“What? You looking for food or something?”
It’s not that I dislike dogs. I think they’re great. But they can be messy and destructive, and I don’t want to clean shit off the floors I spent a month refinishing.
“I don’t have any, bud.”
When I reach down to pat his head, the dog dodges my hand, bounds a few feet away, then glances back at me with another whine.
“I think he wants you to follow him,” Gregor says as everyone sitting at the bar watches the canine’s antics.
“Follow him where?” I take a step in Shrimp’s direction, and he slips under the bar top, where I can raise it to exit myself.
“My guess? To his lady so you can apologize and help her get in touch with Carl.”
All my patrons nod in agreement, and I make a production of grumbling as I follow after the pet. But inside, the guilt has started to gnaw at my gut, leaving behind the aching need to set things straight with my best friend’s sister.
I can be cordial for what is likely only going to be a short visit.
Hopefully, there isn’t too much destruction left in her wake that I need to clean up.
When I reach the back hall, Shrimp has settled his shaggy butt in front of one of the single-use restrooms. There used to be men’s and women’s rooms, but I changed the layout during renovations, so the toilets are available to all without people having to categorize themselves by their genitals.
Shrimp scratches on the door, whimpering again.
“She’ll be out in a second,” I assure him, leaning back on the wall to wait myself.
That is, until I hear another whimper. Only this one is from inside the restroom.
Then there’s a pained gasp, and an instinctual part of me takes over, to the point that I briefly black out.
When I come to, the lock is broken, door open wide, Clementine gaping at me.
She’s not wearing a shirt, is my first thought.
Then I spot the bleeding gash in her abdomen, and one word blares bright in my mind.
Trouble.
3
CLEMENTINE
“Occupied!”I screech at Griffith, the blundering oaf who decided locked doors didn’t apply to him.
“You’re hurt.” The infuriating wolf comes farther into the cramped space, his focus entirely on my exposed stomach. “What happened?”
“Well, I was in here, minding my own business, and then a nosy fuckwad burst in,” I snarl, pain making me meaner than I’d like to be.
Although being anything but sarcastic to my brother’s judgmental best friend is a Herculean task.
I knew it was a mistake to come here. But I need to find Carl sooner rather than later. I truly debated just finding a pay phone and calling 911 instead of darkening Griffith’s doorstep. But there was no guarantee Carl would be the one answering the call.
So, I showed up here and immediately got into it with this man because he’s insufferable.
Unfortunately, angrily snarking at the annoying bartender didn’t help with this wound that won’t fucking heal.
As a mermaid, I’ve always been blessed with rapid healing. A characteristic shared by all mythical creatures.
But not this time. And the cause of this wound is exactly why I need to speak to my brother.
