“What are you doing?” I asked, grabbing her arm.
“Making them like me,” she said, then slipped back into her sweet voice. “Right? You like me. I’m the chicky treat lady. That’s right. You can take it.”
Sure enough, the first dog crept forward to take it right from her fingers. Then the second one.
Within a few minutes, they were letting her pet them.
“Yeah, we’re good people. Come pet them,” she demanded.
“Why?”
“So they don’t rip our throats out when we eventually force our way into the clubhouse. No throats for you, right, baby?” she said to the one dog, petting her giant head. “Just chicky treats. Yes, that’s some sweet babies. Here,” she said, passing me the last of her treats so the dogs would associate me with them too.
“Good boy,” I told the one who licked my fingers after he ate his chew.
“I wish we brought more. You’re too skinny. As if I needed more reason to hate that bastard.”
“We can bring food tomorrow,” I told her, seeing the sad look in her eye.
“I’m gonna make him pay for this,” she said, rubbing the dog’s ribs. “You’re never gonna have to be hungry again.”
“They’re gonna be okay,” I assured her. “We will feed them while we gather intel. Then we will take care of them once we take out the others.”
“Yeah. It just sucks.”
There was a shrill whistle, making the dogs stiffen, then whimper at us, looking conflicted before turning and running.
“I fucking hate him,” Dylan snarled as she watched the dogs run back to the man who mistreated them.
The fight was long over, the two men bloodied but slapping each other on the backs as they walked back into the clubhouse.
“I know you do.” And I hated him for her. And the girls. And the dogs.
“Let’s hope Saint and Syn saw more than we did. I wasn’t even paying attention.”
I’d seen a small amount right before the dogs. After that, my concern was making sure Dylan didn’t get mauled.
The night was still relatively young, but the longer we stood there, the louder the music and noise grew from inside. It became pretty clear that no one was coming back out when Saint and Syn made their way back over to us.
We trudged back to the bikes.
“Did you guys see anything worthwhile?” I asked when we were far enough away not to worry about being overheard.
“Noted a bunch of faces and some ink,” Saint said. “Might be able to work with that. Especially if the video is clearer. We’ll check when we get back to the hotel.”
“Sounds good,” I agreed. Even if I had no intention of sitting around staring at a screen when I could be spending time with Dylan.
But when we got back to the hotel, Dylan didn’t climb off her bike.
“Everything alright?” I asked.
“Any chance you want to take Sugar for a walk?” she asked, looking at Syn.
“Yeah, I got her. Just need your keycard.”
She already had it in her hand.
Saint said nothing.
