Page 99 of Vetted for Vengeance
But the fun part is still to come.
It's different coming home with an unconscious body to an occupied house, both good and bad. It's bad because I have to creep around with an unconscious man to get back in the house. It's good because…
Well, because it's Noah.
There is literally no other reason.
Halfway across the kitchen floor, the overhead light suddenly flickers to life, bathing me and Mr. Not Quite Dead in harsh yellow light.
Noah is standing in the doorway, in pajamas and the dressing gown I'd left on the back of the door for him. He says nothing, just stares. His mask hides his feelings. He's not scared or angry. He's just there. A little surprise, but otherwise blank.
He says nothing, just stares.
And for the first time since I dragged a body into this house I don’t know what he’s thinking.
Whittle is getting heavy, so I keep dragging him, moving closer to Noah. He doesn't move a muscle, just watches me. No offering to help, no running away screaming.
Standing there feels worse somehow. As I get closer, he backs up enough to let me through, watching me struggle with the basement door.
My hopes of his accepting this side of my life are hanging by a thread, held together only because he hasn't run away yet.
Stairs are easy. Bodies at the top become bodies at the bottom with little effort on my part. Gravity does the hard work for me. Unconscious bodies reach the bottom surprisingly unharmed.
I follow the body, and to my surprise, Noah follows me down. The first part is a typical cellar, containing junk and a small wine rack. Behind the false wall is where the magic happens. My secret supply room and office, and my very secret operating room.
“Are you sure you want to be here for this?” I question.
“I need to see this,” Noah nods slowly.
“Do you want to wait in the office again?”
“No. I want to see all of this.”
“You want to be a part of this?”
He nods again. “I should have helped you up there, but…” His voice cracks with embarrassment. He finishes the sentence by offering a little peek into the dressing gown's pockets. Lumpy and Bumpy are sleeping inside, wrapped up and content, but in a very squishable location.
“They've eaten, so I'm giving the others a chance to…”
It all makes sense now. He didn't hesitate because he was unsure about my late-night hobby, just his canine obsession.
Relief settles in my chest, sharp and unexpected.
Not rejection. Not fear. Just… distraction.
That is something I can live with.
Chapter forty-six
Noah
I've changed into a set of scrubs that are too big for me, but they have an adjustable waist and, more importantly, pockets. Lumpy and Bumpy may be the largest pups in the litter, but they are still tiny by usual standards. The whole litter is small, weak, and time-consuming. It's a good thing I can survive on very little sleep.
I scrub my hands in the sink as if my life depends on it.
It doesn't.
This isn't a proper operation, but I need the practice. It's also a chance to calm my nerves. Rhys is letting me stand opposite him while he does his thing with the guy he's currently strapping to a table.
