Page 74 of Inked Adonis

The barking intensifies as we walk down the corridor. I’ve always loved this part—seeing the progress of the difficult ones, the ones everyone else has given up on. I can’t help murmuring names of dogs long ago taken home by happy families. Can’t stop myself from imagining them in endless backyards, chasing endless happy children and living endless happy lives.

Susan walks alongside me. Seeing her again is amazing. Under other circumstances, I’d want to sit in puppy puddles and laugh and tell stories with her like we used to do.

But today, something’s different. The animals react to Sam’s presence like they sense exactly what he is: a predator among predators.

We stop at the last kennel. Behind the reinforced gate, a lab mix with a knot of scars across her chest starts a low warning rumble in her chest.

“Poor thing,” Susan said. “Ruby is her name. We found her in an abandoned home. She’s had a hard life. Too hard. But she’s sweet at heart, I really think she is. Just needs the right kind of love. I’m hoping that?—”

She breaks off as Sam steps closer to the cage.

The dog goes absolutely still.

My breath catches. I know that stillness. It’s the same way I go quiet when Sam enters a room—not from fear, but from recognizing something primal. The capacity for violence doesn’t always equal the desire to use it. Sometimes, it means understanding the need to protect what’s yours.

“The key,” Sam says quietly.

Susan starts to protest, but he holds out an open palm and she shuts up. Her hands shake as she passes the key to him. His don’t tremble at all.

He unlocks the gate. I hold my breath. So does every other dog in the building.

The dog approaches slowly, head low. Then, in a move that makes Susan gasp…

Ruby drops and shows her belly to Sam.

I watch Sam crouch and lay one huge hand on the dog’s scarred torso. His touch is gentle, but I can see the lethal strength he keeps carefully leashed. Just like I can see the moment the dog accepts him as alpha.

“We’ll take her,” Sam says, and it’s not a request. “Have the paperwork ready when we leave.”

Something warm and dangerous unfurls in my chest. It feels a lot like understanding. A lot like falling.

The morning sunfeels deceptively bright as we exit through the shelter’s back door, Sam’s hand resting lightly on my lower back the whole time. My own hand is clutching a sheaf of papers: adoption forms for Ruby, who’s going to come join us as soon as the vet comes by the facility and gives her the all-clear.

We’re almost to the SUV when I hear the scuffle—sneakers scraping concrete, a young voice protesting, deeper voices growling threats.

When we turn in unison, I see why.

Two cops have a teenager pressed against a car in the alley. My lungs seize in instant recognition. I know one of them—Officer Martinez. He used to come to my father’s poker nights. He wore too much cologne and smoked too many cigarettes, I remember. It always used to make me cough when he demanded I give him a hug.

Martinez spots me and his face lights with recognition. “Nova Pierce? Holy shi?—”

Then his eyes slide past me to Sam.

The change is instant and visceral. Martinez goes pale, actually stumbles back a step. His partner’s hand drops from the kid’s collar like it’s been burned.

“M-Mr. Litvinov,” Martinez stammers. “We were just—this kid was?—”

“Leave.” Sam’s voice is soft. Deadly. Undeniable.

They practically trip over themselves backing away, muttering apologies that scatter in the wind. The teenager takes off running the opposite direction, not even questioning his luck.

Me, however?

I’m frozen. Can’t move. Can’t breathe.

The shelter visit suddenly crystallizes into something else entirely. Less about Sam showing me his softer side, more about him proving a point.

In his world, even the dogs and corrupt cops bow down.

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