Page 62 of The Belle and the Biker

“Oh, hell. There is something there. Stay here.”

I grab a pair of boxer shorts from the floor and then get my Glock from the inside of my jacket, which is draped across one of the chairs.

I carefully make my way out to the back porch, gun extended.

Buttercup looks up at me from the pile of blankets we arranged for her and a pack of squirming puppies. She must have fetched them from their hiding spot and carried them through the hole she tore in the screen. One by one.

“Clear!” I call out to Savannah.

She comes tromping into the room, holding a baseball bat.

“Where did you get that?” I demand.

“Tawny.” She sets it down and kneels next to Buttercup, who thumps her tail and then looks at Savannah expectantly. “Holy mackerel. Crash, she must be hungry. I’ve got a bowl of cooked hamburger in the fridge. I saved it in case she came back.”

I hurry to the kitchen for the hamburger and get a water bowl. I set the two bowls in front of Buttercup, who dives for them. The puppies squeal in protest and start milling around frantically.

Savannah’s eyes have gone suspiciously misty for someone who hates dogs.

“No, we’re not keeping them,” I say.

“Of course, we’re not.”

She didn’t argue with my use of the word “we,” I notice. I’ll have to start sneaking the word into conversations on a regular basis and get her used to it.

“Not after we find homes for them. One, two, three…eight. Look how cute they are! I mean, if you like dogs. Which I don’t.”

I shake my head. “-Coffee. I need coffee before I can deal with this.”

Savannah and I both shower quickly together. While she makes me coffee, I call Tank, and he comes by with his van. He helps us move all the dogs into the van and drives us to a vet’s office.

The vet wants to put Buttercup on an IV for at least twenty-four hours, so we leave the whole passel of pups there. After Tank takes us back to the trailer, I grab my bike and take Savannah to a little beachside restaurant.

We get a window seat, looking out over crashing waves. The sun is melting into the ocean, the air is cool, and I’m sitting across from the prettiest girl on the planet. Sometimes, life isn’t so bad.

Now, if we can just get a lead on the bastard who’s gunning for her, it’d give me time to figure some things out. Does Savannah even want to go back to Manhattan? Do I?

Savannah’s uncharacteristically quiet, staring at her menu with a blank expression. Smugness surges up inside me, and I smile. I must have worn her out, poor girl.

“We don’t have to work tonight,” I tell her. “We can just stay in and rest up.”

Just then, my phone rings, and it’s Axl calling. His voice sounds hoarse and tired when I answer.

“You okay?” I ask him.

“Yeah. Not sleeping well.” Axl’s not a man who ever admits the slightest weakness. “How’s Tawny doing?”

“Pissed off at you because you’re acting weird.”

“I know.” He doesn’t elaborate.

“Axl, if there’s anything at all that you need…”

“There isn’t.” He sighs heavily. “This is something I have to deal with on my own.”

“But you’re not on your own. You’ve got a club full of guys who’d fucking die for you, and I’m one of them.”

“You think I don’t fucking know that?”

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