‘No, I volunteer.’
‘Still?’
She looks over her shoulder. ‘Why would I have stopped?’
I follow her down the hallway. Her skirt swooshes delectably around her thighs as her hips sway from side to side. As we go through the last door, I see half a dozen dogs in cages against the wall. Some continue sleeping while others whine or wag their tails at the sight of us.
‘Kind of sad, isn’t it?’ I ask, dropping the bag.
‘All the more reason for me to be here.’ She bends over, scooping out some kibble and pouring it into a metal bowl. ‘Chuckie was here once, remember? I’d hate it if he felt alone.’
Chuckie’s sniffing one of the other dogs in a cage while he wags his tail. I lean against the doorframe before grabbing some treats from a nearby container. I whistle for him to come before handing him a few.
‘Why are you doing this so late at night?’ I ask.
‘Why are you asking so many questions?’ she snaps, filling another bowl and placing it in one of the cages. When I don’t answer, she cuts me a look and I shrug. There’s a small tattoo on her left wrist, mostly hidden beneath a silver bracelet. She caves with a sigh. ‘Dr Aimee messaged me asking if I could. She’s sick, and they need to be checked on and fed because they’ve recently had surgery.’
I watch her place a bowl into the last cage before rolling up the bag and sealing it with a clip.
‘So, what’d the blond want?’ I kick one ankle to rest in front of the other.
She narrows her eyes at me. ‘What blond?’
‘The guy Chuckie wanted to tear to pieces out front.’ I give him another treat. ‘Good boy.’
She shrugs. ‘He’s organised a race and needs a fourth.’
‘There’s another Tropics so soon?’
‘It’s private,’ she says simply.
I eye her up and down. ‘Sounds dodgy.’
She scoffs. ‘Because The Tropics is legal? Besides, the money is good.’
‘You don’t need the money.’
‘How would you know?’ she quips with a scowl. Her eyes flare up in an intoxicating golden swirl of chestnut, my favourite colour.
My body heats. She’s right. If I hadn’t left, I would know about her life. I push up my sleeves, wanting to get out of this stagnant-smelling shithole, when I catch her eyestravelling along the length of my body. Her lips part as she pauses on my ink.
‘I got ’em all over.’ I smile. ‘You wanna see?’
She sucks in a quick, shallow breath and takes my arm, turning it over and seeing the burn. ‘What happened here?’ she gasps.
She’s careful not to touch the area, but a raw and searing pain still follows.
‘My, my, Gianna Brooks,’ I tease. ‘Do you sincerely care? Or is it because you want me on my knees later?’
She ignores me, a loud sigh pouring from her perfect mouth as she pulls me back down the hall. We go through the nearest door to a large office. Everything smells sterile here and she pushes me into a wheelie office chair behind a small desk with a computer. I fall into it willingly, feeling it travel a little across the floor.
‘We need to wrap this, Ryker. It looks bad. Seriously, what the heck did you do?’
She crosses the room and rustles around in a cupboard, returning with a first-aid kit. She brings across another chair and sits herself right between my legs. My cock jerks, arousal warring with my brain. I know I need to stay away from her, but I bring my uninjured arm around her waist and wheel her in even closer. I’m surprised when she doesn’t fight me and instead, pulls my arm into her lap and pours alcohol over the wound.
The sting slashes through my skin, but it feels good. We’re quiet as she dabs at the wound and wraps it. I take the chance to look at her, really look at her. It’s the first time she isn’t scowling or making some pissy remark.
‘What are you smiling at?’ Gianna’s snarky voice is still melodic.
