One was throwing his hand out.
The other was pointing at the other guy’s chest.
Both seemed to be yelling.
Until one jammed his finger into the other guy.
Then the fight broke out, fists swinging and colliding. Blood spurted out of one guy’s nose. Then the other one’s mouth.
Eventually, they moved down to the ground, both of them rolling around in the dirt, each trying to get the upper hand.
Not long after that, the front door burst open.
One of the guys saw what was happening and yelled back.
Then it seemed like the whole damn club poured out to watch and place bets.
I was so busy scanning the group, making sure no one was breaking away and closing in on us, that I missed something important.
Until I heard a low, angry snarl just a few feet away.
I straightened, grabbing Dylan and shoving her behind me as I stared down one of the Rottweilers.
“Try to stay calm,” I said, arms out to make myself seem bigger. Though I had no idea if that worked for dogs or if it was just a bear thing.
But fucking Dylan ducked under my arm.
“Hey, baby,” she cooed, using her sweet animal voice. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you? Oh, yes, big scary growl. We’re so afraid.”
She didn’t sound afraid.
I was almost pissing myself.
I mean, yeah, I had a gun. And a knife. But I’d never killed an animal, and I really hoped never to have to.
“You don’t have to be mad at us. We’re good people,” she said.
I was close enough that I felt her moving but had no idea what she was doing until I saw something fling out in front of me.
It landed a foot or so in front of the dog.
Some kind of treat.
The dog let out another growl but paused to sniff the treat before gobbling it up.
“That’s yummy, huh?”
“Is that chicken jerky?” I asked as another little piece went flying.
“I shoved a bunch in my pockets in case they let the dogs out again,” Dylan admitted. “I gave Sugar an IOU. God, she’s kind of skinny, isn’t she?”
I hadn’t noticed the night before. She was right, though. The dog’s hips pinched inward a little too sharply, and several ribs were visible under her dull fur.
I couldn’t imagine a guy like Roach, who drugged up women until they agreed to a life of sex work, would be a great pet owner.
The dogs probably lived on scraps around the clubhouse, not actual meals.
“Want more?” Dylan cooed, tossing another piece. “Oh, and here’s your buddy. Hi, bub. You want yummy chicken treats too? Yes, that’s a good dog. More?” she asked, moving out from behind me.
