Page 2 of The Game Changer (Knights of Passion #3)

Chapter

Two

W hy, on the one morning she actually had somewhere to be, did her dogs decide to treat the backyard like a crime scene in need of forensic-level sniffing?

Savannah Monroe stood at the gate of her tiny, battered yard—more patchy dirt than grass thanks to her pack—and whistled sharply.

Hands planted on her hips, she watched as her five charges performed their best impression of being utterly deaf.

She clapped her hands, the sharp crack echoing like a whip through the morning quiet.

Carl, her hundred-pound blue pittie, flinched and crumpled like a collapsed tent.

“Shit.” Her heart lurched. She crossed the yard in a rush, bare feet crunching over dry dirt and stray tufts of grass, and dropped to her knees beside him.

“Oh, baby, I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice soft as she curled her arms around his trembling body.

“I didn’t mean it. You’re okay. You’re safe. ”

She petted his velvet-soft head, pulled his bulk halfway into her lap, and rocked him gently, guilt a twisting knife in her chest. She cursed, not for the first time, the monsters who had broken this gentle dog.

People saw a big pit bull and imagined violence, imagined teeth and snarling.

They didn’t see the truth—this marshmallow of a dog who flopped on his back for belly rubs and trembled at raised voices.

Carl had been starved and beaten, found tied to a cinder block behind a gas station.

It was a miracle he still trusted anyone at all.

Morgan, her tyrant in a terrier’s body, nosed under her elbow, worming close to Carl like a tiny, bristly comfort blanket.

The rest of the dogs, sensing the shift in energy, huddled nearby.

For a long moment, they just sat, a makeshift family in a dusty yard, breathing through the tension.

When Carl’s tremors finally ebbed, the others broke ranks and did their business, as if they sensed her fraying patience.

She wrangled them inside, crated the troublemakers, and slammed the door behind her with a muttered, “Finally.” An hour late already. And the day had barely begun.

Hours later, with three foster home visits behind her and an overdrawn debit card receipt from the feed store stuffed in her pocket, Savannah pulled into the gravel lot of the county shelter.

The barking started before she even turned off the engine, echoing through the woods like a primal chorus of need and fear.

She rested her forehead against the steering wheel and exhaled.

God, she hated this part. Loved it, too—but the kind of love that scraped her raw.

Every dog here had a story. A family. A life.

And then—abandoned. A ride in the car that ended in betrayal.

Left in fields, on highways, dumped at shelters by people who once promised forever.

Their eyes haunted her—confused, grieving, still searching for their person.

Some days, she didn’t think she could keep doing it.

But then she thought of Carl. Of Morgan. Of the dozens of lives she had changed. One day, one dog at a time.

She rolled her shoulders back and steeled her heart. Stick to the list. Follow the guidelines. Save who she could.

Inside, Sara Malone looked up from the desk, weariness etched into every line of her face. “Hey, Savannah. Wondered how long you were going to sit out there.”

Savannah managed a wry smile. “Just working up the nerve.”

Sara slid over a clipboard. “We’ve got a few new ones. We’re full up, so anything you can do…”

Savannah nodded, ignoring the fresh spike of guilt. “Give me the intake forms. I’ll take them to the exercise pen. Evaluate them.”

“I’ll join you when I can.”

For the next two hours, she moved through the runs, trying not to meet too many pleading eyes.

She followed protocol—temperament tests, behavioral checks, notes on potential adoptability.

She wanted to save them all, dammit. Every single one.

But she didn’t have endless time or space or money.

Her rescue wasn’t a sanctuary. It was triage.

One broken heart at a time.

Sara found her crouched by the chain-link fence, watching a rail-thin mutt with matted fur and fresh scars cower in the far corner.

“How much time does he have?” Savannah’s voice cracked as she gestured toward the trembling animal.

Sara sighed, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Bit a volunteer. And a kid. Aggressive. He’s not safe, Savannah. I hate it, but you weren’t even supposed to be evaluating him.”

“I had to try,” she whispered.

“We can’t save them all.”

“They deserve more.” Her breath hitched. “They all do.”

Sara’s eyes were gentle. “He’s been through hell. Fighting dog. Or maybe bait. The scars don’t lie. We’ve seen more lately. I think there’s another ring starting up.”

Savannah muttered a curse, the bile rising in her throat. “There’s a special place in hell for those people.”

The dog pressed his nose against the fence, breathing in the air, the space, the silence.

“He likes it out here,” Savannah murmured. “Can we let him stay a little longer? Better than a cage.”

Sara nodded. “Yeah. I’ll stay with him.”

Savannah rose, brushing dirt from her knees. “I can take three this week. Fosters confirmed. Can you hold them until Friday?”

“I can try. But if someone wants them…”

“I know. I’ll hustle.”

“They’ll need vet care. Can you afford it?”

Savannah’s shoulders sagged. Her budget was already strung tight as piano wire. Even waived adoption fees didn’t cover meds, spays, or heartworm treatment.

“We’re working on it,” she said, forcing brightness she didn’t feel. “We’re meeting with some sponsors. New ideas. Might even get that old maintenance site.”

Sara arched a brow. “Buy it? Lease it? You can barely keep yourself fed.”

“I believe in long shots.”

“Well, I do grants. I’ll help—off the record, of course.”

Savannah hugged her tight. “Thank you.”

“You need to take care of you, too,” Sara whispered. “This work… it’ll gut you if you’re not careful.”

Savannah smiled, thin and cracked. “I’ll figure it out.”

She walked out past the kennel runs, the chorus of fear and loneliness battering her soul like a wave. Three. She could only save three.

Three out of how many?

Tears pricked, then spilled, hot and helpless, as she entered the lobby—and stopped short.

A man stood in the center of the room, a gray pit bull pressed to his legs.

The dog was scarred, trembling, eyes wide with distrust. The man held a nylon rope like a makeshift leash.

He looked wrong—too clean, too composed.

Not the usual careless type who dumped dogs.

Muscular, tan, clean-cut. Brown hair. Chocolate-dark eyes that locked with hers like a tether line.

And for one insane moment, she felt it. A jolt low in her belly. A flicker of something she hadn’t felt since her ex-fiancé shattered her heart.

Then the moment burst.

And she lost it.

“What kind of asshole are you?” she snapped, marching across the lobby and jabbing a finger into his chest. “Get a cute puppy, then dump her when the novelty wears off? Did your kids get bored? She chew the wrong pair of Nikes? Or are you running a dog-fighting ring and tossing your trash here for us to clean up?”

He stumbled back, tripping over the dog, and crashed onto a bench.

Good.

But her stomach twisted as the dog whimpered, visibly shaking. She’d scared her.

She dropped to her knees and fished a treat from her pocket. “It’s okay, sweet girl. He can’t hurt you now. I won’t let him.”

The man snorted. “I didn’t hurt her. She’s been camping in the woods around my house for the past few days. I fed her. That was my mistake. Now she won’t leave. So, I brought her here.”

She looked up at him, the edges of her rage fraying. “Your mistake? Feeding a starving dog is a mistake?”

He dragged a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want to leave her in the rain.”

“Points for trying,” she said bitterly. “But listen to that.” She gestured toward the kennels. “Barking. Panic. Cement floors. That’s where you just dumped her. She’s a scarred-up pittie. She’ll be lucky to get a day.”

“Savannah Monroe.”

The words landed like a slap.

She turned slowly, already wincing.

Tom Harrison stood in the office doorway, arms folded, voice like a warning siren. “Didn’t we have this conversation about your nonexistent authority here?”

She stood, chin high. The man beside her rose too, offering a hand to help her up. His touch lingered, warm and steady. She yanked her hand away.

“I was just explaining the shelter policies,” she said coolly.

“I heard you. Don’t browbeat the public. That man has every right to surrender a stray.”

Savannah clenched her jaw. Her three dogs. Don’t lose them now. “Of course. I was just leaving.”

She gave the trembling dog a final, gentle pat.

And she walked out the door, back stiff, fury coiling beneath her skin.

S avannah climbed into her aging SUV and slammed her fist against the dashboard, the dull thud echoing through the cab.

“Dammit.” Her voice was hoarse, raw with frustration.

Why did she always let her temper get the best of her?

Her mother’s voice echoed in her head— Savannah Georgia, you’ve got to think before you open that big mouth of yours .

But how was she supposed to stay calm when she saw a terrified, scarred dog being treated like garbage?

The fury came on like a storm, wild and protective.

Her inner momma bear didn’t pause for logic.

A sharp knock on the window made her jump.

She twisted in her seat and found herself staring at the man from the lobby —the one with the dog and the eyes that haunted her.

He stood there awkwardly, hand half-raised in greeting, as if unsure he belonged in her world.

She hesitated, then rolled the window down partway.

“You scared the shit out of me,” she snapped, her nerves frayed. “What do you want?”