Major (Blue-Collar Bad Boys Next Door Book 5)

by Mazzy King

  Tears stream down my face. I shake my head.

  By now, a small crowd has gathered on the sidewalk. Major has a fraternity brother on the police force and calls him.

  I find the “Unknown” text and give into my devastation, sending a violently emotional and threatening message. But I only receive an error in return.

  Bongo’s gone. My heart is shattered.

  7

  Major

  “You sure this is a good idea, Maj?”

  My good buddy Damien Willis casts a worried frown out the tow truck’s windshield at what looms ahead of us—the Port City junkyard.

  “I mean, my cop friend said this was an address they were investigating,” I reply.

  “He’d probably tell you this is a bad idea, then.” Damien arches a brow at me.

  “My gut says it’s right. Besides, what’re you afraid of, with your big-ass self?”

  “Getting shot,” he says firmly. “These dog-fighting rings can be brutal, man.”

  My frat brother on the force, Mike, told me privately in the days since Bongo was abducted that they suspected a dog-fighting ring operated near the junkyard, due to a connection with a relative of the yard’s owner, or something like that. Cecily and I gave him as much evidence as we could, which wasn’t much—the text messages on her phone, the call list, and some comments on her social media page we hadn’t seen before.

  Their investigation is slow-going. But when Mike called me last night to give me an update, I decided to take matters into my own hands and do some investigating myself. Damien’s along because he’s the biggest friend I have, and he can watch my back. He’s a retired Marine and a construction worker now, which means he’s built like hell and isn’t anyone to fuck with.

  Today, we’re here on the pretense of looking for scrapped car parts that we hope to salvage or refactor. Cecily doesn’t know I’m here. She’s working on a few senior portraits today while Felix is with my parents, after I asked my dad if they could keep him last minute. I could tell my father wanted to ask me all kinds of questions when I dropped Felix off, but I silently begged him not to.

  I’m glad Cecily is working today. She’s been so brokenhearted since Bongo was taken five days ago. I feel completely helpless, wanting to make it all better for her and not knowing how.

  Today’s the day I do something.

  The junk yard has a few buildings on the premises, a main office and a few other buildings. A man in coveralls walks out of the main office, shielding his eyes.

  “Hello,” he says. “Can I help you? You here to drop something off?”

  “Actually, hoping to find some car parts,” I tell him. He’s got a kind face, kind eyes. He just doesn’t look like the sort of person who’s stealing and brutalizing dogs. Then again, people do the craziest shit. I can’t put anything past anyone.

  “Oh, sure.” He points in a southeast direction. “The garage and junk vehicles are back that way. Jerry’s in charge of that. He should be able to help you find what you’re looking for.”

  I thank him, and we head in the direction he pointed. There are mountains of junked out cars, and another warehouse-type building. Damien and I get out of his truck and walk toward it.

  Then I hear the faint sound of barking.

  “Hear that?” Damien murmurs.

  “Sure as shit do,” I reply.

  It could be nothing. It could simply be barking dogs. But that old, reliable tug in my gut tells me to be on my toes.

  We walk into the building. A rough-looking dude with full sleeves and face tats and a shaved head looks up as we walk in. His name tag says “Jerry.”

  “Can I help you?” he asks flatly.

  “Looking for some car parts cheap,” I tell him. “Engine, carburetor—whatever you can spare.”

  “Most of that shit is useless in these cars,” he replies, waving a hand. “But I got some vehicles in the garage that haven’t been stripped yet. Be pricier, though.”

  “That’s cool,” I say, wanting any chance to look around more thoroughly.

  Jerry leads us over to the warehouse, where rows and rows of cars are lined up, in various stages of disrepair. Some are whole, some are missing wheels or doors. Some are gutted, some have piles of parts lying on the floor next to them.

  “Looking for a particular kind of car?” he asks after we’ve walked around for a few minutes. There’s a slight edge of impatience in his voice.

  “I’m thinking a…” I trail off as my gaze settles on a white van a few rows away.

  A dented, dirty white van, with a huge dent in the back door.

  It’s missing the license plate, but I’d know that piece of shit anywhere. Okay, calm down. It could’ve come from anywhere.

  I try to think of a smooth way to start asking questions when I hear a few more distant barks. They sound like they’re coming from below us, as if there’s a basement under the warehouse.

  “That van,” I tell him. “Does it run? I’m actually looking for an old van.”

  “That’s not, uh, for sale,” Jerry says, his eyes darting around. “Sorry.”

  “Why not?” I press, walking over to the van. “It looks fine to me.”

  “It’s just not.”

  I reach out and open the door. Dog muzzles and chains are spread across the floor.

  Jerry reaches out and slams the van door shut. “I said,” he says in a low voice, “that it’s not for sale.”

  Damien asks him about a different, wheel-less beater a couple rows away. I make up an excuse about having left something in the truck and backtrack. As soon as I’m clear, I call Mike and tell him exactly what I saw.

  “I can’t confirm anything besides what I saw,” I tell him emphatically, “and you need to get out here now. With backup.”

  “That’s a tall order without a warrant,” he replies.

  “Then get a warrant!”

  “I’ll do what I can, Major.”

  I head back in, and Damien and I stall for a while, continuing to look around the property. Jerry doesn’t seem to be onto me, and retreats into an office inside the warehouse.

  Less than an hour later, I get a text that Mike got the warrant and he and a task force are heading our way.

  I show the message to Damien. “Showtime,” I mutter.

  He nods.

  We walk to the office, where Jerry’s working on a computer. He glances up at us. “Make a decision?”

  I turn to look at him slowly. “Yeah, actually. I want to see the dogs.”

  He freezes. “The what?”

  I point at the floor. “The dogs you’re keeping under this building. I can hear them barking.”

  “I don’t hear nothin’,” he replies, staring at me steadily. “I think you’re mistaken.”

  “A van full of muzzles and chains?” I step closer. “Was I mistaken about that?”

  “You some kind of animal rights activist or something?” Jerry asks, rising.

  “We’re dog fighters too,” Damien says before I can respond. “We got money to burn if you’re willing to part with some of yours.”

  Jerry narrows his eyes at us. “I know most of the fighters in this state, and I don’t know you.”

  “We’re new in town,” I say. “We heard you were the man to see about getting in on the action.”

  I have no idea what I’m talking about. Neither does Damien, I’m pretty sure, but we sound convincing. To me, anyway.

  “Oh, you want to see the dogs?” Jerry says slowly, eyes narrowed. “Fine. Let’s go. But just you.” He points at me.

  “Why?” Damien challenges.

  “My rules,” Jerry sneers.

  There’s a little warning twist in my stomach, but I nod. “Fine. Lead the way.”

  He takes me to a door near the back that opens to a stairwell. Down the stairs we go, and the barking gets louder, as well as the typical odors associated with caged animals. And beneath that is the scent of fear.

  My fists clench.

  P
it bulls and pit bull mixes are in rudimentary pens alongside both walls. Some are barking aggressively, snarling at the sight of us. Some beg us with their eyes and high-pitched yelps for help. Some make no sound at all, just lie curled on their sides, muzzles on their paws.

  My eyes burn. No animal deserves this treatment. As it is, it’s taking me every ounce of self-control I have not to jump on Jerry and pummel him.

  “So you looking to breed?” Jerry asks lazily as I stroll down the row of pens.

  “Yeah,” I say through my teeth. I reach the very last pen, and my heart stops.

  Bongo!

  He’s one of the quiet ones, huddled in the back corner of the cage, trembling. There’s nothing in the cage with him. No food, no water. Nothing.

  “What’s his story?” I say, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

  “That? He’s good bait. Something about him in particular really brings the rage out of my best fighters.”

  Before I can say another word, I hear a metallic click and turn around slowly.

  Jerry curls his lip as he points a revolver at me. “You ain’t no dogfighter.”

  “No,” I say calmly. “You’re right about that. I’m not.”

  “Then what the fuck are you doing here? Why are you asking about my dogs?” He narrows his eyes. “They tried to shut us down a few months back. Threw my cousin in jail. I’m not about to lose out again. You’re not walking out of here.”

  “No?” I say softly, tensing my muscles. Five years as a Ranger and half a dozen combat deployments taught me to prepare for a fight, my body reacting before my mind.

  “Damn straight.”

  “Actually,” I continue, still in that quiet tone, “I think it’s you who isn’t walking out of here.”

  He wasn’t expecting that.

  And that one second of hesitation is all I need.

  I leap and feint to the left, ducking under his gun arm, then come up and chop down as forcefully as I can. The snap of his bone breaking is loud, his shriek of pain louder. The gun drops to the floor, but he catches me by surprise with a left hook. I stumble back, seeing stars.

  We both look at the gun on the floor and lunge at the same time.

  All I’m aware of is heat and grunts and snarls and pressure and pain.

  Then a gunshot explodes through the small room, and a searing pain rips through my body.

  8

  Cecily

  I break at least a dozen traffic laws as I tear through Port City toward the hospital, but I don’t care. All that’s going through my head is the message the male voice left on my cell phone.

  This is Detective Mike Lattimore of Port City PD. You should get down to the hospital. Major’s been shot.

  That was it. That was the whole message. No context, no prognosis.

  I can’t lose you too!

  I’m sobbing so hard, I can barely see as I crookedly park my car in the emergency lot and rush inside. I manage to tell the nurse at the desk who I need to see, and she directs me to a room beyond a set of huge, imposing double doors.

  I run right past the room Major’s in, because I hear him call out.

  “Cecily!”

  I skid to a halt and turn to run in the opposite direction. His voice sounds strong, and that makes me weep harder, because I know he’s okay.

  His arms are already open, waiting for me as I fly into the room. Then I realize only one arm is extended toward me. The other one is in a sling.

  “What?” I gasp, looking at him.

  He smiles tiredly at me, but there’s a strange spark of joy in his warm brown eyes. “It’s a long story, and I will tell you every single bit of it, but first—I’m okay. I got shot, but it went through the meaty part of my arm. Didn’t even hit the bone. It’s sore as a motherfucker, and I’m not going to be able to go to the gym for a while, which pisses me off, but I’m fine.” He tilts my face toward his and kisses me, briefly but tenderly. “I promise.”

  “The—the detective just told me you got shot,” I tell him, swiping my hands across my cheeks. “That’s all he said. I thought—I thought—”

  “Mike has a lot to learn about telling people important things in a way that doesn’t give them a heart attack,” Major says, using his thumb to brush my tears away. “I’m sorry he scared you so bad. But it’s all okay, Cecily.”

  “So what happened?” I ask. I’ve stopped sobbing, but I have little control over the tears that just keep spilling out of my eyes. It’s like I’ve got a leaky faucet in them.

  Major slides off the table. “Let’s go find the doc real quick so I can see if it’s okay for me to get up outta here. Then I have something to show you. Then I’ll tell you everything.”

  He keeps his good arm firmly around me as we walk out of the room. It boggles my mind that he’s the one who got shot and is supporting me.

  After a quick chat with the doctor, Major gets the all-clear to leave. We walk out the front doors of the hospital, but instead of heading over to my car, he leads me around the side of the building. The only vehicle that’s there is a big truck. There’s a dark-haired man standing beside the truck, and he’s facing something in the truck bed. Something—

  Something that has golden fur and four legs and a back full of scars.

  Something that catches sight of me and starts whining, wiggling, dancing to jump out of the truck.

  “Bongo,” I wail, the tears flowing again.

  The dark-haired man scoops Bongo into his arms and immediately sets him down. My sweet dog tears across the pavement toward me and I rush toward him, like we’re in Homeward Bound.

  He leaps into my arms and I tumble over, ignoring the hard bite of concrete on my elbows.

  “How,” I cry. In the days since he was taken from me, I scoured shelters and pet advertisements all over the Internet. I called Animal Control and begged to see the CCTV footage outside the café, which only showed a blurry man in black swiping my boy and carrying him off, and then a moment later, me shooting like a rocket after them. I posted what happened on social media, hoping that anyone who had information might come forward. Some truly kindhearted people tried to do some sleuthing for me, and it all dead-ended.

  I truly thought Bongo might be lost for good, and as the days stretched on, I was losing hope.

  Major kneels next to us. Bongo shoves his muzzle into his cheek before returning to licking all my tears off my face. “I didn’t want to say anything in case I couldn’t find him, but we thought we might have a lead, so we followed it.” He points upward. “This is my friend Damien, by the way.”

  “Oh, hi,” I say in a wavering voice, flushing. “Sorry.”

  He leans against the truck, shaking his head. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

  “Thank you,” I add. “Thank you so much.”

  “It was my pleasure,” he says quietly. “Major, you good?”

  “I’m good, brother.” He stands, and they embrace briefly. Damien lifts a hand at me, climbs behind the wheel of the truck, and heads off.

  We do the same. Major insists he can drive, so I sit in the passenger seat with Bongo on my lap, hugging him tight while we stop to get food and Major’s medication. Bongo gets his own plain cheeseburger, too.

  He calls to check in with Felix, carefully avoiding mentioning he was shot. “I’ll face that music when we go pick Felix up tomorrow,” he tells me when he hangs up. “But for now, I just want to relax with you and our boy.”

  Later, we lie in bed, Bongo between us and snoring happily after devouring two burgers. I don’t want to let him out of my sight ever again. And on Monday, I have an appointment to get him implanted with the GPSPet, hating myself for the fact that I didn’t do it sooner.

  “You’re a hero, you know?” I murmur to Major. We’re watching some cop show on TV. Well, he’s watching it, and I’m watching him and Bongo. “Seriously. I can’t believe you risked your life for us like that.”

  He kisses my forehead. “You’re more than worth it, Ceci
ly. Besides, I fell in love with Bongo too. I couldn’t face my son and tell him he wasn’t ever coming back.”

  We told Felix initially that Bongo had to go away for a little bit, and he cried, which broke my heart even more. But now, I’m excited to pick Felix up in the morning and surprise him with his best friend.

  “You mean the world to me,” I add, tilting my head on his shoulder.

  “There is nothing I won’t do,” he says softly, “for the woman I love.”

  I stare up at him, finding his gaze full of emotion.

  “I love you, Cecily,” he says. “And I wish I’d had you in my life sooner than I did. When I think about how happy I’ve been the past couple weeks with you, and how I could’ve had that for the past year…” He shakes his head. “Well, I’ve got a lot of making up to do. And now that I have you, I’m not letting go until you tell me to.”

  “Then you’re in luck,” I say, pushing myself up on my elbow, careful not to disturb Bongo’s peaceful slumber. “Because I’m never telling you that. Ever. And, Major—I love you too. I have ever since I first saw you. I moved into this house for a reason, and even though it took a year for us to get here, I wouldn’t change a thing, because it’s all a part of our story. Yours, mine, and Felix’s.”

  He smiles, reaching his good hand down to pat the sleeping pup’s head. “And Bongo’s.”

  I kiss him firmly on the lips. “And Bongo’s.”

  Epilogue

  Cecily

  Three months later

  “Bongo, catch!”

  I smile from the front porch of the new home Major and I share as Felix heaves his basketball toward the grass. Bongo tears after it and then noses it back onto the driveway toward Felix.

  “I’m still amazed how he trained Bongo to do that,” Major says, sitting beside me after ducking into the house for a moment.

  Summer has been stubbornly hanging on, though the first nudges of fall spike the air in the mornings and after the sun sets. Today, though, the afternoon is almost balmy, and the sun is radiant.