Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“Heebie! Here, kitty. I’m back and have some yummy treats for you.” She pulled a piece of dried fish from her jeans pocket, which was a favorite snack for the piranha.
She went room to room, unable to find Heebie anywhere. Not under her bed, behind the couch, or inside any closets. He wasn’t in the kitchen either, and his little bowl of kibble was untouched.
“Where are you?” She huffed worriedly. Had he escaped out the door this morning when she left? Cats were sneaky.
“Meow!”
She turned to find the little guy at her feet. “Where were you hiding, huh?”
The cat offered a blank stare, as they often did.
“Okay, well, I have something for you.” She offered it the small piece of fish jerky.
Heebie gave it a whiff and then turned its head away.
“But you didn’t touch your food. You have to eat something.”
The kitten jumped onto her butcher-block kitchen counter.
“Wow. Look at you.” For such a tiny animal, he sure could jump.
Heebie began reaching up toward the cupboard door, unable to get to it.
“What is it you want from there?” Curious, she opened the cupboard. There wasn’t much inside except cans of soup and whiskey.
“Sorry, buddy. Nothing good for you there.”
“Meow!” The cat sounded like it was, well, frustrated.
“No. Really. There’s nothing.” She picked him up. “Here, let me show you.”
The kitten immediately reached its two front paws toward the bottle.
“You have to be joking. Dash actually gives you alcohol?” Great, now she had a lush kitten to look after. “Well, I’m sorry. I don’t know what he was thinking, but you’re lucky to be alive. Whiskey is not for cats.”
She placed Heebie on the floor, washed her hands, and made a cheese sandwich. While she ate at her beat-up kitchen table, she caught up on emails.
Christ. Again? Her checking account was overdrawn. She’d have to get to the bank and deposit last night’s tips. Three grand. A godsend! Sadly, she still needed another ten thousand to catch up on the mortgage, plus another fifteen for habitat supplies—hay, trough sanitizer, bleach to sterilize enclosures, and dozens of other staples. That didn’t include unplanned veterinary emergencies.
Please, God, don’t make me dip into the food and medicine funds. That money kept the animals alive, and she was on a shoestring budget as it was. Maybe she could make another plea to the local grocers for more donations. Wilted lettuce and overripe fruit were always plentiful. It was the meat and specialty foods that were harder to come by via donation.
That fundraiser can’t come soon enough.
“Heebie, it looks like I’m going to have to grovel hard tonight.” Whatever it took to get her bartending job back. “Got any tips for dealing with Dash?”
Heebie blinked his inquisitive gray eyes while her mind tried to wrap itself around the humiliation she’d have to endure. Groveling to a rude, arrogant, ass banana like Dash would take everything she had. Everything.
The only thing she wouldn’t do was return Heebie. Not without a believable promise from Dash that he’d care for the kitten rather than use it as a stage prop.
“Well, if you come up with any ideas, let me know. I’m desperate.”
The kitten jumped up on her lap and snuggled into her chest, purring like crazy.
“Yeah, I like you, too.” But even if she wanted to keep him, she couldn’t. There were other animals that needed her more, and a cute kitten like him could easily be placed. “But don’t worry, I’ll find you a nice family if Dash doesn’t come through.”
The kitten wiggled violently and leapt from her lap, running into the other room.
“Weird. Just like his owner.”
Jac put her plate in the sink and headed outside, shutting the door behind her. The moment she got her boots on and stepped off the porch, something pelted her in the head. She looked down at the ground, finding tiny globs of translucent goop peppered across the yard.
Just then a giant shadow passed overhead. With a gasp, she looked up, but there was nothing except the clouds. Off in the distance, her animals began mewing, screeching, roaring, and squawking.
Maybe the tiger got loose again.
She scrambled inside, grabbed her tranq gun, and made her way toward the enclosures. But when she got near, there were no threats that she could see.
She scratched her head as her menagerie continued sounding the alarm bells. They were terrified of something. But what?
CHAPTER SEVEN
“What do you mean ‘it’s all my fault’?” Sitting in his living room, Damien folded his arms over his chest as Pet tried to translate Sky’s newest rant along with Pet’s sex menu for the day. So far, all he’d gotten out of it was that Pet was hankering for another orgy with his liquor cabinet.
“Pet, for the last time, I am not giving you the key, and that is final. I’m tired of finding little slug trails all over my scotch.” She truly was indiscriminate when it came to getting off, riding anything with or without a heartbeat. “Now focus and tell me what Sky said. Why did they take her family?”