Hitched(62)

Chewpaca wails again and strains at his lead, but the creaking railing where he’s tied holds. For now.

“Stop!” I order as I race onto the pier, Hope on my heels.

“Stay back, or I’ll toss him in the river!” Dean lifts both hands into the air. “I’m sorry to do this to you nice folks. It’s not personal, but I need the cash.”

“You were a cop!” Hope cries.

“Cops have gambling debts too, honey, and I’d like to live to see my next birthday.” He kicks the plank off the boat, and it starts to list away from the dock before we’ve reached it.

“We trusted you,” Hope sobs. “Blake!”

“He’s not getting away!” I assure her. I’m close enough.

I can make it.

Sprinting hard across the last few yards of the pier, I take a flying leap, soaring across open water for a heart-skipping moment before I roll onto the deck of the boat.

The wood planks let out an ominous groan and one board snaps in half beneath my knee as I rise to my feet.

Fuck.

How old is this thing?

I start toward Dean, but am frozen in my tracks by a war cry sailing through the air behind me. A beat later, Hope lands next to me with a thump before tumbling onto her hands and knees.

“You okay?”

“Just fine,” she assures me, clinging to my arm as I help her up. Her eyes narrow as they fix on Dean, who’s untied Chewy and is dragging him in the other direction. “Push that animal overboard, and you’re heading over next.”

“How about you let me borrow him for a few months,” Dean bargains, grip tightening on the lead. “You’ve got plenty to keep you busy.”

“You’re scaring him, stop it,” Hope insists as we advance on the older man and the clearly distressed animal, who’s prancing in place while emitting a warbling, bird-like cry.

“It’s over, Dean,” I growl. “Hand over the alpaca and take us back to shore, and the authorities will go easy on you.”

I have no idea if that’s true, but the truth comes second to getting Hope and Chewy safely back on dry land before this death trap falls apart in the water.

“Get off my boat!” Dean pushes Chewy into the wheelhouse. “You’re trespassing on private property!” He slams the door shut behind him.

Hope props her hands on her hips and shouts at Dean through the shattered window. “And you came onto my private property and stole my friend, you asshole. I can’t believe I felt sorry for you! I almost brought you coffee!”

I grab the wheelhouse door handle and tug, only for it to come off in my hand. I curse, but a broken handle won’t stop me. “Open up.” I pound my fist on the door, which rattles loosely in its frame. “Last chance, before I come in there and throttle you with my bare hands.”

Dean makes an “ah ah ah” sound and warns me to “watch that temper, son,” and I put my boot through the door, which is crazy easy to do.

Shouldn’t this thing be made of metal?

I kick the door again, higher this time, and it swings open, revealing a wheelhouse in even worse shape than the rest of the boat, complete with rotted floorboards on one side and an insane number of rabbit feet dangling from the wheel. The fact that whoever hung them thought superstition was a viable option for keeping the vessel seaworthy makes me even more eager to get the people and animals I love off of it.

Chewpaca groans, his eyes wide in his head as he strains against the rope, but Dean only clings tighter to his captive. He backs into the far corner of the space, summoning a yelp of pain from Chewy as he shoves him against a rusty filing cabinet just barely secured to the wall.

“Let him go!” Hope shouts. “If you hurt him, I swear to god…”

A surge of electricity, like a lightning bolt gathering in the air, makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. A second later something on the control board pops and sizzles.

I reach out to Hope on instinct, but when my fingertips connect with her elbow sparks dance between us, like under a wool blanket in the winter with all the lights off. It doesn’t hurt, but it doesn’t feel great, either, so I pull my hand away.

“Chewy isn’t a commodity,” she seethes. “He’s a sweet, innocent animal who deserves love and safety and as much freedom from pain as I can give him. I made a promise to protect him the day he came to live at my farm, and I intend to keep it.”

There’s another pop, and smoke begins to wisp from the radio.

Dean’s eyes go wide.

“Hand me his lead,” she demands. “Now.” More sparks and a moment later smoke seeps from between the damaged floorboards on the other side of the room.

“I’d listen to her, Dean,” I warn. “She’s not here to play with you. Not even a little bit.”

“I’m not,” Hope assures him in a low, husky voice that makes me want to kiss her.

Damn, she’s sexy when she’s fighting for the things she loves.

Chewy tries to lunge around Dean, but he wraps an arm around the alpaca’s neck, holding tight as he stares Hope down. “I’m not playing either, little girl. I’ve got some bad men after me, and my life matters more than some dumb animal’s.”

“He’s not dumb,” she says, hands balling into fists at her sides. “And you don’t get to decide which lives matter and which don’t.”