her. The numbness receded, replaced by something harder. Colder.
She walked to the front door and reached up to pull the collar free from the nail.
Red nylon. Silver tag. No name.
Just like Biscuit's.
She held it in her hands, feeling the weight of it, remembering a golden retriever who'd never hurt anyone in his life. Remembering the moment she'd found his body on the concrete, leash wrapped around his throat.
The man who'd ordered that death was still breathing.
The man who'd destroyed her business was still breathing.
The man who'd taken her mother hostage was still breathing.
That needed to change.
"Penny." Eddy's voice came from behind her.
She turned, the collar still clutched in her hands.
"Kirby thinks he understands leverage," she said quietly. "Thinks that threatening animals and destroying businesses will make me break. Make me cooperate. Make me give him what he wants."
"That's his pattern."
"He's wrong." She looked down at the collar, then back up at Eddy. "I've spent my whole life rescuing broken things. Dogs that nobody else would take. A mother who couldn't save herself. A business that everyone said would fail."
"I know."
"Kirby needs to understand something." Her voice hardened, the blank numbness replaced by something that felt like purpose. "Threatening animals is the wrong leverage to use on a woman who rescues them. It doesn't make me break."
She dropped the collar on her destroyed desk and met Eddy's eyes.
"It makes me dangerous."