Page 69 of Pure Vengeance

“We’re good, Mrs. O’Donnell.” He shuffled his feet, then added, “I’ll go check on Dante.”

“We’ll go with you,” Lachlan said, keeping his arm around me. “Dante will need his family close by while he recovers.”

Somehow, I managed not to laugh. We were not, and never would be, a family. The only reason we were still married was because Lachlan was being a stubborn bastard and hadn’t signed our divorce papers yet.

Pushing the hateful thoughts aside, I tried to calm down and focus. Lachlan was right about one thing. Dante needed me. He’d need his mom to help him over the rainbow bridge and into heaven where he belonged.

A tear—a real one—slid down my cheek, and I prayed. I could not think about Dante leaving me, and if Lachlan got me back into that clinic, I might possibly consider the idea of letting him keep breathing.

I didn’t protest when he kept an arm around my waist as he escorted me inside, where I gave my most heartfelt apologies to the staff.

They were real ones too. I shouldn’t have tried to end Jerome in their presence.

Once the staff were assured that I wouldn’t go postal again, they let us back into an exam room. Dante was nestled in a mound of soft blankets and had an IV line running from his left foreleg. A respirator was fitted over his blunt muzzle, but he appeared to be resting comfortably. To my surprise, the kitten was curled up next to his head. Her little tummy was round, and I heard her purr as she made biscuits in Dante’s blankets.

“We didn’t think you’d mind,” the vet, a middle-aged woman, said. “Dante’s heart rate stabilized when we put her with him.”

“Is he—” More tears flowed, and I covered my mouth with one hand as I stroked his coarse fur with the other. “Will he get better?”

She glanced at Lachlan and stepped out of my reach. “He had a stroke, Mrs. O’Donnell. We’re keeping him under mild sedation to give his brain a chance to recover.”

“Will he… Will I have to…” I squeezed my eyes shut and resisted the urge to curl up on the exam table with my baby. “Will I have to let him go?”

Her gaze softened and she shook her head. “No, not at this time. We don’t know his prognosis yet, but he’s not in any pain. It’s possible he’ll recover.”

She smiled and gave the kitten a gentle pat. “This little one is helping, and since she needs some care as well, we’ll keep them together. If you could bring one of Dante’s favorite toys and maybe a blanket he uses, that would also be helpful.”

“I’ll have someone deliver a few of his toys,” Lachlan replied.

“No!” When the vet flinched, I added, “He’ll want his stuffed bear. He likes to cuddle it when he sleeps. And his memory foam bed too because his joints get stiff, and?—”

“Shh, love.” Lachlan pulled me against his chest and rubbed my back. I hated how nice it felt. “We’ll get everything.”

“Nothing from his kennel,” I warned. I didn’t want those horrible hard rubber toys that looked like human limbs. I refused to tolerate anything that would remind either of us of when Dante was a trained killer.

“Okay.” Lachlan didn’t stop stroking my back. “Just his bear and his bed.”

“And we’ll care for him to the best of our ability.” The vet bent to kiss Dante between his ears. “I’ve been taking care of this old gentleman since he was a pup, and I promise I won’t let him go without a fight.”

My sobs burst free, stealing my ability to breathe. Crooning softly, Lachlan supported my weight when I would have collapsed, and just held me while I cried.

The tears were for Dante, but more for myself. For once, I might get to keep someone I loved.

Lachlan

“I want around-the-clock care for Dante at my house.”

To her credit, Dr. Mendez didn’t blink at my request. “He’ll need a vet plus a tech and equipment. It’ll cost you.”

I lifted Natasha into my arms, but she wouldn’t stop crying, and kept her arms wrapped tightly around my neck. “Talk to Jerome to arrange payment. I’m taking my wife home.”

Every one of her tears sent a vicious pulse of agony into my chest as if she was trying to carve out my heart.

I could have been her friend. You could have been her husband.

Coulda, woulda, shoulda, indeed.

My sister’s words driving into my brain, I carried Natasha from the clinic. I wanted my wife and her dog home where they belonged, and neither of them would be living in that goddamned kennel.

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