Page 5 of Mr. Misunderstood

“What’s the address?” I ask, glancing through the partition at Samuel.

Good man, he is already reaching for his phone, ready to call up directions and guide the limo’s return trip down the unforgiving, pothole-ridden dirt road.

“Fifteen Main Street,” she calls out to Samuel. Then she turns to me. “Want me to take her?”

I look down at the panting dog. Her eyes are open and she’s looking right at me. I’ve always been a cat person, but right now this sweet girl is melting my heart. “I’ve got her.”

“But your suit—”

“It’s ruined,” I confirm. Still staring into the dog’s brown eyes, I add, “What happened?”

“Someone shot her,” Kayla growls.

“What the fuck?”

I clamp my mouth shut before a stream of curse words fills the limo. But now I’m studying my best friend and trying to piece together the events of her night. I thought mine was a train wreck, but Kayla’s evening has somehow led to gunshots.

Her wild mane flows over her shoulders, and the tips are matted in blood. Her formerly-gray pajamas look like she spent her evening filming Scream Fifteen—or whatever number they are up to now—in her very own backyard.

The top two buttons of her V-neck top are also undone, revealing a lot more than the swell of her full breasts. I look long and hard at that exposed skin, because there is blood splattered across her nipple.

I’m going to kill whoever did this.

The thought pops into my head. I wouldn’t do it with a gun—I don’t own a weapon—but with my bare hands. I have no training, and I’m not a Navy SEAL or some shit like that. And last time I checked, admittance to the tech-genius billionaire club did not come with a license to kill.

Might try, anyway.

But I shake off the thought. The blood on Kayla’s nipple shouldn’t be the reason I lose my fucking mind tonight.

But someone still shot at her.

What does it matter if the breasts on the top of my do-not-touch list are splattered with her dog’s blood? It will wash off in the shower. But I’ll never be able to escape the what-if-that-bullet-had-hit-Kayla fear pulsing through my veins. It tastes worse than my blackmail-by-my-crazy-girlfriend experience earlier.

Worse than damn near anything.

“Tell me what happened,” I demand.

“I let Luna out for a quick nighttime walk. She peed in the house the other night, so I’ve been careful to take her out just before bed,” Kayla explains, her gaze fixed on the dog in my lap. “It sometimes takes her a while to find her spot. She likes to milk the fact that I’m treating her to a nighttime outing without the other dogs.”

Her lips form a wistful hint of a smile. But then her expression hardens into pure anger. “We reached the bottom end of the cleared field. You know the one in back of the house?”

She spares me a glance, and I give a curt nod.

“Then I heard a rustling in the woods. There was enough moonlight to see a deer running through the trees. Luna started barking, and then, bam! Gunshot.” She waves her arms through the air, as if she can show me what it sounded like through wild hand gestures. “Some idiot decided to walk onto my property in the dead of night and hunt. Hunting season doesn’t even start for another two weeks. It’s early October, for goodness sake. And no one in his right mind hunts at night! If I find out who did this—”

“I’m going to kill him,” I interrupt. “And not just because there is blood on your breasts.”

She glances down at her top and reaches for the buttons as the limo turns onto the main road. Now on pavement, Samuel pushes past the speed limit. By the time Kayla covers her chest, we’re pulling into the strip mall’s vacant parking lot. Though “strip mall” might be a stretch for the complex that features a liquor store and a pizza joint.

The vet’s office is wedged between the two stores. A narrow green door with the picture of a dog, a cat, and an exotic bird mounted on the front sets it apart from the other establishments.

Samuel parks the stretch limo across four parking spaces, with the rear passenger side door facing the vet’s office. There’s a light on inside, even though the parking lot is otherwise empty.

“Hold the door for me,” I say, shifting toward the limo’s exit. “I’ll carry Luna inside.”

I slide across the leather seats and maneuver out the car door. Kayla races ahead of me and pulls open the entrance to the vet. Then she stands back, waving her hand to hurry me along. But I take careful, measured steps.

“I don’t want to jar her,” I say.

---