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“Who was that?” the blonde asked, rubbing her arm where Dog had held her as he turned.
Damn, he hadn’t meant to hurt her. And, holy hell, he didn’t even know her name. Maybe he shouldn’t. She didn’t belong in his world, no matter what his dick was saying.
Dog had promised Krystal he wouldn’t reveal what Nate did, but he had to make the woman understand. He snared her gaze for emphasis. “Trust me, baby. You do not want to know.”
Her brow furrowed and her face contorted, eyes pinching shut. “Oh my god,” she whispered, and her hands whipped to the sides of her head. “It hurts so bad—" Her body went limp and slumped toward the ground.
Dog snatched her before she hit the asphalt. “What the fuck…." He cradled her head on his thighs. A memory slammed him hard. Hischest squeezed, and he couldn’t breathe.
He was eight years old, waiting by the mailbox, arms locked around the thick, wooden post, hoping, wishing, praying. His ma had always said, “If you smell smoke, you go to the mailbox. I’llmeet you there.”
When the house shook with an explosion and smoke billowed from the laundry room, Jason did what she’dsaid. He watched the flames spread, sirens growing louder in the night air—eyes locked on the front door he’d left open, willing her to come out.
She kept her promise. She stumbled out the door, down the porch steps, and across the postage-stamp yard. And when she got to Jason, one side of her face pulled into a pain-filled smile. The other side looked like melted wax.
She crumpled at his feet, eyes shut. Jason couldn’t touch her, not when she looked like that. He stood frozen until the fireman knelt beside her and touched her neck. He glanced at Jason and let out a deep sigh.
With a jerk, Dog shook off the past. His fingers pressed against the blonde’s neck let him know she was alive but told him little else. He grabbed his phone from his cut and dialed 911.
“911 dispatch, what’s your emergency?” a female voice asked.
“Woman passed out. Not drunk. Just collapsed. She’s got a pulse.”
His heart was going like pistons on overdrive.
“What’s your location?”
The woman sounded so fucking calm. “In the parking lot of the Ground Round. Uh, Main Street in Edwards. Can you send someone?”
“Is the victim breathing?”
Shit, he hadn’t checked for that. He placed a hand under her nose, and warm air brush his fingertips.
“Yeah, yes, she’s breathing.”
“What is your name?” the woman droned.
“Jesus, woman, what does it matter? Just send someone!”
“I’ve already dispatched an ambulance, sir. Could I have your name for our records?”
Every living cell in Dog’s body screamed don’t answer, never give any more information than he had to, but he did. “Dog.”
There was a brief silence on the phone. “Could you spell that please?”
He huffed. “D-O-G, like your goddamned mutt!”
“Please remain calm, sir. You can’t help the victim if you don’t.”
Bile rose in his throat. He couldn’t help the victim anyway, any more than he’d been able to help his mother. “Where’s the fucking ambulance?”
“It’s on its way, sir. Please stay on the line.”
A siren wailed in the distance, and Dog hit the red button to end the call. He slipped the phone back into his cut and leaned close to the woman’s ear. “Hang on, baby. Help’s comin’.”
He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and cupped her jaw. Her skin was soft like a flower petal. He snorted at his thought. All this and she was turning him into a poet.
Dog stroked her mouth with his thumb. “Stay with me, sweetheart. Had my heart set on tasting these lips. You wouldn’t want to let me down, would you?”
