Page 24 of Hounded

When Karst nodded in response, Moira’s smile spread. “You can fuck her, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

The girl on the floor gasped against the tight leather of her muzzle, struggling and suffocating while the demons looked on.

I glanced at Whitney, wishing he would say something while knowing he couldn’t. Neither of us could. We were better trained than that.

Moira continued. “I’ve found the happiest hound owners are those who allow their pets to serve them ineverycapacity.”

Karst came forward to crouch beside the girl’s prone form. “Whaddya say, pretty? You wanna be my lapdog?”

The demons laughed again, a discordant sound.

Earlier, while lying on the street in Brooklyn in the wake of Abernathy’s fatal crash, I couldn’t breathe. I felt the same way now, standing in the room where I’d been unmade, watching the next unfortunate soul about to be subjected to Moira’s training regimen. After that, it seemed her new owner Karst had sordid plans for his pet.

Moira stepped off the downed girl and gave a rough jerk on the leash, tightening it around her throat. “Back in the box with you,” she snapped.

How many times had I heard those words?

The new hound wailed. She fought and lost the battle as Moira shoved her into the tiny kennel, then slammedthe door. The chain leash disappeared, and Moira dusted her hands together.

She closed the gap to Karst, who stared at the girl now thrashing inside her cage.

“When can I have her?” he asked.

“I’ll need time to train her,” Moira replied. “A few weeks.”

Moira and Karst exchanged further pleasantries, but I didn’t hear them while my hound circled restlessly inside me. Whitney kept a wary eye trained on me while my breaths shortened into pants. The smells, sights, and sounds were all too close, too fresh in my mind despite the decades since I’d last been imprisoned here.

I couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t bear to linger any longer.

So, I left.

10

Loren

My phone didn’t ring.

Moira didn’t call.

I waited all night for it. Twisted and shifted in the front seat of my truck and stared at my phone screen till the battery died.

She must have noticed. Must have glared daggers at my back as I cut a hole in the wall of that dank room and ran with my tail between my legs while my hound whined. Then, I holed up in the lot outside the trailer park, bathed in sweat, and whiled the hours away.

Morning came long after I was ready for it. I dug my keys out of the center console and started the Chevy with a choke and a sputter. It was past due for an oil change, and other fluids needed topping off. The rusty old machine required more from me than it gave these days, and I was no kind of mechanic. I managed to keep it running with quick fixes and products purchased from the local automotive store, but I got the feeling an expensive repair bill was in my near future.

At the gas station, I milled the aisles looking forbreakfast but found nothing that qualified. I settled on a pack of gum and a half tank of gas, then sat outside with my phone plugged into an exterior outlet to charge. By the time it reached 30% I was tired of waiting, so I climbed back into my truck and returned to Trailer Trove.

Pulling into my space, I spotted movement across the lot. A short man with a mop of brown curls dipped in and out of a black Pontiac. He opened the driver’s door, then closed it, circled the vehicle, and opened the door again. I wasn’t used to his hair being its natural color, but the outfit—a black and white striped crop top with skinny jeans tucked into platform combat boots—was all Indy.

Since the hound girl shredded my slacks, I had changed into yet another pair of jeans and buttoned up the shirt Moira put on me. It wasn’t cold out, but I’d put on a sweater anyway. I held the sleeve cuff wadded in my left hand as I exited the truck into the sun that hit me like a spotlight.

With no one else in the lot, it didn’t take Indy long to notice me approaching. He stopped and leaned against the side panel of the Pontiac, masking his previously flustered expression with a catty grin.

“Hey, Legs.”

I raised a brow. “Thought that wasn’t very creative.”

He shrugged and spun his keyring around one finger. “Doesn’t have to be if the suit fits.” His eyes sparkled in the daylight. “Speaking of suits, how about that little number from the other night? Fit you like a glove.”

---