Page 67 of Pure Vengeance

“What’s wrong with him?” I asked, swallowing the tears thickening my voice.

“Move it, Natasha. Now.”

The barked order got my feet moving before I realized it. Although I hated my body for its automatic obedience, I couldn’t deal with it now. My baby was in trouble.

Thankfully, the keys were in the ignition. Blinking rapidly to stop my burgeoning tears, I moved the truck as close to the stairs as I could get. I got out to help, but Jerome simply grunted and lifted Dante into his arms before laying him carefully on the bench seat.

After covering him with a blanket, he got behind the wheel and rattled off an address. “Follow me and bring the kitten.”

Without waiting for an answer, he drove to the end of the driveway and waited for me.

I darted inside for the cat and slammed the door behind me before racing to the garage. Every mile sent a fresh shard of terror into my heart, and I was sobbing long before I pulled into the lot and parked. Jerome’s truck was empty, meaning he and Dante were already inside.

The SUV’s engine ticked as I sat frozen. I needed to get to Dante, but I couldn’t see…

Couldn’t make my feet or my brain move to the logical conclusion. Could barely breathe through my sobs.

From the passenger seat, the kitten made a tiny peep, forcing me from my mental stalemate. I swept her up and forced myself to walk into the clinic.

Jerome rose from a chair next to an elderly woman who had a poodle on her lap. After wrapping a thick arm around my waist, he led me to sit next to him, then handed me a threadbare bandana.

“Doc’s got Dante. They think he had a stroke.” He took the kitten and tucked her into his pocket.

“He’s not…” I coughed to ease the thick wad of tears from my throat. “Will he be okay?”

Jerome sighed but didn’t immediately reply. Finally, he said, “Dante is almost eleven.”

“That’s young, right? He’s going to be okay.”

I said the words with every bit of conviction I could muster, but they sounded false.

He turned to face me and shook his head sadly. “Natasha, he’s old. Large-breed dogs rarely live more than ten years or so. Might be best to?—”

“No! That is not fucking happening!”

My scream startled the elderly woman. Her eyes wide, she clutched her dog to her chest and hurried from the clinic.

Dante’s illness wasn’t Jerome’s fault, but I had no other outlet for my rage. Fixing my helpless fury on Jerome, I wrapped my hands around his thick neck and squeezed. “This is your fault. Your fucking fault!”

Lachlan

Although I shouldn’t have come, I parked next to Jerome’s truck and got out.

I was the last person Natasha would want to see—especially when she was grieving her beloved dog—but I couldn’t stop myself.

Natasha had already been through too much, and I couldn’t stand the idea of letting her lose Dante without at least trying to help her. Jerome’s call just gave me an excuse to see her, but he hadn’t mentioned why he’d been at Natasha’s house in the first place.

Thankfully, Saoirse hadn’t been around to talk me out of it.

Maybe the vet could bring him back, but I doubted it. Dante was old, and although he had no health issues aside from a touch of arthritis, he’d been living on borrowed time for over a year.

Before I could enter the clinic, a police cruiser pulled in and stopped in the middle of the lot. Two officers exited the vehicle and strode to the entrance, then opened the door, allowing a feminine scream of rage to escape.

As I hurried to the entrance, the officers carried Natasha, who was kicking and shouting a virulent stream of curses, to the cruiser. She was dressed in a pair of tight spandex shorts and a sports bra, and her feet were bare.

One of the officers held her bent over the hood while the other slapped cuffs on her wrists as he read her Miranda rights. Ignoring her angry screeches, they locked her in the back of the cruiser.

Jerome walked from the clinic. Rubbing his throat, he veered off to intercept me.

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