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“It’s for my bruises,” she said, shaking her head at me. “I love your apartment. Really, I do. But I am losing my ever-loving mind not being able to get some fresh air,” she admitted.
Right.
Yeah.
That made sense.
No, she couldn’t go for a jog or shit like that, but she could probably take the short walk to the park with Storm. Even if she planted her pretty ass on a bench the whole time.
“You didn’t put down a shade here,” I said. I didn’t know much about makeup, but I knew you had to match it to your skin tone. “So, just go for whatever Casper-ass shade they got going?”
“I’m not that pale,” she insisted.
“Kinda be a shame to cover up the freckles,” I said before I could think better of the words. But I couldn’t take them back. Or unsee the way her eyes went soft at hearing them.
Fuck.
I needed to get away from her.
Get my head on right.
Stop thinking with my dick.
“Alright. Better go before Samantha leaves,” I said, rushing Storm out of the door. “Don’t look at me like that,” I demanded as Storm stared up at me as we went down in the elevator. “Don’t get your hopes up,” I added. “It’s not like that with us,” I informed him.
Storm seemed unconvinced.
And why wouldn’t he be?
I was lying to him.
“Ay, yo, what’s this?” a familiar voice called, making me turn to find Brio walking toward me in his black shirt and jeans, the only other member of the Family aside from me who wasn’t committed to wearing suits. “When’d you get a dog?” he asked.
“When did you get ten?” I shot back, looking at the various dogs at the ends of leashes that were, miraculously, not tangled.
“Walking ‘em for the shelter,” he said. “Helps ‘em not go stir crazy. And gets ‘em some exposure to people who might adopt,” he said, and I noticed several of them wearing Adopt Me! bandanas. “That one yours?” he asked, giving me a suspicious look.
“No. Or… maybe,” I said, kicking myself for not having a story at the ready. Since I wasn’t exactly being honest with the Family about Millie. Or, you know, letting them know she existed at all.
“How’s it maybe?”
“Found him in the woods,” I said, shrugging. “On the last job,” I added. “He was dumped with his littermates. They didn’t make it.”
“Motherfucking monsters doing shit like that to puppies,” Brio snarled.
While Brio was our “heavy” when it came to torturing or murdering people who needed it, I had a sneaking suspicion the man moonlighted as a crusader for animal justice. It wouldn’t surprise me at all to learn that he single-handedly snuffed out a couple dozen convicted animal abusers. After enacting whatever torture on the people that the people forced upon the animals.
“Yeah,” I agreed, thinking of the puppies in the grave, the memory still making me feel a little sick. “He made it, though,” I said. “He’s a good dog,” I added, thinking of how I’d only cleaned up two accidents in the apartment since he moved in. And, objectively, those were likely my fault for being gone too long when Millie wasn’t able to take him out herself.
“Looks like a German and Australian Shepherd mix.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought too.”
“High energy.”
“He likes his walks,” I agreed, nodding.
To that, Brio nodded. “Ever wanna walk ‘em with some friends,” Brio said, waving toward his crew that was getting anxious to get moving, “I do this five days a week.”
