“Why? I thought I was doing I good job,” I protest, fear clenching in my belly like a solid mass. Is he going to punish me for something?
“Not everything’s about you, princess,” Bane mutters.
He hauls me down a couple of flights and into an elevator that plummets to the depths of the earth, along with my stomach. Safe in the confines of the elevator, Bane drops me to my feet. My body begins to tremble uncontrollably beside him.
I can guess where we’re going.
“Bane,” I whisper, “What’s happening?”
He turns troubled eyes to me. “Just a little hiccup at the D.L. Club I gotta straighten out.”
“Well that clears everything up.”
This elevator isn’t the one I remember from my last adventure at the D.L. Club. The doors ding open on an unfamiliar floor lit with florescent bulbs and painted antiseptic beige. Bass beats throb in the floor below my feet and I can hear muffled voices, screams, and laughter. I’m guessing we’re right above the club in some sort of staging area.
“Come on,” Bane orders.
His hand closes around my wrist and he drags me behind him like a laundry bag. We pass a few rooms that look almost like doctors offices. Ahead, the sound of painful whimpering is drifting through an open door. My stomach clenches.
Oh god. Now what?
Sure enough, that is the room Bane drags me to. He bursts inside, startling a small group of bikers in latex gloves leaning over a stainless steel table.
“Step away from that dog!” Bane bellows.
Everyone, including me, blinks at him in surprise. A man that I recognize as Smokey rolls his eyes and impatiently snaps off his gloves, tossing them in a bin. Jack is leaning against the wall smoking, a smug grin on his face. Something feels off.
“For fuck’s sake, what is this, a PETA intervention?” Smokey shouts. His eyes flicker over me. “Get her out of here, Bane.”
Bane repeats, “Step away from that dog.”
“She’s done, Bane. Too much damage.”
“Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with you fucking people!” Bane roars. “What kind of shit are you trying to pull? You stole my dog and put her in the fucking ring? I should kill all you fucking bastards right now. Slowly. With a fucking rusty knife. You got not right to hijack my shit! Not my bike, not my dog, not my girl. You’re crossing the line, assholes. I’m a dues-paying member of this goddamn MC, not some prick D.L. customer with an overdue tab who you can extort and fuck with.”
Smokey capitulates under Bane’s vehemence and shifts sideways, revealing a bloodied pit-bull in full snarl sprawled on the table. Sympathetic pain stabs through my gut: there’s a deep laceration in its chest and bite marks all around its face and neck. I think I can see ribs through a gash on its side. One paw is crushed and almost seems detached.
“Oh god,” I breathe.
Bane shoves Smokey out of the way and drags me behind him to the table. His hand is surprisingly gentle as he reaches out to carefully scratch the dog’s head.
“Hey Jenny,” he coos. “Hey baby girl, it’s alright now, Daddy’s here. It’s gonna be alright baby girl, yes it is.”
The mean, frightened snarl turns instantly to a pleading whimper and the pit bull’s tongue weakly shoots out to lick Bane’s fingers.
“Call the vet,” Bane demands.
Jack shakes his head. “Nothing to be done, Beast. Look at her, that foot’s gone.”
“She’s my dog, motherfucker!” Bane shouts. “Not the club’s. Somebody call the goddamn vet.”
Jack’s voice is gravelly and steady. “You shouldn’t have brought her on the premises.”
“What are you talking about? I live here! I pay you fucking rent!”
“This isn’t a fucking pet spa. If a dog’s in the building, it’s gotta fight to earn its keep. If it can’t fight, we put it down. I’m tired of your fucking bleeding heart bullshit.”
Smokey steps up and presses the handle of a Glock into Bane’s chest. “End her misery,” Smokey says with a pleased smile. “Or we’ll do it.”
Bane’s jaw clenches. He snatches the gun from Smokey and points it at Jack.
“I’m tired of you fucking around with me, Jack,” Bane hisses. “We both know what this is about. You don’t like that I make my share with the legit fights and drugs alone and you’re trying to bury my stream, force me into trafficking. So help me Jack, you’ll never get me to buy and sell people or kill innocent dogs. So unless you’re willing to murder a brother in cold blood, we’re at checkmate.”
Jack’s face is five shades of purple. “You’re the one pointing a gun, brother.”
“Jenny is my dog, not the club’s dog, asshole,” Bane shouts. “Raised her from a pup. I’ve got a license for her and everything. So I’m taking her home. Red, pick up the dog.”
“What?!” I squeak, startled. “Me? Are you crazy?”
Bane whips furious eyes and the gun barrel over in my direction and I jump, my insides turning cold.
“Ok, wrong question,” I stammer. “You’re totally fucking crazy.”
“Pick up the dog, Red, and carry her to the elevator. Now!” Bane takes a deep breath and adds as an afterthought, “Please.”
I look from Bane’s stony face to the barrel of gun and to the dog, unable to decide which of the three is most likely to kill me. It’s a real toss-up. The dog and I lock eyes and something fuzzy and protective stirs. This creature is hurt, threatened and scared just like me. And—fuck—I love dogs. It breaks my heart to see her suffer.
I take a tentative step closer, forcing my breath to be steady and calm, and slowly lift my hand within sniffing distance of her nose. She starts to growl, looks over at Bane for support, and sniffs. I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until she licks my hand and I let out a sigh of relief. She’s accepted me.
“Good girl,” I whisper. “Come on, good girl. It’s okay sweetie.”
“Touching,” hisses Smokey through clenched teeth.
Ignoring him, I carefully wrap an arm around Jenny’s bottom and back and scoop her towards the edge of the table. She’s a good size, maybe 60 or 70 pounds, and hurt bad. The best way I can figure to pick her up is just to hug her on to my body.