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Back in my room, I turn on the TV, the low hum of the news filling the space. A story about an animal cruelty case catches my attention, and my blood boils at the thought of someone hurting a defenseless animal. It stirs up a familiar anger, a familiar drive to protect. It’s a drive that’s always been there, ever since that cold winter night in the barn.
I look down at Lucy, her eyes meeting mine. And I know that no matter what, I’ll always fight for them, for all dogs. Because they’re more than just pets. They’re family. And family is worth fighting for.
The news report ends, leaving me with a bitter taste in my mouth. I consider reaching out to the local animal shelter, maybe even the activists who are always looking for cases like this. But the thought of dealing with people, of opening myself up to potential disappointment and betrayal, makes me hesitate.
I’ve learned the hard way that people can’t be trusted, that they can hurt you in ways you never thought possible. Dogs, on the other hand, have never let me down.
As I watch Lucy, her eyes radiating trust and unconditional love, I feel an undeniable urge stirring within me. It's more than just a desire to provide shelter for these strays who've found their way to me. It's a calling to make a real difference, to extend my reach beyond the confines of this yard. Just as Lucy once saved me in her silent, steadfast way, I yearn to do the same for others of her kind. This yearning isn't new—it's a part of who I am, a part of my soul that's been whispering to me for years. Now, it's growing louder, impossible to ignore.
I’m torn between my need to act and my desire to stay hidden away. It’s a war that’s been raging inside me for as long as I can remember. I’m a part of the MC, but in many ways, I’m still that scared kid in the barn, hiding from my dad, clinging to a stray dog for warmth and comfort.
Lucy heaves a dramatic sigh and drops her head in my lap. “Me too, girl,” I tell her. “Me too.”
CHAPTER2
Ellie
The reports have been tricklingin for weeks now. Missing dogs, all from the same area, all under suspicious circumstances. It’s a pattern I’ve seen before, and it never ends well. I’ve been investigating, following leads, trying to find the truth. Because if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that these dogs didn’t just run away.
I’ve been staking out the locations where the dogs were last seen, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, that might lead me to them. It’s a long shot, but it’s all I have.
By day, I work as the communications lead for our county animal services division. I issue press releases, handle media inquiries and keep our community engaged with education and outreach efforts. It's a good job, and an important one—but it's not where my heart lies. Not really. My true calling is seeking justice for those who can't speak up for themselves. The ones who suffer silently, behind closed doors.
When I'm not in the office, I investigate reports of cruelty and neglect independently. It's dangerous work, and often fruitless, but I can't turn my back on it. Not after some of the things I've seen. The division would have my head if they knew, but I operate in secret with a network of underground activists committed to the same cause. We do what we have to in order to save lives because the system so often fails them.
The missing dogs are “my” latest case. Everything points to a fighting ring. I've gathered what intel I can through stakeouts and contacts in the area, building a timeline of events to establish the path of leads to follow. It's painstaking work, trying to track people who live in shadows and stay off the radar, but if I can find where they’ve gone, I have a shot at shutting the entire operation down.
I know what I do is against the rules. My methods would never stand up in court. It’s a fine line—I have to make sure law enforcement gets my tips without finding out how I get my information. The risk of doing more harm than good by sticking my nose in is always in the back of my mind. So far, my approach has worked. But judging by the sheer number of animals—mostly pit bulls and Staffordshire terriers—going missing points to an operation much bigger than I’ve ever handled. The thought of them suffering drives me to act when others won't, though. Each dog I save is a victory, no matter the cost. All that matters in the end is that for some, there is still hope—and people like me who will go to hell and back to offer them a second chance at dawn.
It's not the life I pictured, but it chose me long ago all the same. This is my calling; these animals mean something to me, and their lives are worth fighting for.
Tonight, I’m in my elderly Honda, waiting to confirm a tip I got through one of the online activism forums I’m part of. The anonymous poster warned that there are some scary people involved, so I’m hanging back until the delivery they mentioned arrives.
Sure enough, a van, nondescript and unmarked, pulls into the gravel lot. Two big men get out, their movements quick and furtive. One props open a steel door, then returns to help the other with a large animal crate. This is the delivery I was warned about, and since I don’t see any other vehicles, I decide to take a chance and get a closer look.
When they disappear into the building, I follow them, my heart pounding in my chest. I know what I’m likely to find, but nothing can prepare me for the reality of it when I peer through a dirty window. There must be fifty cages in there, and I hear barking. As much as I’d like to burst through the door and set all those dogs free, that’s not how this works. Even beyond the obvious insanity of confronting the men, I can’t fit anywhere near that many dogs in my little hatchback. No, if there are dogs in all those cages, this is bigger than anything I’ve ever seen—and bigger than anything I can handle on my own.
This is it, I realize. It’s time to ask for help from someone I’ve known about for years but never met. Ghost—no idea what his real name is—is in some of the same forums I frequent, but he almost never engages. I know from other members that he’s part of the Cascade Reapers, a motorcycle club that lives up in some compound in the foothills of Mount Rainier. I’ve thought about asking for his help before, even tracked down the location of their clubhouse, but I’ve never worked up the courage to go meet Ghost. I’ve always been wary of bikers. Their rough exterior and lifestyle are something that exists for me only in movies and TV. But if the rumors are true about how committed this guy is to protecting animals, I need his help, and I’m willing to set aside my fears to get it.
I make my way to the MC clubhouse, my heart pounding in my chest. By the time I reach the compound, it’s nearly midnight, but I figure bikers must not have early bedtimes. I press the buzzer next to the tall gate and wait for a response. I’ve never done anything like this before, never put myself in a situation like this. But these dogs need me.
“Yeah?” a voice says through the speaker.
“Um,” I start, suddenly unsure what to say. “Does someone named Ghost live here?”
There’s silence for a long time, and I’m about to give up when a lanky figure appears from the shadows. When the man steps into the light from the single overhead fixture, I almost gasp. He’s…beautiful. A tight black T-shirt clings to his tall frame, and tattoos cover his toned arms. His dark beard and hair are a striking contrast to his ice-blue eyes.
“I’m Ellie.”
“Okay,” he says, looking me up and down. “What can I help you with, Ellie?”
“Are you…um, Ghost?” It feels silly—I have no idea if that’s what he goes by in real life. I might look like a psycho, showing up in the middle of the night and calling him by his online name. But I exhale with relief when he nods and lifts his eyebrows expectantly.
“Oh, okay, great,” I say.Chill the fuck out, Ellie.“Can I come in and talk? It’s about—well, it’s a dog thing.”
The MC clubhouse looms before me, a fortress of steel and concrete. The sound of loud music and raucous laughter spills out from within. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what’s to come. I’ve never been in a place like this before, never faced a group like this. But I won’t let my fear stop me. Not when there are lives at stake.
As Ghost leads me inside, all eyes turn to me. I can feel their wariness. I’m an outsider, and I look wildly out of place with my hot-pink “Rescue Is My Favorite Breed” T-shirt. But I don’t let it deter me. I lift my chin, meeting their gazes head-on. I’m here for a reason, and I won’t be intimidated.
