Page 31 of Nightmare’s Playground

She grumbled something unladylike under her breath, but thankfully did as I asked and moved.

“He won’t bite me, will he?” I asked, already hoisting him into my arms.

Her lips turned up. “It’s a little late to be asking that now, isn’t it?” she said, voice full of humor. “But no. He won’t. He’s a big baby.”

Looking at the brindle mastiff, nothing about the monster screamed “Big baby” to me.

“Jesus,” I grunted. “He’s fucking heavy.”

At the bottom I set the big guy down, took the leash out of Joy’s hand, clipped it on him, and handed it back. “Here.”

Her eyes dropped to the piece of leather in my hands, then came back up to meet mine, and I could tell exactly what she was feeling. She appreciated the help, but was also suspicious as hell. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Am I?”

“You’ve talked to me more today than you have in all the time I’ve known you, and not once have you gone running for the hills, so yeah.” She took the leash. “You are. And it’s weird.”

I opened my mouth then snapped it shut. What was I supposed to say? Denali told me what happened to you.

No.

She’d never needed to know that I knew, at least not until she told me herself.

“Take him to do his business,” I said instead. “Then I’ll carry him back up for you.”

“Nightmare—”

“Go, Joy.”

With an annoyed huff, she turned on her sexy kitten heels and went.

Thank the Gods.

It was hours later when Joy’s brother, Ruthless, showed up at the bakery with a folder tucked under his arm and an exhausted look on his face.

“Have you fuckin’ slept?” I asked, kicking out the chair across from me.

I’d been kicked out of the kitchen after Joy took her dog for a walk and all her employees showed for their shifts.

She’d come out of the kitchen a few times, her eyes always coming to mine when she did, but that was about it. I had a feeling the woman who used to make a hobby of staring at me was now avoiding me.

I didn’t mind though. I was a patient man.

“I can sleep when I’m dead,” the former Sniper growled, as he dropped into the chair.

I held up my hands. “Alright, boss.”

He rolled his eyes, then slapped the file on the table. “Juliet Brasher,” he said. “Twenty-five. Husband’s a deputy sheriff down in Jefferson County. Broke her jaw in June. She left in July. He’s got friends in every department on the West Coast.”

I flipped the folder open.

Fuck.

There were a dozen or more pictures of Juliet and a hospital report.

“What’s she need?”

“Papers: New name, new social, the whole package. She’s gonna need a job someplace that won’t ask questions and won’t run her through the system.”