Page 36 of Gage

At the sound of Lyon’s name, Brutus let out a heartbreaking whine, his big brown eyes glistening with tears. I stroked his head gently. “It’s okay, buddy. We’ll find him. But first, we’ve got to get your leg fixed. If we don’t, it’ll heal crooked, and you’ll never run the same again.”

“Where can we take him?” Faron asked, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. “There have to be vets around here. I’ve seen animals everywhere. I didn’t want to drive through the towns—too risky—but this can’t wait.”

I nodded, looking down at Brutus. He was completely worn out, his head resting heavily in my lap as he panted. “We’ll ask someone where to go. Faron, you’re up. You sound more Iranian than either of us.”

Two hours later, we found a vet just as they were about to lock up for the night. I carried Brutus inside, his weight limp against me. The vet looked at us, then at Brutus, his face immediately softening with concern.

“Someone hurt him,” I explained quickly. “His leg is broken, and it looks like he’s been whipped. He may have some glass in him too—he jumped through a window to get to us. His name is Brutus, and he belongs to our friend, who we’re also trying to find.”

The vet gestured for me to bring Brutus to the exam table. “Where did you find him?”

“He was with some men,” I said, laying Brutus down gently. “They’d been abusing him. He heard us outside and broke through the window to get away.”

The vet shook his head, muttering under his breath as he examined Brutus. “Some men think it makes them powerful to hurt helpless animals. It’s disgusting.” He glanced up at me. “Don’t worry—I’ll take care of him. I’ll sedate him so I can take X-rays and check for any other injuries. My assistants are gone for the night, so I’ll need your help.”

“Of course,” I said without hesitation. “Just tell us what to do. And thank you for helping him.”

“You’re welcome. This poor guy has been through hell. I’m guessing he belongs to your friend?”

“Yes,” I said. “Brutus was stolen by someone who was angry at Lyon—his owner. She shipped him over here. When Lyon found out, he came to find him. That’s why we’re here. We found a guy who had heard rumors about a dog, and it led us straight to him.”

The vet nodded as Brutus let out a soft, pitiful cry. “He knows Lyon’s name,” I added quietly, my voice breaking. “Every time I say it, he cries.”

The vet’s expression hardened with determination. “Well, let’s make sure Brutus is strong enough to help you find him. Lyon must mean the world to this dog.”

Four hours later, we were still working on Brutus. He had a cast on his leg and stitches in several places where the vet had shaved his fur. He looked rough—ugly in a beautiful, heartbreaking way. Watching him sleep, I swear I almost teared up.

The vet wiped his hands on a towel and looked at us. “Why don’t you guys stay here tonight? The waiting room has three sofas you can sleep on. There’s a coffee pot in the lounge, and you’re welcome to anything in the fridge.”

“Thank you. We’ll take you up on that,” I said. “If Brutus wakes up, can he walk on his cast?”

“It’s better if he stays off it as much as possible. I won’t set the alarm, so you can take him out to the yard if he needs to go. Your friend is lucky to have people like you.”

“We’re the lucky ones,” River said. “Lyon’s saved our asses more times than I can count.”

The vet smiled. “So, are you Marines?”

“No,” River replied. “Army Special Forces and Navy SEALs. If you’re ever in the States, look us up. We’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

The vet disappeared into the back room and returned with a small bottle of pills. “Here are painkillers for Brutus. Take as much dog food as you need, and there’s bottled water for him, too.”

“Thank you. It was an honor meeting you,” I said sincerely.

We made a bed for Brutus beside the sofas and dozed off until his soft whimpering woke me. “Hey, boy,” I murmured, kneeling beside him. “Let me get you something for the pain. Hungry? Need to go outside?”

I carried him outside, and he relieved himself before I brought him back in. I slipped a pill into his food, and he ate every bite, washing it down with water. While Brutus settled, we drank coffee and left a thousand dollars on the counter with a thank-you note.

As the sun rose, we loaded up the jeep and set out to find Lyon. The desert heat was brutal, and Brutus dozed on and off in my lap, still groggy from the medication. We stopped for gas, and as we filled the tank, we overheard a group of men talking.

“Yeah, there’s this crazy guy wandering around, calling out for some dog. Brutus, I think.”

At the sound of his name, Brutus’s head shot up. His ears twitched, and he let out a low, eager whine.

We drove for another hour when Brutus suddenly stood up in the seat, his injured leg forgotten. “Whoa, easy, boy,” I said, trying to ease him back down, but he ignored me. His head darted toward the window, his bark sharp and frantic.

Then we saw him. Lyon. He came sprinting around a corner, his clothes dusty, his eyes scanning the street until they locked onto us. He froze for a moment, staring, before breaking into a run toward the jeep.

Brutus tried to jump out, but I caught him just in time. “Hold on, buddy,” I said, lifting him into my arms and carrying him to Lyon.

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