Page 32 of The Convict Gets His Girl

Jewel's nose wrinkled at the sarcastic comment, and she couldn't help but hear Destini's voice saying that comment. Perhaps Chase was her father after all. The thought made her hands shake, and she pushed it away so she could focus on the whimpering, limp dog.

Jewel glanced up, watching the two even as she felt the dog's ribs and then began to time her heartbeats.

Andre's brows rose, then he grinned, revealing two missing teeth. "Shit, is that you, Willy? Back from prison, are ya?"

Chase scowled but turned back to watching Jewel.

Andre stepped closer to where Chase stood with arms crossed. "I'm talking to you, Willy. Seriously, did prison make you deaf?"

Chase snorted, "Nope, just taught me how to ignore dumbasses." His stance was casual, but the tension in his jaw betrayed his irritation as he put his sunglasses back on as if unaffected.

Andre's face reddened, a vein pulsing at his temple as he spat back, "You think you're so much better than me? Still, even after going to prison? Shit, you're the dumbass for getting caught, not me."

The screen door creaked, and the woman emerged, her work uniform stark against the drabness of the yard. "I have to leave for work. What's the verdict?"

"An infection," Jewel said, her voice steady as she stroked the collie's head, offering silent comfort. "She needs antibiotics, treatment for her skin, fluids—she's severely dehydrated."

"Probably from the rats," Andre interjected, unhelpful. "Been putting out poison for them, too."

"If she's ingested poison, we need to pump her stomach as soon as possible." A muscle twitched in Jewel's cheek, her disapproval unvoiced as she gathered the limp dog into her arms. Chase relieved her of the weight, his hands gentle under the dog's frail form.

The woman wrung her hands, fretting. "I… we can't afford the medicine."

"Then surrender her to us," Jewel offered, her resolve hardening. "We'll get her better, find her a home." She stood up, dusting off her knees, her eyes never leaving the woman's conflicted gaze. "If you come to the truck, you can sign the form, and we'll take her with us."

Chase's eyes met hers briefly, a silent exchange of shared determination and a flicker of something deeper—an understanding born from facing cruelty, both human and otherwise, side by side.

Andre's voice sliced through the tension like a knife, his voice gruff and unwavering. "No," he declared. "Ain't surrendering nothing. If you can't fix her here, then leave her be."

They both paused at his words, Chase's arms tightening around the dog.

Jewel's jaw clenched, her eyes betraying the turmoil roiling within her. "Let me rephrase. If you don't sign the dog over to us, I'll have to report the dog to animal control for neglect and abuse. The law will come out with animal control to investigate."

The woman paused halfway to her beat-up little car to watch Andre with a frown.

"The hell you say." Andre stepped closer, his hands clenching at his sides.

Chase stepped easily between them, but with the dog in his arms, there wasn't much he could do if this went south.

Andre continued, glaring up at Chase, "If the cops come out here, I'm going to hold you responsible, Willy. And you'll end up in a box six feet under instead of a cell at the pen."

Jewel's chest burned at the threat, the careful dead look in Andre's eyes. He meant every word. She licked her lips as her stomach twisted.

"Put her back, Chase," Jewel ordered, her words heavy with unspoken grief. Chase's nostrils flared, his body rigid with resistance as he looked down at the fragile creature in his arms.

Sensing his hesitation, Andre stepped forward, his presence an impenetrable barrier.

"Did you hear her? Or are you too good to follow orders now?" Andre sneered, his taunt aimed like an arrow at Chase's pride.

With a silent snarl, Chase complied, his hands gentle despite the inferno of anger clear from his tensing jaw. As he secured the chain around the stake, Andre crossed his arms and smirked with cruel satisfaction. Together, they walked away from dog and dirtbag to the truck.

The woman cast an apologetic glance at them as she got into her car, torn between her obligations and the life of the dog. The woman turned the key in her car's ignition, the engine sputtering to life, while Jewel climbed into her truck, the slam of the door echoing Chase's inner turmoil. They followed the woman's car to the road, parting ways with a chasm of unspoken words between them.

As they drove in silence, Jewel's grip on the steering wheel tightened until her knuckles turned white. Chase broke the quiet, the bitterness palpable in his tone. "You know that dog's going to die, don't you?"

She nodded, a single tear carving its way down her cheek, which she brushed away furiously with a shaky hand. "Sometimes we can't do the right thing, even though we know what it is. Our hands are tied," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rumble of the truck.

"Reminds me of Destini," Chase muttered, the mention of her daughter igniting a familiar ache in her heart—a tug-of-war between wanting to protect her and wanting to see her succeed.

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