Page 53 of Dozer (Rolling Thunder MC #14)

Chapter 53

Dozer

Her scent told me she appreciated being locked to the bed, which is why I continue to do it most nights. I no longer worry she’ll grab a kitchen knife and stab me in the heart with it, or that she’ll sneak out and be gone. She couldn’t likely kill me even if she tried to with a knife, since none of the ones she can get to are silver. It would hurt like fuck, but I could heal, even if she managed to sink a knife into my heart. I’d have to punish her severely though, so I’d kept her from being able to for the longest, but it wasn’t necessary anymore.

I read some stuff about kids who grow up in institutions as opposed to homes with a loving family, and basically, it means they like schedules and don’t deal well with surprises. They appreciate routines, and will create their own if no one else does so for them. Also, they have a hard time with change. Some possible attachment issues, too, and based on what I read, I thought Daisy exhibited anxious attachment, rather than an inability to attach at all. It meant I needed to be certain she knew she had a place by my side, and I needed to continue to assure her of it. It also explained why she’d been so happy about signing the marriage certificate with hardly any prior notice, because it was basically a guarantee I couldn’t easily discard her.

I’d seen her inability to deal with change in vivid display once I started fucking with her schedule. She was at the laundry three weeks, then at the bike shop a month, and now she was at the restaurant. She was a bundle of nerves and couldn’t settle her first week at each new place, but I didn’t punish her for it since I understood the root issue.

And I understood it was possible she’d never get beyond it. She’d been wired to accept living on a set schedule, and she’d never be happy living on an as-you-please basis, which is the way I prefer to live my life.

But I try hard to keep as much consistency as possible in her daily schedule, and to warn her ahead of time when I have to alter it. We had an appointment with Marco the following evening, so I let her know as soon as I could, since Julian had verified it while I was out, away from my phone. I hadn’t seen the text until I’d returned to my phone, but I’d thanked him for finding a spot in Marco’s schedule, and assured him we’d be at The Billiard Club. I’d also verified the people who’d be coming with us.

And I had to acknowledge to myself, never to Daisy, that my first reaction when I’d read her note was anger that she’d invited her mother without permission. Daisy wasn’t the only one with issues, it would seem.

I was terrified she’d want to go back to her original life of privilege and power, and stop slumming it with the biker. I’d been able to ignore that fear until I spoke it out loud to Brain, but I couldn’t do it any longer.

If Daisy’s mother truly wanted a relationship with her daughter, then I had to let it happen. I mean, not legally or anything, but morally. It would be wrong for me to keep the woman I love from her family, if they were willing to take her back.

But they couldn’t have her. She’s mine now. I’d share her with them, but I had to make sure she always came back to me.

And yet, all the ways I could think of to do that would be wrong. So, very, wrong .

Except for one. Well, a modified version of one, because the wrong version would be allowing her to have a puppy and then telling her if she didn’t come home as expected, I’d torture it and kill it. And no, I wouldn’t actually do that, but I’d likely give it away and tell her I had, if I had to go collect her and bring her home. And by that, I mean if I had to kidnap her and hold her captive, because there’s a damned good chance I’d do so, if she left me.

But it wasn’t wrong to buy her a puppy so she’d want to come home to it. No threats of hurting it, just giving her two beings to come home to, instead of one.

I wanted something teddy-bear cute, but no way was I going to own a tiny little yap-dog. The few golden retrievers I’ve met have been goofy and not terribly bright, so a goldendoodle was out. Some research told me sheepadoodles usually hold onto the guard dog tendencies while also bonding to their people and being snuggly, which seemed the best of both worlds. A guard dog with protective instincts who’d be adorable and would want to sleep with Daisy when I was away from home at night. I’d make sure it was around my brothers plenty while a puppy, so it thought growing up in a neighborhood of wolves was normal.

I wasn’t supposed to pick it up for another week, when Daisy and I had three days in a row we could stay home, but the puppies were weaned and eating food, and some of them had already gone to their new homes. So, I texted the breeder as soon as I woke, told her our plans had changed and we were going to be home a few days, and asked what time that morning we could come get the newest member of our family.

She said they’d be home until they had to attend their son’s ball game that evening, so I told Daisy to put loose jeans, sandals, and a t-shirt on, no jewelry except for plain studs in her ears, her hair in a casual updo so it was contained without being dressy, and light makeup in earth tones with a touch of pink.

Figuring out the proper wording to tell her how I want her to look had been a huge learning curve, but I thought I finally had it down. Mostly, anyway.

I’d had to send her back to make changes a whole helluva lot, at first. Who knew that just telling her to put her hair up and out of the way could mean a zillion different looks?

She arrived at the breakfast table looking exactly right to go meet our new puppy for the first time, except the jeans wouldn’t do. They were nearly bleached white, they were so light, so I told her, “Dark jeans. I should’ve thought to tell you. You look positively adorable, but let’s go for something that won’t show dirt.”

Two minutes later, she was back with different jeans and different sandals, and I pointed her to sit at the table. She knows better than to assume she’ll eat at the table, even when it looks as if I’ve set a place for her. She usually does, but it isn’t a given.

“You once told me you’ve never had a dog and you’ve always wanted one. I made arrangements a few months ago, and it’s finally time to pick up our new puppy. We’ll meet him and get an idea of how his days have gone, so we can try to copy as much of it as possible, and then we’ll go to one of the big pet stores near the mall to buy everything he’s going to need. I have a list, but we might learn some other things from the breeder, so we’ll wait until we have him with us. Also, that’ll make it easier to make sure whatever collar we buy him fits. We’ll have to buy several of them, probably, while he’s growing up.”

The poor thing looked like she might explode, but she didn’t say anything. She wasn’t in formal speech restriction, but it seemed she wanted permission to speak, so I smile and gave it to her. “Speak, little Daisy.”

Instead of speaking, she came out of her chair and somehow ended up in my lap, hugging me, tears falling from her eyes.

“Thank you, Husband! I love you so much!”

Was it the Master who was buying the dog? Or the husband? I had no idea, but she wasn’t wrong to call me husband, because if I was still the Master alone, without loving her, she’d be locked in the basement and there’d be no need for the dog.

I explained my reasoning for the sheepadoodle, telling her most purebred dogs have too many genetic issues, so I’d gone straight to a mix, but I wanted a reputable breeder, and that meant going for one of the more common mixes. This was true, actually, but I only pointed it out because I was going to leave out the part where I was buying an adorable dog she couldn’t help but fall in love with.

I told her how this particular mix checked off the three things I most wanted in a breed: protectiveness with built in guard-dog traits, intelligence, and the likelihood he’d bond with all humans in the household and not become a one-person dog. Also, as a bonus, this mix tended to like to cuddle.

On the way to the breeder’s house, I finally brought up the situation with her mother. “Tell me what precipitated asking your mom along on the dress-buying excursion.”

She told me, and I scented some trepidation, but also self-confidence. She’d made a decision, and she wasn’t one hundred percent sure I’d be okay with it, but she was mostly sure she’d done as I’d want her to.

And she was dead-on right about that. All of it, though she had no idea I picked up on as much as I did. That would change, later tonight.

“I’m glad she’s coming,” I told her. “You should plan to post something on social media afterwards, about spending time with your friends and your mom.” She wasn’t allowed to talk about it before the event, but she could take pictures and video, and post about it after, so long as she followed the rules and was careful about how she showed herself with the other ol’ladies.

She’d started doing makeup tutorials on social media, and she had quite the following. Soon, I’d allow her to monetize it, but not quite yet. I’d hired the social media guy as a consultant, to help me figure out how best to manage her online presence, and he said to hold off on that.

The puppies were, indeed, adorable. They were nine weeks old, and cuter than their pictures, even. The breeder kept them in a room on the back of the house, in a little fenced-in area of the room when they weren’t being supervised, and they had the run of the large space when they were supervised. There was also a fenced-in backyard, but she said they’d only been going out there a few days, because she’d wanted them to have certain shots before their feet touched the earth.

She showed us the dog food they’d been eating, and had new versions of the toys they’d had access to, so we could buy them from her.

“We’ll throw the toys you buy down so all the puppies can play with them a few minutes, and that will give your pup something that smells and looks familiar.”

Daisy called him ‘ little nugget ’ at first, and I pointed out he wasn’t going to be a little nugget for long. We’d met the parents before we saw the puppies, and they were quite large.

“Oh, right.” She looked at him, and then walked to the window to look out at the mom and dad in the backyard, along with another grown sheepadoodle.

“I don’t like Nugget by itself,” she said. “This is going to take some thought, to come up with the perfect name. I mean, I kind of like Oreo, but I don’t think that’s exactly right, either. He reminds me of Barkley from Sesame Street, with black in places instead of red, but that isn’t right for him, either.”

I had an idea, but I wanted to be clear this was us naming him, and not me doing so as Master, so I decided to wait until we were back in the truck to tell her my idea.

“Little Nugget is fine for now. We’ll spend the afternoon trying on different names until we come up with something we’re both happy with.”

I handed the breeder an envelope with way more money than I thought was acceptable for a dog, but it seemed to be the going rate, and if it gave my Daisy May more of a reason to decide to stick with me than to return to New York with her parents someday, it would be worth every penny I put into this dog.

I waited until he peed before I decreed it was time for us to go, and then we set off with the puppy in Daisy’s lap, wearing a purple collar and purple leash we got to pick from the breeder’s stash. The toys were extra to buy, but the leash and collar were included in the price of the dog.

I only told Daisy our new boy wasn’t wearing pink, and let her choose from there. If I’d been picking, we’d have the black versions, but since Daisy chose, our boy wore purple.

“I meant it when I said we would choose a name together, so if you don’t like a name, or don’t think it’s perfect, that’s fine. I’ll only pull rank and pick from the names we’ve both liked best if we haven’t picked something by noon tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“He’s our dog, so we should both name him. With that being said, how about Champ?”

“Oh! That’s perfect, Master! Let’s use that unless we think of something better, but I really like that. I was wishing we could call him Max, but since that name’s kind of taken, Champ is great!”

When we went to the store, I bought a crate for the size he is now, and I’d order a large one that looks like furniture in the correct size for a full-grown Champ, since those come with dividers, so we could section it off for him while he’s still a puppy. Once he was fully housetrained, it wouldn’t matter, but until he was, the crate needed to fit his current size.

We put him in it for five to ten minutes a few times, and left the room — and only returned once he’d quieted down. Positive reinforcement for being quiet, and never for screaming like a banshee.

He was stand-offish with me, which was to be expected since I don’t smell human, but I fed him little pieces of baked chicken and he warmed right up to me.

He went down for a nap a few hours after arriving home, and when he woke, we fed him, and then I texted Connie and told her she could bring the kids to see the puppy.

I wanted to see how he did with the bigger kids before we invited the little kids to meet him, but he did great, and I made a mental note to organize a neighborhood party in the coming days so everyone could meet our little guy.