She bunches as if to move toward him, and I shake my head. “Stop. He’s dangerous. So I help you with … Leo, and then you’ll help me?”
“Sure. I’ll give you twenty-four hours of my hacking skills, with the provision and your word that you let me go afterward. That you take twenty-four more hours before coming after me again, if that’s your choice. And that under no circumstances, no matter what, do you try to kill me.”
No circumstances? What exactly does the woman have planned?
The dog lunges again, chain rattling hard enough to snap.
I keep my focus on the woman. She guessed I need her hacking skills, and she’s mostly right about that. Yet she can’t call all the terms. “I’ll help with the dog, and you’re mine for forty-eight hours.” If she can’t fix it in that time, I’m fucked, anyway. “And during that timeframe, you’re mine in any way I want you.”
She takes a step back and slides in the mud. “What does that mean?” Her voice quivers just slightly, and my cock tries to punch out of my pants. Again. For her. At her.
“Exactly what you think it does.” I’m tired of ignoring this pull between us. A couple of hard fucks, and she’ll be out of my system. “I’m not gentle or even kind, princess. I want to see you beg, and I want to see you cry. Before you agree, understand exactly what you’re getting into.”
She swallows. “If I disagree?”
I glance around. “You’re coming with me, anyway.”
Her chin lifts, and pure challenge filters across her face. “Fine. But I like a good fight, and I’ll give it to you. May even kill you.” Those eyes darken. “Either way, after forty-eight hours, you let me go and give me the same amount of time before you come after me.”
“No. You get the twenty-four.”
“I may kill you, Justice.” She glances at the dog. “All right. Deal.”
Something settles in me, and I take note of how her voice hasn’t harmed me. Not once. I stare at the dog.
He’s wild, desperate. I step forward, my boots sinkinginto mud, and crouch low to meet his eyes. He snarls, lips peeled back, but I don’t flinch.
“Easy,” I murmur. My hand goes to the chain first, not him. He jerks, teeth snapping inches from my arm, but I keep steady pressure, shifting his weight until he’s forced to stumble closer. His growl cracks, confusion slipping into it.
Ella makes a soft sound behind me—low, steady, the kind of noise you’d use with a child. Her voice carries under the storm. The dog hears her and freezes, ears flicking back.
My knife cuts the lock off, and the chain drops, the sound sharp under the rain. The dog stumbles free, muscles coiled. He lunges once more, but this time toward me, pressing his weight against my legs instead of tearing them apart.
I steady him with a hand on his neck, my palm against wet fur. His tail gives a single, uncertain wag.
Ella exhales like she’s been holding her breath for hours. She takes a step forward, cautious, her hands open. The dog’s head turns, eyes catching hers. He doesn’t growl this time.
She kneels in the mud without hesitation, sequins flashing in the rain, hat tipping forward until her face is shadowed. “Hey, boy,” she says softly. Her hand hovers an inch above his muzzle. He leans forward, sniffs once, then presses into her touch.
“Keep your fucking face out of his reach,” I snap.
She leans back and smiles at the beast. Even pale, even shaken, that kindness radiates off her like heat.
I keep my hand on his collar, ready to pull him back if he changes his mind. But he doesn’t. He pushes closer, ribssharp under his coat, soaking her with rain as she strokes his head.
I let go. He doesn’t lunge. He stays right there with her.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get him out of here.”
Together, we guide him to my car. Great. It’s going to smell like wet dog now. He stumbles a little, weak from hunger, but keeps pace between us. When Ella opens the passenger side door and slides inside, tugging him toward her, he hesitates only a second before jumping in, curling on her lap like it’s the first safe place he’s had in months.
They’re too big for the space.
Her jacket drips across the seat, sparkle dull under the rain. Her face is still pale, eyes shadowed, but her shoulders loosen as she strokes the dog’s head. Then she reaches into her pocket and brings out a couple of plain burger patties wrapped in paper.
He scarfs them down as if he hasn’t eaten in days.
I close the door and walk around to the driver’s side to slip inside. The storm’s eased only slightly, rain steady on the windshield as the engine turns over. The wipers smear water into streaks as I pull onto the road, wanting to get out of this depressing neighborhood.
