Chapter Two Chloe
My heart pounds as I jump out of the truck before it’s even fully stopped.
The construction site is usually a place of noise and movement—engines running, men shouting, equipment clanking—but now an uneasy silence hangs over everything.
Spock, Puma, Rattler, Chill, Dice, and Viper spread out around me as I hurry inside the building. I spot a group of workers hanging around the completed space that will be the building manager’s office.
Then I see him.
“Dad!”
Relief and fear crash together inside me.
Dad sits on an overturned bucket, his back against the wall. A rag is pressed against the back of his head, stained dark with blood. His face is pale, but his eyes lift when he hears my voice.
“There’s my girl,” he says gruffly.
I drop to my knees beside him.
“What happened?”
“Someone doesn’t like me.”
Despite the joke, my stomach twists. I can hear Declan explaining to Spock and the others how he found Dad, but I pay him no mind. My focus is solely on my father.
I gently touch his shoulder. “You need to go to the hospital.”
“Not going.”
That’s when Puma takes the decision out of his hands.
“Who did this?” I ask Dad, although I already know the answer. It’s the same son-of-a-bitch who has been causing me trouble for the past four months.
Dad nods at something behind me. When I turn, I let out a gasp. Someone has written a message in red paint on the wall—directed at me.
NEXT TIME IT WILL BE YOU, BITCH!
The words are huge, jagged, and angry. I stare at them for a long moment before dragging my attention back to my father. He’s the priority. This new threat can wait.
“I’m not going to the hospital,” my father says. His jaw is set, and the look he gives me tells me that I won’t be winning this argument.
Well, he’s wrong.
“You got hit in the head,” I say. “You’re going.”
Puma steps closer and studies the injury.
“You could have a concussion. You need to go,” he tells my dad. “Stop arguing with your daughter.”
It takes a crazy man to say no to a man like Puma. My dad isn’t crazy. He nods and accepts his fate.
I move out of the way when the paramedics rush into the room with a gurney. I glance at the message on the wall again, but I refuse to dwell on it. Right now, all I care about is making sure my dad gets better.
Once he’s strapped in, one of the medics turns to me and tells me which hospital they’re taking him.
“Is he going to be okay?” I ask as the other paramedic shines a light into Dad’s eyes.
The paramedic nods. “Right now, he’s alert, oriented, and not showing any obvious signs of a concussion. His pupils look good, and he hasn’t reported any dizziness, nausea, or loss of consciousness.”
I glance at my father. “See? You got lucky.”
“Always do,” Dad mutters.
The paramedic gives him a skeptical look before turning back to me. “Head injuries can be tricky. Symptoms don’t always show up right away. We still want to get him to the hospital for imaging and a full evaluation, just to be safe.”
“You hear that?” I ask Dad. “A professional says you have to go.”
Dad grumbles something under his breath.
The paramedic smiles. “Trust me, ma’am. I'd rather have him complain about the hospital than miss something serious.”
“Good luck convincing him of that,” I say.
“Oh, I don't need to,” the paramedic replies. “From the look on your face, I think you've got that part covered.”
I walk them out and then stand beside my truck to watch the ambulance pull away. The flashing lights disappear beyond the gate, taking my father with them. Every instinct I have screams at me to climb into my truck and follow.
Dad is all I have left. The thought of him lying in a hospital bed with a head injury makes my stomach churn.
The construction site is slowly coming back to life around me.
The sound of power tools drowns out the low hum of conversations amongst the workers.
A few loud bangs and crashes sound even louder in the quiet aftermath.
The familiar sounds should be comforting, but they only make me feel strangely disconnected.
"Chloe."
I look up to find Puma and Spock watching me closely,
"Who did this?" Puma asks.
I shake my head.
"I don't know."
Spock frowns. "The message makes it sound personal."
I shrug. “This was the first time they left a message.” The admission slips out before I can stop it.
Both men exchange a look.
"What do you mean?" Puma asks.
I sigh and rub my arms.
"We’ve been having trouble for a few months now.
This was the first time they hurt anyone.
It’s also the first time they left a message.
We’ve had some graffiti. Mostly it's been sabotage. We’ve had tools broken or stolen.
A whole load of drywall was busted up with a sledgehammer.
So, I guess they’ve been escalating, but this was the first physical attack. ”
The silence grows heavier.
"And you didn't tell us? Why?” Puma asks.
His question catches me off-guard. “Why would I tell you? This isn’t your project.”
"When did it start?" Spock asks.
I think back on all the incidents until I come up with a timeline. “The first instance occurred about four months ago, right after I won the Inferno Ridge contract.
Both men go still. They share a heavy glance and a silent conversation.
“What’s wrong?” I ask when they remain silent.
“You should have told us about the problems you were having,” Spock chides me.
“Why? You think someone is attacking me because I won the contract? I guess that’s possible, but the Inferno Ridge site hasn’t been vandalized. Only this site. Don’t you think that if someone wanted me to lose the contract, they’d attack the site itself? It would make more sense.”
“Only if they had a death wish,” Puma replies. “We have a guard at the gate twenty-four seven. If someone tried to access the property, our guys would see them. Attacking this site makes more sense if their purpose was to get you to forfeit the project.”
“You think someone is trying to gain access to Inferno Ridge?” I muse. “But how could they be certain that would work the way they want? They attacked my dad; wouldn’t it make more sense that they’re trying to hurt my company or me?”
Puma slowly nods.
“That’s probably true, but you don’t have to worry because you’re no longer alone in this,” Puma says. “You’re under our protection now. Whoever these assholes are, they’ll regret what they did here today.”
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
“First, we’re going to increase your security. We need cameras all over the site. We’re also going to make our presence known. Whoever is behind this will think twice before going up against the Demon Dawgs.”
For the first time in weeks, I feel lighter. I didn’t realize how much I’d been stressing about the vandalism until just now. Knowing that I’m no longer alone allows me to breathe.
“Thank you,” I whisper, wiping an errant tear.
Spock reaches over and rubs his thumbs over my cheeks. I guess more than one tear fell. He kisses my forehead before drawing me in for a hug.
“I wish you had told us sooner what was happening, but now that we know, we’ll find out who is responsible and put a stop to it. Why don’t you go to the hospital and check on your dad.”
I glance at the building.
"The site—"
"We've got it," Puma assures me.
Spock opens my driver's door.
"We'll stay here. We'll help your crew clean up the damage."
I swallow hard.
"Thank you."
Spock gives me a reassuring nod.
"Your dad comes first."
As I climb into the truck, I look at the two Demon Dawgs standing in the middle of the construction site. Their presence gives me strength and tremendous relief. For the first time in months, I feel like maybe I don't have to face this nightmare by myself.
Once I arrive at the hospital, it doesn’t take long before someone leads me to my father.
He's sitting upright on the examination bed, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face that tells me he's already driving the staff crazy. The nurse next to him offers me a bemused smile as she piles the bloody gauze and torn packaging onto a metal tray.
A fresh white bandage covers the back of Dad's head.
"Hey," I say softly.
Dad glances up.
"About time."
I roll my eyes and move closer.
The nurse smiles. "Mr. Davenport just finished getting eight stitches. I'll let the doctor know you're here."
She slips out of the room carrying the tray.
The second she's gone, I turn back to Dad.
"How are you feeling?"
"Fine."
"Dad."
"I'm serious." He uses his knuckles to knock the side of his head. "Got a hard head."
A laugh escapes me despite everything.
“Oh, I’m well aware.”
"Takes more than one idiot with a pipe to put me down."
The attempt at humor doesn't completely hide the tension in his eyes.
Before I can respond, the doctor enters. "Are you the daughter?"
"I’m Chloe."
He smiles. "Your father is correct. His hard head probably helped."
Dad smirks triumphantly.
The doctor continues. "The CT scan is clear. No skull fracture, no bleeding, and no signs of a concussion."
The knot in my chest loosens.
"We'd prefer to keep him overnight for observation," the doctor says, shooting Dad an amused look, "but he's made his feelings on that subject very clear."
"I hate hospitals."
"So I've heard."
The doctor turns to me.
“We can’t force him to stay. Maybe you can talk some sense into him?”
I look at the obstinate look on my dad’s face and chuckle. “I’ve never been able to before; I don’t see this time being any different. If it helps, I plan on staying with him.”
The doctor sighs, but nods.
"If he develops headaches, dizziness, nausea, vomiting, confusion, sensitivity to light, slurred speech, or unusual drowsiness, bring him back immediately."
"I'll keep an eye on him."