“Yeah?”
“Sure. You weight what? Like a hundred pounds?”
I shake my head. “A bit more than that,” but I can see the lines of his body under his shirt. His shoulders are broad, his arms lean. His shirt is fitted enough that I can see the flat expanse of his abdomen.
He bends down. “Climb on my shoulders.”
I eye him skeptically. “I don’t know.”
“You think I’m going to drop you?”
“No, well, not on purpose.”
He sighs and holds my eye. “Either you get on my shoulders or we go home without the money shot.”
He’s right. I can either trust him and go for it, or we give up.
Giving up isn’t something I’m a fan of.
I shove my phone in my back pocket and brace my hands on his shoulders. Holy cow, they’re rock hard. I throw a leg over each shoulder and brace myself as he rises up.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Light as a feather,” he grunts.
I tap him on the head. “Not funny.”
His hands wrap around my calves and a shiver runs up my spine.
“Scoot up to the wall a little,” I say, and he walks forward. The window is still out of reach. I touch the side of the building and start to move.
“What are you doing?” he asks from below.
“I need to stand up.”
“Absolutely not.”
I glance down and in the faint light see the outline of his face. His expression is concerned. “Griffin, I’ve got this.”
He frowns. “Be careful.”
I grip the side of the building, using it as leverage as I stand. I feel his fingers circle around my ankles, holding tight. With one hand holding on to the window ledge and the other pulling out my phone, I peek through the cracked glass and get a good look inside.
Marco Leitch is standing on the edge of the ring, with a big smile on his face. An expensive gold chain hangs around his neck and a massive pit bull sits at his feet. My stomach twists in fear for the poor dog, for all the dogs, and I wish I could go in and save them all.
This is the first step.
I take photos, zooming in on Marco’s face. The other men and women at the fight. The poor dogs, including ones that are already injured. I blink back hot, angry tears and call down, “I’ve got enough.”
Getting down is harder than getting up and I find myself holding onto the wall while Griffin slowly lowers himself. When he’s low enough, I squat, then slide down his back, my stomach rubbing against his lean muscles. For a hot mess, his body is strong and hard, stable. My feet hit the ground and he straightens. I sense the heat in my cheeks and am glad that it’s dark.
“You ready?”
I hear a loud vibration and Griffin curses under his breath.
“What?”
He lifts up his jeans and I see the black box strapped to his ankle. A green light blinks. “I’ve got a monitor. It’s letting me know I have fifteen minutes until curfew.”
“You have a curfew?”
“Yep.”
I catch a hint of embarrassment.
“What happens if you break it?”
“I don’t really want to find out.” He starts across the field.
“It’s going to take you longer than fifteen minutes to get back in town.”
“Not if I can help it.” He breaks into a sprint, and easily hops the fence. By the time I get over it he’s already in his Jeep, engine cranked, pulling out of the parking lot.
I get into my own car and lock the doors, breathing heavy from the run, the adrenaline, from the whole night.
I knew I’d find something at the warehouse tonight, I just didn’t realize how much.
9
Griffin
I push the speed limit on the way back to Redemption House. The last thing I need is to get a ticket, holding me up further. I park the car, opening the door before my key is out of the ignition, then race up the stairs to the front door. I jiggle the handle.
Locked.
I don’t have to check the time to know I’m five minutes late. I slam my fist against the house and pace back and forth.
Again, the thought of running crosses my mind. Drive as far as I can tonight. I’ve got a few friends I could hole up with a town over. It wouldn’t take much to start over. A handsome dog, a new profile online. Five hundred bucks easy.
An image of Maverick pops into my mind. I’m not sure what made me insist on staying with her tonight. It may have been the fact that if she got caught, she could tell the cops I was there too. Or that if her brother found out, he’d kill me.
There’s a lot more going on with this girl than taking care of sick cats. She’s got a dangerous streak, not to mention gorgeous, soulful blue eyes and pink, full lips.
I shake the image of that out of my head and suck up my pride, stabbing my finger on the door buzzer.
Felix answers the door.
“You’re late,” he says, stepping back and allowing me to enter.
“I got held up, uh, at the program.” Telling the truth would get me and Maverick in trouble. I’m a lot of things, but a narc isn’t one of them.
“That’s not an excuse,” he says. Gabrielle appears in the hallway, a line of concern on her forehead. I remember the paper in my back pocket.
“I forgot to get my paper signed and had to go back to the farm to get Maver—Mave—to sign it.” I tuck my fingers in my back pocket and feel nothing but jeans. “Wait, where’d it go? I swear I just had it.”
Felix rolls is eyes. “Do you think we’re that stupid? Where have you been? A bar? Out with a woman?”
“No.”
Well one of those is true, but not in the way it’s being implied.
Gabrielle steps forward, her lips pressed in a thin line. “Griffin, this is not the right way to start off the program. Late, no signed paperwork. I know it’s hard to suddenly have all these rules, but trust me, it’s way better than prison.”
“I understand that.” I want to fight. To argue. To tell them I was protecting a crazy woman with a need for trouble. I don’t. “What’s the consequence?”
A knock on the door interrupts whatever Gabrielle is about to say.
Felix and the program director share a look. Felix looks out the window and frowns.
“It’s a woman.”
“Well, open the door.”
He does and reveals Mave standing on the welcome mat.
“Hi,” she says, looking a mess. Her hair is tangled, and her cheeks are red. “I’m Mave—owner of Maverick Farms. The, uh, animal rescue.”
Felix watches her closely. The director steps forward.
“We spoke on the phone. I’m Gabrielle.” The women exchange a handshake. “Is there a problem?”
“I, uh,” Mave says, fumbling in her pocket. “I found this.” She reveals the crumpled and folded timesheet. “You must have dropped it while helping in the kennels.”
Gabrielle takes the paper and unfolds it, reading over the information.
“It’s my fault Griffin is late. Someone left the gate to the pen open and my pig, Hamilton, got loose and we had to find him.” She eyes my dirty clothes. “You should have seen him try to tackle that pig. Obviously, he fell in the mud, but he got him.”
Felix sniffs, wrinkling his nose.
“Is that what happened?” Gabrielle asks me.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“The Farm isn’t exactly nine-to-five. There’s always some kind of crisis,” Maverick adds, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “But I’ll do my best to make sure he leaves on time.”
“If there’s an issue in the future, feel free to call.” Gabrielle smiles. “Thank you for stopping by and clearing that up.”
“No problem.” Her eyes skip to mine. “I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ve got to deworm some kittens.”
I cough, gagging at the thought. She smiles wickedly and opens the door.
“Good night, Mave,” Gabrielle says.<
br />
“Night.”
I wave and Felix secures the door behind her. Gabrielle looks at me with a lifted eyebrow and an amused grin.
“It looks like your first day went pretty well.”
“Sure,” I say, not adding the fact that I offended the boss, almost got fired, fell in a pig pen, and went to an illegal dog fight. Oh, and a I met a feisty, cute girl that’s made it pretty clear she hates my guts. “It was better than expected.”
“Good. Maybe you’ll learn something after all.”
Gabrielle turns and walks down the hall. I head to the stairs, thinking that maybe she’s right.
10
Mave
A waft of steam filled with the warm, rich aroma of coffee hits my nose as I stand in the kitchen trying to wake up.
It doesn’t work.
Last night had been…strange. Even after I got home, I kept replaying it in my head. Griffin showing up, helping me get the photos I needed. The look of panic on his face when the door opened at Redemption House. I found the paper as I was turning the car around, a flash of white in my headlights. He must have dropped it when he got in the car.
I plugged the house address into my GPS and got there as quickly as I could. I couldn’t risk him telling everyone where we’d been all night.
He’d looked appreciative and grateful.
It confused me. All of it, and while I waited for the photos to upload to the file I’d been keeping on Marco’s dog fighting ring, I did a little research. It only took a few minutes for something to pop up.
The top three were his arrests; all for dog flipping, the most recent last month with the Great Danes. I scrolled down the page, pausing on a headline from the university.
Second-Baseman Griffin McGuire Walks Off the Baseball Field During Playoffs.
I clicked on the link.
Bulldog Griffin McGuire quits during the third of seven play-off games. The move is a shock to teammates and fans, who’ve watched the All-Star player since his high school days when he won a full scholarship for his skills and leadership. When asked, Coach Roberts says he’s aware that the junior is dealing with personal issues at this time.
I skimmed the rest of the article, but there was no information on his personal issues. I’d gone back to the main search page and scrolled further, finding a news clipping about a tragic car accident on Highway 20 that took the lives of Sylvia and Pete McGuire. Griffin was sixteen.
His parents didn’t survive the accident—which yeah, could cause some life-altering personal issues. But quitting the baseball team in college? A potential career? That seemed extreme.
Even after I got into bed, I couldn’t settle my mind.
I’m still thinking about it when Paul walks in the kitchen, freshly showered and ready for the day. He pats Lolly on the head and bypasses the coffee, going straight for a smoothie bottle in the fridge. The contents are green.
“Where were you last night?” he asks, popping off the top. He’d been in his room when I got home.
“I got a message on the group that a pregnant dog had been picked up in Milledge. I ran out to check on her, make sure everything seemed okay. Then I stopped at Lucy’s.”
He takes a large gulp of the drink. He’s been on a health kick the past few months. Lucy’s, famous for barbeque and vegetables, used to be one of our favorites—it’d been our grandparents' favorite, too. Since Pop Pop passed away, Paul hadn’t been interested in going, saying that it was too greasy for his taste.
I know for certain he won’t go in and check up on me.
“What was the special?”
“Meatloaf.” Monday is always meatloaf. “But I just got veggies. They had okra.”
His eyebrow arches. He’s a sucker for fried okra.
I take a sip of my coffee, now the perfect temperature. He looks like he’s planning on asking something else when a door slams out in the driveway. We both glance out the window and see the black Jeep.
My stomach clenches nervously. It must also be spelled on my face, too, because Paul asks, “You want me to run interference today? I need to repair the fence in the far pasture.”
“No, today is a new day. I told you I’d start fresh, but if you need him to help with the fence, go for it.”
I didn’t need interference, but I also didn’t mind a little distance from the man walking up the front porch. Knowing more about his background gives me mixed emotions. He’s not a good person, I know that, but nothing is ever black and white. I know that, too. Just because your parents were killed in a tragic accident doesn’t mean you turn into a horrible monster.
Paul and I are an example of resiliency after a family upheaval and look at us, perfectly functional. You know, other than the fact we still live with one another and our closest relationship is with a pig.
Griffin taps on the door and I see through the glass that he’s in more causal clothing today—beat-up jeans and a flannel shirt. The lean, muscular lines of his body make more sense knowing his history with baseball. Even if he quit, he probably keeps fit. Paul opens the door and I note his work boots are high enough to cover his ankle monitor.
“Hey man,” Paul says, shaking Griffin’s hand. “How are you with a pair of wire cutters?”
“I don’t know,” Griffin replies. “I’m willing to give it a shot.”
“Good. I’m headed out in the tractor to feed the horses and Dexter, but I’ll swing back around to get you in a few. A tree fell on the fence and it needs repairing.”
“Sure.”
My brother gives me a last look before descending the steps. It’s one last offer to save me from Griffin—or really, to save Griffin from me. I wave him off and once he’s out of earshot I face the man in front of me, who speaks before I can.
“Thanks for last night. I was about to get in a heap of trouble.”
“I owed you one. You helped me get some great shots of Marco.”
“What are you going to do with those, anyway?”
I raise an eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s information you want to have, being on probation and all.”
“Fair enough.”
Another car rolls down the driveway. Sherilyn. I wave to her. “You remember where we store the dog food?”
“The closet in the kennel?”
“Yep. Go ahead and start feeding the dogs. Then it’s the same process as yesterday, cleaning the cages, getting them in the run, walking them.”
“Gotcha.”
“I need to talk to Sherilyn about the open house. I’ll be there to help soon.”
Sherilyn emerges from her car carrying a cardboard box. Oh no. Before I can ask, a tiny whimper comes from inside, and I grimace. “How many.”
“Three,” Sherilyn says, struggling up the steps. “I found the box by the driveway.”
“How many what?” Griffin asks.
“Puppies.” I say. I look at him. “Did you see the box when you drove in?”
He blinks. “I just thought it was trash.”
“Never assume anything left out front is just trash. People dump their pets here all the time.” A wave of disappointment crashes over me as reality hits home. Just because Griffin helped me out the night before doesn’t mean he’s made any progress. “Let’s get them inside. The heating pad is in the closet. I’ll call Dr. Tricia and see if she can get over here today.”
I push past Griffin and open the door. My heart nearly breaks when I see the three tiny puppies curled into one another. They’re so small they don’t have much hair yet. “I’ll also make sure the bottles are clean.”
“Bottles?” he asks, following us inside.
“With no mama, we’ll need to bottle feed them.”
“What can I do?”
A laugh escapes. Sherilyn and I exchange a look. Good, it’s not just me.
“What?” Griffin asks, glancing between us.
“Sorry, but I’m not letting you anywhere near these puppies.”
He frowns. “What? Why not?”
<
br /> “Because they’re small enough to fit in your pocket,” Sherilyn says. “And you may just take one home.”
“I wouldn—"
“Go on,” I say, knowing Griffin can’t be trusted alone with these pups. I mean, he can’t be trusted to even check the “trash” by the road. “There’s plenty of work to do in the kennel.”
I turn my attention away from him and down to the small puppies, knowing they are going to require a lot of my attention for the rest of the day. I vaguely hear the screen door slam as he walks outside.
“Let’s get you warmed up,” I say, taking the heating pad from Sherilyn.
“I think we hurt his feelings,” she says, picking up a pup and inspecting his body. Small but healthy. We need to feed them soon.
“I’m not here to make him feel better. He’s here to pay off his debt to society. Cleaning a few kennels should do the trick.”
She checks the next pup. They squirm around, seeking the heat of the pad.
We don’t talk about Griffin anymore and I don’t have time to think about him, not until Paul shows up around lunchtime, alone. He walks through the house toward the kitchen.
“Where’s Griffin?” I call out, not liking that he’s totally unsupervised.
“He said he brought his lunch. He’s eating in the car.” The refrigerator door opens and closes. “Did something happen this morning? He seemed kind of down.”
“He’s living in a half-way house and working community service by cleaning up dog poop all day. I’d be depressed, too.”
“He’s a hard worker, Mave.” He grabs the bread off the counter and spreads out the ingredients to make a sandwich—turkey, cheese, avocado. “We got the fence repaired in record time.”
“Good, he’s probably making up for the fact he left three abandoned puppies by the gate.”
“Puppies?”
I point to the box. Dr. Tricia came by and checked them out, giving me special formula to feed them and a few instructions. Paul glances inside. A line crosses his forehead. “They’re tiny.”
I sigh. “I know. I’ll be up all night with them.”
“I can take a shift.”
Rescuing the Bad Boy: Bad Boy Sweet Romance (Last Chance at Love Book 1) Page 4