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“It’s pretty clear the mom was killed by another animal. Looks like a dog to me. And Baby Girl here, her too. That’s what it is, right? She got bit by a dog and it crunched down on her skull?”
Kelsey nodded but didn’t speak. She thought he was right, but what she was finding as she cleaned the pus and filth away was even worse than she’d thought. The only reason she could imagine this pup had survived so long was the cold slowing things down.
The pup was writhing and crying with what little energy it had. Kelsey stopped the exam. There was no point causing that poor baby any more pain.
She set aside her equipment and brushed her fingers along the pup’s frail, heaving side.
“Can you help her?” Dex asked.
When Kelsey looked up, she met those large, strangely beautiful eyes. He wasn’t scowling now. His expression was a plea.
“I can help her, but I can’t heal her. Her skull is fractured in so many pieces I can’t count them. There is exposed brain matter, and the wound is septic. I’m stunned she’s still alive now.”
“You’re saying we should put her down.”
“There’s nothing to be done to make her well, but we can end her pain, and it’s the only way we could. If I tried to give her some pain relief, she’s so frail that would probably kill her anyway.”
“There’s no chance?”
Kelsey shook her head. “This pup is dying right now, Dex. What we can do is make the last part of her little life as gentle as possible.”
Focused on the pup under his hand, Dex was quiet for a long time. Finally, he nodded. “Okay. Will you do it?”
“I will. I’ll go put together what I need and be back in a few minutes, okay?”
He nodded.
Kelsey went out through the door that led to the main work area of the clinic. Peggy, one of the vet techs, sat at a desk updating a patient file.
“I need a euthanasia solution for a three-week-old puppy, about 250 grams.” Kelsey said, estimating her weight.
Peggy looked up, jaw loose. “Oh no.”
“Yeah. She’s in really bad shape.”
“Should I get the quiet room ready?” Like most vet clinics, they had a room devoted to euthanizing pets, where their people could sit with them as they passed on, and then stay and grieve as long as they needed.
But Dex had just found this pup this morning. “No, I’ll do it in the exam room. She’s a stray. But the pup’s mother’s carcass is here, too, in the back of my friend’s truck. I’m going to need somebody to get it and bring it back. Is Roy around?”
“He’s been cleaning crates, so he’s out back. Do you need him right now?”
“No. After the pup.”
“I’ll make sure he’s ready.”
As Peggy got up to get the solution, Kelsey got a blanket out of the warmer.
When she went back into the exam room, fully equipped for this sad, and sadly common, procedure, Dex was sitting in one of the chairs, holding the pup on his shoulder, tucked against his neck.
Dex’s name was actually Seth. Rad Jessup had given him the road name “Dexter” because he was, according to club gossip, so knowledgeable about torture and murder—like the protagonist of the show of the same name.
Kelsey had grown up as a daughter of a Brazen Bull. That MC constituted her entire family, and she loved them all as such, even those she didn’t know well—like Dex, for instance. Her parents, especially her father, had shielded her from a lot of the Bulls’ various escapades when she was a child, but now that she was grown, his protective influence could be skirted. She understood who these men were, and she had a very high tolerance for outlaw behavior.
But understanding why Seth Denson was nowDexDenson to anyone who mattered had given her some pause. His angry, silent demeanor was intimidating on its own; coupled with a reputation for scientifically brutal torture, he became pretty terrifying, and for a long time, she’d been actually afraid of him in a way she’d never been with her Uncle Rad, who’d held the same position in the club—Sergeant at Arms—and the same responsibilities.
Until the day Dex had first brought one of his dogs to the clinic for her care.
The Bulls who had pets all came to this clinic, and they all paid the normal rates for care. They came to support her, not get free vet services, though she understood enough about her father, and the Bulls, to have a pretty good idea that calling her their vet was not really a choice. Dex had a lot of dogs, though—five, she thought—so he came to the clinic more than anybody else. All of his dogs had been supposedly hopeless cases, either aggressive or unhealthy or both. He’d rescued them all from kill shelters and trained them into good pets.
