Page 12 of Perfectly Leashed
It wasn’t until after the text was sent that he realized what he’d said.
My dog whisperer?
Crap. Guys got nervous when the person they just met put a claim on them. Hopefully, Luca wouldn’t pay attention to that little detail.
Santiago pulled out his phone and frowned, making Darcy panic he’d sent the text to the wrong person.
You don’t have his number, moron.
“Dos de nuestros chicos están en problemas. Necesitan ayuda urgente,” Santiago called out to the almost-empty room. Darcy had no clue what he’d just said, but the urgency in the guy’s voice was unmistakable.
“What did he say?” Darcy asked Percy in a low tone. The guy behind the bar, Rafael, Darcy assumed, snapped to immediate attention.
Something was clearly wrong.
“He knows it’s hard for me to understand him when he talks too fast.” Percy got up and went after his boyfriend, who’d headed toward the back of the tavern.
A second later the two returned… with half a dozen cutthroat-looking guys. The man in front could easily pass as mafia. Darcy had never seen eyes that cold and intense before. He munched on another nacho, eating it like a rabbit devoured a carrot as they passed him. His heart nearly gave out when Killer Eyes spared him a glance.
Darcy never wanted the stranger with the neck tattoo to look his way again. His sphincter clenched just from his brief scrutiny.
Percy headed back to the table, but he didn’t sit down. “Come with me.” He grabbed Darcy’s hand and yanked him from his seat.
For a little guy, he was pretty damn strong. “What’s going on? Where’re you taking me?” Darcy grabbed the plate of nachos before he was hauled to the tavern kitchen.
Holy shit. The room looked like it belonged in a five-star restaurant, not a biker tavern. The appliances gleamed under the natural lighting streaming through the windows. The industrial-sized refrigerator alone made Darcy want to see what was inside.
Sue him. A few nachos hadn’t put a dent in his appetite. But he still had no idea why Percy had dragged him in here. It wasn’t for a dang tour.
But Percy had always been a strange little gremlin. A few months back, Percy had ordered from Pizza Pit every Friday and Saturday night.
Normally, no big deal. Until one Saturday night Percy had left the door open to grab some cash. Darcy had spotted a badly battered woman on the couch, a blanket curled around her slight frame.
She’d reminded him of his aunt, Patrice, who’d been killed at the hands of her own husband. Darcy’s mom had been devastated at the loss of her sister. She’d tried countless times to talk Patrice into leaving her husband, but his aunt had always refused, making excuses for Richard’s violent behavior.
Then, three nights before Christmas, they’d gotten the call. Patrice was dead. Richard was arrested, but Darcy’s paternal grandmother had suffered a heart attack from the horrific news and his mom had been on medication for a long time just to cope, which drove a wedge between his parents.
After the night he’d seen Percy’s mom with those same kind of bruises, he’d befriended the family, always making sure to bring Macey something sweet with their orders.
Darcy shook himself from his deep thoughts, hating when he remembered such a dark part of his past.
That was when he noticed a beefy guy at the huge stove, a smaller guy perched on a stool next to him. The one on the stool was talking nonstop, though Darcy couldn’t hear what he was saying. The large guy simply smiled at him as he cooked, like he thoroughly enjoyed having his ear talked off.
“Mind telling me why you dragged me in here?” Darcy munched on the nachos but was eyeing the plate of wings resting on the stainless-steel workstation.
Cooked to a succulent golden brown.
If Darcy would’ve known how late Luca would be, he wouldn’t have made sure to be here on time.
Tempted by food in every direction… Would anyone notice if he slid a wing off that plate?
“Cesar, Jamie, this is Darcy,” Percy said. “Darcy, meet Cesar and his partner, Jamie.” Then he addressed the cook again. “Please feed the poor guy before his tongue drowns in his saliva. Never seen a bitch eye-bang chicken before.”
“Was not,” Darcy argued, even as his gaze darted back to the plate. “I’m just appreciating how well it’s plated.”
“I made those!” Jamie slid off the stool and stood by the workstation like he was showcasing the wings on a game show. “I’m the only person Cesar has ever told his recipe to.”
“Colibrí,” Cesar said in a gentle warning, but Jamie continued like he hadn’t heard his boyfriend.
