Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 73311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Thinking ahead slightly, I walked back into my apartment, slipped my feet into my new boots that I’d only worn once, and snatched my phone and keys off the entranceway table along with the leash we used to have for my mom’s dog who died two years before.
Maybe if I took him for a walk, he’d be able to work out his restlessness.
With resolve straightening my spine, I walked out my apartment door, closed it, and then headed across the hall to Aaron’s door.
The dog was still howling, but the banging had stopped.
Twisting the handle, I waited and listened.
Nothing.
Not knowing what I would find when I opened the door, I cautiously pushed it open and winced when I saw the destruction.
The couch was in tatters.
Almost as if he’d shredded it first before he started the howling. There’d been no lessening in intensity of his howling, even now.
With the door open, the sound was even louder. And sadder.
The sound was soul-wrenching.
It was as if he was mourning.
Which, likely, he was.
Dogs were way more intelligent than anyone gave them credit for, and Tank was probably more intelligent than some people.
“Tank,” I whispered. “Here, boy.”
Tank didn’t pause from his howling.
He was facing the window, his head thrown back like a wolf.
“Tank!” I called louder this time.
Tank paused, turning only his head to look at me, and dismissed me almost as fast.
“You want to go for a walk?” I called to him.
His howl broke off mid-song.
Immediately he got to his feet, and obediently walked over to me.
With false security, I clicked the leash onto his collar and started to walk to the door.
It didn’t happen when I closed the door behind us, pocketing Aaron’s key.
It also didn’t happen when we made our way down the stairs.
In fact, we were all the way outside and walking toward the park when he pulled free of my hold.
He started to run, full out at first, but quickly stopped to let me catch up.
The moment I got close enough to get the leash, though, he hurried away again.
We played this game for a good long while.
So long, in fact, that we were all the way in town before I finally got to him.
By that point, I was panting, my feet were killing me from my new boots, and my breasts weren’t fairing too well in their braless state either.
That’s when I became aware that not only was I standing in the middle of a fucking biker convention, but the ones that weren’t bikers were police officers. They were all staring at me as well.
I picked up Tank’s leash, my intention to back away, when I felt the warm hand at my back.
“What part of ‘talk to him through the door’ did you not understand?”
I shivered.
That voice, paired with his touch, had the power to undo me.
It always had.
Though, I’d only touched him one time, and one time only, in my younger years, it was enough to leave a very lasting impression.
Though, it hadn’t been much of a touch. More like a brush of his arm against mine as we passed at a party one night.
“Ummm,” I murmured, trying to make my tongue work. “The part where you forgot to tell me he would try to break down the wall if I didn’t let him out.”
The hand at my back spasmed.
“He didn’t touch my books, did he?”
I thought back to the living room, remembering what it’d looked like before I’d left, and shook my head.
“No.” I turned so I could see him. “But your couch is a different story.”
He breathed a sigh of relief.
“Give me the leash.”
I handed it to him, and he looked down at the pink rhinestone encrusted monstrosity.
“What the fuck kind of leash is that?” someone asked from beside me.
I looked up to find a tall man with jet black hair, deep blue eyes, and a scowl on his face looking at me.
Oh, and let’s not forget the monster tattoo on his neck. Or the other tattoos that were spotted over the rest of his body in various places.
He looked like he’d handed some kid a marker and let them go to town on all the random tattoos all over his body…and maybe he had.
I doubted it, but it was possible!
I was all for tattoos, but this man’s were…vibrant.
“It’s one of our old ones,” I murmured. “When he was howling, I didn’t know what to do. The tenant next to us was complaining and considered calling the cops. So I did what I had to do.”
My reply sounded defensive, and maybe it was.
Anybody would be defensive when it came to about ten thousand people staring her down, the majority of which being cops or bikers.
Well, maybe ten thousand was exaggerating.
There were more like a hundred, but still.
“Why can’t we take him home with us, Downy?” a woman sniffled. “He doesn’t even know him.”