POWERHOUSE

Sneaking out the back exit was easy. What wasn’t easy however is the fucking dog that was digging through the trash snarling at me as I went to pass the dumpster.

“Careful, pup. I’m not after your dinner,” I say, raising my hands in a defensive position. “It’s all yours.”

He sniffs at me, bares his teeth, then digs back into the trash, pawing at the bagged garbage until he hits one from the Chinese restaurant that sits on the opposite side of the alley from the lodge. It just so happens that we share a trash container with them and several small businesses surrounding the inn.

All of them are important to our ultimate success.

Our guests will need places to eat and shop, we won’t be reopening the former restaurant or gift shop. Those will be repurposed for other services.

The ladies have voted for a spa to be one and the guys want a tattoo parlor in the other. It’s gonna be a unique blend of patronage. But this is gonna be a biker establishment. We don’t plan on catering to the rich and famous. We want to draw in others, preferably other bikers, whether they’re Sunday riders or other clubs, with the same likes and beliefs as ours.

Easily so as to not spook the pooch, I walk past him, hands still up in the air. As soon as I pass the tin dump, I all but sprint, not wanting to take any unseemly chances of getting a chunk of assmeat bitten out of my hide.

A tetanus shot and stitches being threaded in my backside isn’t the way I want to end this evening. A cold brew in hand, sitting around the fire pit outside talking bullshit with the guys, and my woman in my lap is the way I’d prefer to end this long, drawn-out day.

Looking behind me, I sigh when I notice the dog is still head deep in the trash. His ass end is up in the air and his tail is wiggling. If he hadn’t bared his teeth at me, I’d have actually considered taking him back to the clubhouse and offering him a warm bed and food to fill his belly.

First, he’d need to be loaded up and dropped off at the groomer… he looked scraggly. He needs a bath, nails clipped, and his fur needs to be sheared. I’m not sure what breed he is underneath all of that tousled, matted fur, but he’s mean enough to guard the club’s premises and its most treasured and vulnerable occupants. Fuck knows he’s not afraid to show his sharp canines regardless of the fact that I’m twice his size and haven’t missed a meal as opposed to him.

Pulling out the mini notepad I keep in my cut pocket along with an ink pen, I squint to see the plate’s numbers better and scribble them down. The clicking sound of a dog’s toenails hitting the asphalt has my body tightening in a defensive response. Slow and easy, I twist my upper body and take him in. He’s at ease, his tongue lolling from his mouth, and his posture is non-threatening.

“Hey, boy,” I greet in an upbeat tone. “Whatcha doing?” Dumbass, I internally scold myself, as if the dog’s gonna answer me back. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but him chuffing and strutting up to me, nudging my hand with his head for a scratch behind his ears was not it. “Missing some human companionship? Maybe if you weren’t so violent in welcoming humans into your fold, you’d get more of it.”

He woofs at me, licks my palm, and nudges at me again.

“Alright, I get ya, man.” Reaching down, begging for mercy that he doesn’t get a wild hair up his ass and bite me, I pat the top of his head.

When he doesn't react with savageness or wariness, I dig my fingers into his dingy fur and lightly tug on his ears. The beast leans further into my side, directing me with his pelted head to continue. Not wanting to piss the hound off or be the recipient of his bite nor become his midnight snack, since none of the three scenarios sound amusing, I do as he bids.

“Easy,” I reiterate, “I don’t taste as good as I look. It’s more muscle than meat, big guy.” I swear this dog rolls his eyes at me, but I don’t let it deter me. “Gotta get back to the men. You coming, or staying?” I ask.

He woofs again, his ears perk up and he looks up at me as if he’s asking, what are we waiting for? Get a move on with it already, mister.

“Alright.” The gnarly beast follows me back to the door I left and trots at my side as we enter.

“The fuck is that? Is he rabid?” Texas asks, skeptically eyeing the dog.

What the dog does next embeds himself into my life. He walks up to Texas, lifts his hind quarters, and gives him a golden shower. The entertainment value he provides for us solidifies his position in our brotherhood—his new pack.

Texas jumps back, ogles the dog as if he’s expecting an apology, then tosses his hands up in the air in disappointment when he doesn’t receive one for the slight against him.

“Oh fuck. If you’re not keeping him, I’m calling dibs,” Malice chuckles. “I need him in my life.”

“Nah, man. I’m gonna take this guy to the vet down the road, get him checked out, have them give him some vaccinations, and have them clip his mangy fur. Then I’m gonna take him home and cook him a juicy steak. Such a good boy,” I coo at the pup, giving him another rub down.

“What kinda dog do you think he is?” Gunner asks.

“Not sure. It’s hard to tell underneath all of those mats in his pelt,” I admit. “But he’s got good instincts.”

“We’ll get this shit unloaded and sorted. You go take care of him. He fucking stinks and we need to make sure he doesn’t have anything that’ll make him dangerous around the kids.”

“Sounds good. See y'all later,” I state, slapping my leg and whistling, hoping he knows to follow on command.

SALEM

“Um, Salem?” Star rouses me from the orchestration I’m putting together for Juniper’s routine. Aspen was originally going to choreograph her routine, but she’s swollen and hasn’t felt physically up to it, so I agreed to take over for her.

“Huh. What’s up, Star?”

“So, uh. Your man just rode up with a dog sitting piggyback on his bike.”

“On his bike? Like a passenger?” I ask for further clarification. “Is that even possible?”

“Apparently. I wouldn’t have thought it was doable, but Powerhouse just proved me wrong,” she says, clucking her tongue.

With the music playing in the background, I abandon my choreography notes and jog around the clubhouse. Sure enough, there’s a dog sitting astride Cole’s bike. His back paws tucked beneath Cole’s ass and his front paws leisurely settled atop his shoulders. A huge smile is spread broadly across Cole’s cheeks as if he’s a proud papa.

“How did you get him to do that?” I ask my man. “Is he a retired circus performer or something?”

“Wouldn’t know, darlin’. Just found him and took him to the vet. Come meet Bullet, Salem.”

“Is that the dog’s name?” I continue asking my questions.

“He answers to it, so if it wasn’t, it is now,” he slyly remarks, calling me over to him with a wiggle of his finger. “Come meet our boy, Salem.”

“Our boy? It’s a little too soon for a claimed joint ownership, isn’t it, Cole?”

“Are you mine?” he probes.

“I am.”

“Do you sleep in my bed?” he continues.

“I do.”

“Are you going to accept my old lady patch when I offer it to you?”

“I am,” I say, nervously swallowing.

“Then he’s ours, Salem.”

“As simple as that, Cole?”

“As easy as that, darlin’,” he confirms. “Now, come let him sniff ya and shit.”

“Well, that’s a new line if I’ve ever heard one,” Stella snickers through a whisper, cupping her mouth to contain her mirth. “Don’t let him see you sweat, Salem.”

“I’m not sweating,” I challenge. “What if he doesn’t like me, Cole?” My biggest concern is that Cole already seems to be attached to the mutt. If the dog doesn’t like me, what would that do to us? Would it break our relationship? My insecurity about being abandoned takes root and now I am perspiring.

Tiptoeing, I hesitantly lift my hand in a non-threatening movement. I’m shaking as I approach. I’ve never been bitten before and I’m hoping that in this instance there’s not going to be a first time for it to happen.

“Hi, Bullet,” I greet the dog who’s currently side-eyeing me, raking his irises over me from top to bottom, trying to decide if he’s going to give me a chance to become his friend or not.

As soon as I get closer, he leans forward, his eyes never leaving mine as he sniffs my outstretched palm. He must decide my scent is acceptable, or he can smell Cole on me because he sticks out his slobbery tongue and swipes it across my hand. When Bullet sails off the bike, I take a step back but am in no way prepared for the onslaught of him leaping at me. Instinctively, I lift my arms and wrap them around him. He’s heavy and I end up toppling over.

“Bullet! Get off her, man.” Cole coughs covering up the laughter.

“Sorry, baby. Are you good?”

“I’m good, Cole. I think he likes me,” I giggle as the dog baths my face in his saliva. He doesn't miss a single shred of skin as he continues to lavish me with attention.

“Come, Bullet,” Cole instructs, tapping his thigh and letting out a shrill whistle that has my ears ringing. “Get off your mama, boy, so she can stand up.” The dog obeys, getting off of me but never leaving my side and heading to his owner.

“I think you just lost your best friend, man,” Kruger announces, laughing at Cole.

“That’s alright, his purpose has been found. I couldn’t ask for a better protector for my future old lady than this boy right here,” Cole says, reaching down and scratching Bullet behind his ears.

The kids squealing in the background captures Bullet’s attention. His tail begins wagging ninety miles per hour as he awaits permission to go and greet the kiddos.

“Let’s try this one kid at a time,” Cole suggests. “Ella, come here, beautiful girl.”

Ella giddily comes our way with a pep in her step. “What kinda dog is he, Powerhouse?” Ella asks as she holds her hand out, mimicking how I approached Bullet previously.

“The vet, Doc Liza, suspects he’s a crossbreed of German Shepherd and a Retriever. He won’t get any bigger than he is right now, but we’ve gotta fatten him up because he’s malnourished.”

“What’s that mean? Mal… malnourished,” Ella questions, sounding out the word as she speaks.

“It means he’s underweight and we need to fatten him up, baby,” Star answers before Cole gets a chance to.

“We’ll need to make sure he’s eating three times a day. Doc Liza has put him on a high calorie diet. No people food, it could make him sick. There are certain scraps of table food he can have later on down the road, but for now, we’re not going to take any chances.”

“What can’t he have?” Ella probes.

“I have a list but from what I can remember off the top of my head, no chocolate or grapes… ever. But the doc encourages peanut butter for his teeth and his gut. She gave him a round of antibiotics because he has an infection in his front left paw,” Cole points to the spot that’s red and inflamed. “She says we can wrap it up in bread slathered with peanut butter and he should take it without spitting it out. Should we try it?”

“Yes,” all of the kids cheer in sync. I’m amazed they’re waiting so patiently for Cole because all of them are practically vibrating out of their skin watching Bullet with Ella.

One by one, Cole calls the kids over and introduces them to Bullet. Once the dog’s approved of each one, they get to pet him and start the bonding process.

“How did you meet Bullet, Uncle Powerhouse?” Ella probes. Cole tones down the story he tells them, but I read between the lines and know that it was a bit more tense than he describes.

But in the end, I know one thing for sure. And what I know, I don’t hesitate to share with him. “You’re a good man, Cole,” I whisper.

“Shhh. You’ll ruin my badass reputation if you say that too loud, baby.”

“I think your reputation is already solidly established, Cole,” I giggle. “But we’ll keep your marshmallow center under wraps and secret.”

“Deal,” he says, sticking out his hand for a shake. I reach mine out, but once we connect, he pulls me into him and lays an earth-shattering kiss on my lips that causes the ground beneath my feet to vibrate.

“Damn,” I utter once he releases me, placing two fingers over my puffy lips.

“Hell yeah, sweetness. Now, let’s go give Bullet his meds and get him fed.” He tugs me toward his bike, unlatches his saddlebag and removes a case of wet food cans and a bag of dry kibble. “We’re supposed to mix these together.”

“We don’t have any dog bowls,” I say, chewing my bottom lip.

“For now, we’ll just use something from the kitchen. I’ll replace them later with new bowls and we’ll get him his own set,” Cole proposes.

“At this point, Bullet could get away with murder.” I point to where Bullet is not only surrounded by the club's kids, but the women and men that are here as well.

“He’s popular,” Cole chuckles as he watches Kruger place Jaggar on Bullet’s back like he’s a bronco bull.

“You’re their new hero, Cole. You’ve brought something new and exciting into their lives. We were all starting to feel the tension from being stuck between these walls.” I turn around pointing at the steeled enclosure keeping us safe from the outside world.

“Tomorrow, you, Oakley, and Juniper will be taken to the warehouse. It’s safe and clean now.”

“That’s the best news ever, Cole! Tryouts are around the corner and there’s still so much to do.”

“One thing I’ve been wondering about, babe.”

“What’s that?”

“Who’s been rehearsing with the other girls planning on trying out?”

“Dawn. She’s been meeting them at their homes and working with them there. She’s a godsend.”

“It’s good she’s finally getting out and about,” he remarks, a solemn look on his face.

“She’s getting there. She’s physically healthy, and mentally, she’s not far behind. Doc Shell’s worked wonders with her,” I confess.

“It’s good to see a light behind her eyes,” he acknowledges.

With my hand in his, Cole guides me into the clubhouse where we let each of the kids prepare peanut butter bread for Bullet, but only Cole’s piece holds the pill, while I mix his food and set the bowl down for him to chow down on once he’s eaten each morsel of bread.