Page 7 of Beware of Dog (Lean Dogs Legacy #6)

U good? Shep had texted Cass the night before. Just to make sure she wasn’t out getting herself drugged at another shithead kid’s party.

That word again. It made his stomach shrivel up unpleasantly.

Yes, he looked out for her. Yes, in his three years of doing so he found himself worrying about whether or not she’d eaten, or if she was safe, if she was hanging out with the right sorts of friends.

At some point between complaining about his initial security gig and the present, he’d acknowledged that he would take a bullet for her.

But he didn’t think of himself as her father figure.

That was gross…and he wasn’t ready to articulate just why it was.

Satisfied for the moment that she wasn’t in trouble, he’d set his alarm and gone to bed. Today, he was taking a stab at club business.

Up at seven, he filled his roller bottle with protein powder and headed for the gym.

An hour with free weights and a half hour on the treadmill left him pleasantly tired and buzzing with endorphins.

He made a round of their dealers, checked in with Mav to let him know everyone was accounted for, on his feet, and doing more selling than using, then he headed to Hauser’s pub for lunch to put an ear to the proverbial ground.

He was in a good mood, demolishing a burger the size of his head, when a near-silent figure slid onto the stool beside him. He didn’t have to turn his head; caught a black baseball cap, black hair hanging out from under it, and a black leather jacket. Katsuya Rydell.

“‘S’up?” Shep greeted between bites. Something clearly was: the thing he liked best about Kat was the way he didn’t feel obliged to act chummy. If he sat next to a Lean Dog on purpose, there was business afoot.

“You owe me fifty bucks,” Kat said, and typed something into his phone. Shep heard the whooshing sound of a sent text message.

He set down his burger and twisted on his stool to frown at the side of the guy’s impassive face. “What?”

“You owe me fifty bucks,” Kat repeated, and lifted two fingers to the bartender.

“For what?”

“Pain and suffering.”

The pub’s door swung open and Pongo entered in a rare temper, his scowl undermined by his freckles and mop of curls.

“You asshole.” He jabbed a finger Shep’s direction and then stormed toward him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Three guys playing cards over beers in the corner peeked up with interest. The bartender was drying glasses, but turned to watch the show.

Shep adopted a bored face and rested an elbow on the bar. “What’s got your panties in a twist, Spot?”

“Oh no,” Pongo said, far too loudly in front of witnesses. “Oh hell no. Not today, asshole.” He reached Shep’s stool and his pointing finger stabbed at Shep’s face, nearly clipping the end of his nose.

“You’re gonna want to pull that finger back before I bite it off.”

He might have been a mouthy little shit, and smart as a bag of hair, but he was savvy enough to remove the finger. He jammed his hands on his hips and projected anger in a hilarious, uncharacteristic way.

Kat let out a theatrical sigh when the bartender passed him his drink. “Just tell him already,” he muttered, slid off his stool, and melted away into the pub’s deeper shadows.

Pongo put on a falsely sunny smile…that was still pretty damn sunny. The guy just wasn’t ferocious; or, at least, he couldn’t pull off looking like he was. Not in Shep’s estimation. “Ask me where I spent the morning.”

“Your girlfriend finally let you on the bed? Did you get your own pillow?”

For a split-second, real anger flared in Pongo’s big, baby blue eyes; it tightened his jaw, and Shep was forced to admit to himself that, okay, yeah: Pongo could get spooky when he wanted to. For him . He was up to Lean Dogs muster, at least.

Maybe, Shep thought, it was shitty to take pot shots, even in a roundabout way, at a man’s old lady.

“Alright, fine,” he said, in lieu of apology. “Where’d you spend the morning?”

“In an interrogation room,” Pongo said, teeth gritted, “being questioned about my ‘brother’ who thought it was a good idea to pistol whip some college kid from the Upper West Side.”

The half a burger he’d eaten turned to lead in his stomach. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah. I’m the only other guy who lives fulltime in the city, which means you ”—he made a move as if he meant to poke Shep in the chest, but thought better of it, and put his hand back on his hip—“were the one some rich chucklefuck was all worked up about. The guy tried to claim he recognized me, which he didn’t, but he had security cameras and said I beat the shit out of his son.

Which I didn’t . I had to get Dixie involved.

She had to come to a precinct that isn’t hers, and demand to see the tape, and clear my name. Which—”

Shep held up a hand. “Okay, I get it. It was a pain in the ass.”

“The uniforms who picked me up—off the street, man; I was on my way to get breakfast and a patrol car pulled up and they shoved me in the back ‘cause I was flying colors; thank God I wasn’t armed, holy shit—tried to lean on me to give up the guy they were really after. Which is you .”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Things have finally calmed down—”

“What do you want me to say?” Shep said. “I hear you. I fucked up.”

Pongo glared at him a moment, then climbed onto the stool Kat had abandoned. “You could say sorry,” he grumbled.

Shep twisted back around so he faced his plate. The rest of his burger looked heavy, and greasy, and gross, now, but he picked it up anyway. If he didn’t finish the thing, he’d be hungry again in an hour. He took a bite, chased it with a slug of water, and said, “Sorry.”

Pongo’s head whipped toward him. “Wait. Did you just—”

“Accept it and move on,” Shep instructed, and took another bite of burger.

Pongo sighed. But when he spoke next, his anger had drained away; it wasn’t his natural state and he couldn’t hold onto it long. “So. You beat up some rich kid, huh?”

“Okay, first off, I didn’t beat him up. What are we, twelve? I sent him a message so he knows to back off. And I didn’t know there were cameras.” If he had, he would never have worn his cut, and might have pulled on a ski mask before he shoved his way inside.

“It’s a safe bet to assume there are cameras everywhere.”

“Hmph.”

“And what sort of message? Did he rip off one of our dealers or something? I didn’t see the kid, but the dad was definitely giving off ‘spoiled kid who snorts a lot of lines’ energy.”

“Nah. It wasn’t club shit. He…” Shep hesitated. If he told the truth, was he admitting to something? No. No way. He was being paranoid, which was stupid . “He was messing with Cass.”

Pongo’s brows went up. “Raven’s sister Cass?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit. What’d he do?”

“Tried to date rape her.” He held up a hand when Pongo sucked in a breath. “He didn’t. She called me, and I got her out of there. But I can’t have that shithead thinking he can just do that to her.”

“Damn. Well. I’m glad she’s okay.”

Shep nodded and kept eating.

“Still, though. You were wearing your cut.”

“I know.”

“Things have been good for us lately.”

“I know .” Shep sent him a leave it look.

“I’m not gonna say anything to Mav.”

“What a prince,” Shep drawled.

“I’m just saying: if something like that happens again, maybe clue me in so I don’t get blindsided on the sidewalk. Yeah?”

Shep wanted to tell him to fuck off on principle. But he had landed the guy in the shit. He nodded. “Yeah. Alright.”

“Cool.” Pongo rapped his knuckles on the bar. “You can buy me lunch.”

“Fuck off.”

“Nope.” He popped the P, and waved to catch the bartender’s attention. “Hey, I’ll have what he’s having.”