Page 29 of Vetted for Vengeance
Rhys grunts without even looking up. “That's 20 kennels. 24 if we stack a few.”
I just nod and wait for him to give me another instruction. There are photos in the folder of a clean but unused barn, concrete walls, a decent size. Enough kennels for the farm dogs. Enough space for them to breathe.
Enough kennels to do this again. Rescue. Or something else.
Does this mean that Rhys isn't a cold-blooded killer? Maybe monsters don’t build kennels for rescued dogs. Just a vigilante with a hatred of puppy farms.
Everyone hates puppy farms.
That makes him a good man, doesn't it. It should. It almost does.
“Planning has been submitted.” His voice breaks me out of my daydream.
“I haven't decided…” Haven't I? Am I really undecided about staying? About gaining a proper qualification in animal care? About a role on camera tracking and documenting all my ladies as they find forever homes?
About staying in the house with a killer. A good, morally sound puppy-farm-owner killer. Not a serial killer, not a murderer, but a dog lover.
“I'm not giving you the barn. I'm doing that for myself. I've had the draft sitting there for years without the desire to do anything.”
Desire.
He used the word desire while thinking about me. My brain probably shouldn't latch onto one word like that.
But it does. It sticks and repeats, reframing everything he had just said.
“If another farm appears… would you go?” The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Too revealing. Too close toasking if I matter. I can barely hear the words as they escape. I'm hoping he doesn't hear them as soon as I've said them.
“I don’t repeat mistakes,” he answers cooly. He sounds cold, certain. Final.
“Was this one?”
Am I one?
Is this kennel idea just a distraction so he doesn't have to talk to me? Something to focus on instead of me.
How deep would he need foundations? Is that where he buries the bodies? Or where he plans to.
“So many dogs,” he mutters, as if he’s still seeing them. Not the work. The weight of it.
“And me?”
“What about you?” He frowns.
“Do you regret finding me?”
He stares at me for a while. Not confused. Measuring.
A long while. An uncomfortably long while. Long enough for me to wish I hadn't asked. Long enough to imagine the wrong answer.
Doing nothing. Just sitting, looking, deciding.
“No.” His answer was simple, but not careless.
Well, he gave it a lot of thought, so I won't ask him if he's sure.
“I think I might go to bed,” I wilt under his gaze. “It's been a long day, and I have a feeling tomorrow will be busy too.”
“Yes. You have a lot to discuss. With the film producer, with my head nurse.” He blinks slowly. “With me.”
