#TeaserTuesday: BoD

Beware of Dog most definitely brings the Fearless vibes. In fact, in the early stages, before I'd even started writing Lord Have Mercy, I decided I wanted it to be a new, and unique spin on the original. There's an age gap. There's a bodyguard/charge dynamic. It's friends to lovers, and soulmates, and presents the sort of relationship that looks odd from the outside, but which makes total sense to the two participants. 

There are plenty of differences, though, to make this its own, standalone story. Shep and Cass's age different is actually larger than Mercy and Ava's, but Shep didn't meet her when she was eight and he certainly doesn't have any sense of having helped "raise" her, like Mercy did with Ava. Mercy and Ava work so well because Ava was mature for her age, and Mercy had a certain level of immaturity thanks to his situation. Shep's immature in a different way; he's an asshole, to be honest, but as the book unfolds, it starts to become clear that he is very badly starved of love, and that his sibling-like banter and no-boundaries friendship with Cass is the only way he can accept that love. 

Like Ava, Cass is struggling with living in two worlds. One of the key differences here, and which is something Shep expresses to her, is that Shep isn't, in his own words, a martyr. He's not going to walk away just because he thinks she'd be better off without him. 

This has turned into a very fun project. Easily my favorite Dartmoor romance. I can't wait to share it soon! 

Lost in her own spiral, she didn’t notice at first that Shep was studying the page with great concentration, squinting a little in a way that pressed lines at the outer corners of her eyes. He needed to start using reading glasses, she thought.

“This is really good,” he said, after a beat. Straightened the board with a careful touch at the very corner. “Like…really good.”

“Thanks,” she said, feeling awkward.

“It looks realistic, you know? Not like that normal comic book shit.”

“Aaaand, you ruined it.” She sighed, and returned to the edge of the bed. “Why are you here, Shep? I’m not supposed to have boys in my dorm.”

“You don’t,” he said, easily, and dragged out the desk chair to sit facing her, closer than he would have been than if he’d sat on Jamie’s bed. He kicked out his leg and thumped the toe of his boot into hers. Grinned. “You have a man in your dorm.”

 

She gave him her least impressed look, and he shrugged and got serious.

“Your friend got raped, right? That’s why you went to Dixon?”

Sometimes, she didn’t realize how much effort she expended out in the real, civilized world; how much work it was to talk politely of polite things and pretend to be scandalized by the notion of violent men doing violent things under cover of night. Also, truthfully, she had no idea how to be the kind of soft Jamie needed from her right now.

She scooted back against the wall so her legs stuck straight off the bed, and then was sad that he could no longer tap-tap-tap his boot to hers. “Yeah, she was raped. When she told me, I took her to Sex Crimes and Melissa took her statement. Then Melissa drove us over to the hospital so they could do a rape kit. The investigation is ongoing.”

He made a quick, almost-sympathetic face. “Tough break. Where’d it happen?”

“At the guy’s house.”

“So she knows who raped her?”

When she hesitated, he hitched up straighter in the chair; the wood creaked beneath his weight.

“What?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“I don’t like you giving me the run-around is what I don’t like. Spit it out.”

“It was…” His eyes were an interesting shade of brown, coppery now in the glow of the sunlight, green at the outer edges, fixed on her face and intent as a panther’s. “It was Sig.”

“I knew it.” He jumped up and paced the length of the room; spun back around, shoulders rolling and arms lifting out at his sides, ready for a fight. “I knew that little fucker was trouble.” He aimed a finger at her. “I told you!”

“Well, he’s not here now, so put your dukes down.”

He skated her a scathing look and continued to pace, cracking his knuckles. “I shoulda put that little shit in the hospital. I shoulda broken both his hands. Shoulda broken his dick.”

Cass marveled a moment, because she wasn’t used to seeing Shep worked up like this. For almost three years he’d dogged her steps, guarding her at the club’s behest, but he was nothing if not laconic and unfazed about his duties. Now, though, anger radiated off of him like steam.

To be fair, things had been very stable and safe for a while. Perhaps he was out of practice dealing with an active threat, like a man losing his alcohol tolerance after a stint of sobriety.

“No,” she reasoned, “then you’d be in prison.” When he shot her another of those don’t be an idiot looks, as if she was the one acting irrationally in this situation, she said, “Would you like to hear the details? Or shall you continue going off the rails?”

“Stop being so fucking British,” he muttered, but returned to the chair and sat heavily. Hooked an arm over the back of it and gave her his unswerving, too-intense attention.

Cass gave him a succinct recounting of Jamie’s story, from their argument, their week of frosty (on Jamie’s end) silence, to the coffeeshop, to Sig’s bedroom at his parents’ townhouse.

Shep’s gaze remained pinned to her throughout, though the attentiveness was comforting, rather than discomfiting. Aside from the occasional blink he didn’t move, and when she was finished, he shook his head, gaze finally shifting lower, somewhere down around her feet. “At least he left you alone.”

“Shep.”

“What do you want me to say? I’m sorry about your friend, yeah,” he said, not at all sincerely, “but I told that shitstain to back off of you, and he did. So…” He shrugged.

“Well, he did back off of me, straight onto Jamie.”

“You want me to put his head through a window?”

“No.”

“Okay.” He spread his hands in a what do you want gesture.

I want you to fix it, she thought. She loved her brothers, her dad, had never doubted their capabilities…but none of them had been a fixer. At least not for her. She was the baby, her problems were the smallest, and easily handled by someone else.

But here sat Shep, asking, in his roundabout way, how to help her, how to fix it for her, after his first attempt at doing so went sideways.

The knowledge put a lump in her throat.

She kicked up her chin and said, “Melissa and the other detectives are handling it. They’ll arrest Sig, and he can go through the proper channels.”

“Yeah, until your friend gets spooked and recants her statement.”

“She won’t.’

“You sure about that?”

Cass wiggled her toes, watching her Fryes dance, and bit her lip.

“See,” Shep said, to be a shit.

“I know, I know, she’s shaky.” She folded her arms and slumped back further against the wall. “I’m trying to be as supportive as possible, and Melissa’s been great so far. But.”

“She’s a flake.”

“No. God, that’s shitty of you. She’s not a flake, she’s…” She chewed at her lip and watched him watching her as she searched for an explanation that wouldn’t make him snort with derision; a tall order. “Jamie’s here on scholarship. Her family’s from Brooklyn. Her dad lays tile, and her mom works at Walgreens. They don’t have money.”

“Unlike you, you mean.” He smirked.

“Raven—okay, no, I will not take your bait. My point is, someone like Sig holds a lot of power over her. She wants him romantically, yes, but more than that she’s in love with the idea of being chosen by someone as influential and wealthy as him. She wants to live like he does, obviously, yeah, but I think the social status part of it is even more important. She knows Sig could change her world—for better, or for worse, if she takes him down like this.”

Shep blinked. “Damn. Dr. Green in the house.”

“Piss off.”

His expression softened a fraction. “Nah. I’m being serious.”

“For once?” she challenged, but her pulse gave a pleased jump.

Shep rearranged himself in the chair, legs stretching out again, posture more relaxed against the desk. “I don’t get it. I mean, I get it. I hear what you’re saying, and I know you’re right. Kids care about all that social shit.” He made a dismissive, all-encompassing gesture. “Who honestly cares if you’re part of the in crowd?”

“You care about fitting in with the Dogs, don’t you?”

“Wrong.” He pointed at her. “I didn’t fit in anywhere but with them. So.” He stretched his heels out and both ankles cracked like gunshots. “I found my place. And I didn’t need to get fucked up to do it.”

Cass frowned, because she knew that wasn’t wholly truly. War fucked him up, and it was a disaffected, downtrodden man without options who joined the club the way he had, as a first-generation prospect with no ties of any kind. But she let the comment slide, because even if there were certain hazing rituals and certain codes of behavior within the club, it wasn’t a one-to-one comparison to Jamie’s situation.

“You, though,” Shep continued, tone growing accusatory, “don’t need money or status or power. So what the fuck?”

“I’m done with Sig, okay?”

“But why were you even hanging around him in the first place?”

“I don’t know.”

His gaze narrowed, head tipping back as he looked down his broken nose at her. A silent judgement that needled at all her insecurities more effectively than any spoken words.

“Okay!” she said, too loudly, too defensively. She threw her hands up. “It’s—I wanted to be part of that crowd, too, okay?”

His nostrils flared, silent disgust. “Why?”

“Because…” There wasn’t a way to make him think she didn’t sound ridiculous, so she just let it come pouring out, for good or ill. “Because school is hard, Shepherd!”

His brows gave a doubtful twitch.

“No, don’t say anything. I know there are things that are much harder. I know I’m being young, and stupid, and a brat, and—but it’s difficult, having a foot here and a foot in the club. Not that you care. Not that you understand that. Dad, and Raven, and Phil, and King, and Fox, and everyone wants me to go to college, and do my art, and get away from the life, until something frightening happens, and then I can’t go to school, and I have to be guarded”—she gestured to him—“and I’m completely abnormal once again, until it’s convenient to send me back to my dorm and—"

“Breathe.”

“I am breathing,” she snapped. “And I’m trying, quite unsuccessfully, to complain about being nineteen, and hopeless with boys, and hopelessly uncool, and hopelessly clueless about which direction I want my life to take.”

He frowned. “I thought you wanted to be an artist.”

“Yeah, and how will that work when you come sweeping into a gallery show and bundle me off because the club’s in danger? What happens when someone finds out who my family is and decides to kidnap me for ransom?”

He sat up, spine rigid with tension again. “I dunno. Raven makes it work.”

“I’m not talking about Raven, I’m talking about me!”

“Well.” He threw his arms out, expression frustrated. “What do you want me to do?”

It was the second time he’d asked her that. He looked as helpless now as he’d looked before, like he wanted to do something, but had no idea what.

He was the only one in her life, currently, who seemed to care.

She knew that wasn’t fair to Raven, or to any of her family. Of course they cared. But it was passive care; they were content to rock along until she spoke up.

But here sat Shep, arms spread, expression expectant, ready for action.

Inexplicably, it broke her heart.

“Nothing,” she murmured. “There’s nothing I want you to do.”

He stared at her hard a long moment, jaw set at a mulish angle, and she almost caved. Almost said, I want you to come sit next to me, and hold me like you did on the sidewalk, but I’m not drugged this time, and I want to feel it. I want you to kiss me, and pay attention to me, and…

Even as the fantasy skipped through her mind, she recognized the selfishness of it. Yes, she wanted to be kissed, and touched, and held, but she couldn’t ask Shep for that just because he was convenient.

(Yes, convenience, that’s why you can’t stop thinking about him in a gym shower, an unhelpful voice at the back of her mind chimed in.)

He shifted forward, leaned toward her, and for one wild, heart-stopping moment, she thought she wouldn’t have to ask for it, that he’d simply offer it.

Then the door opened, and Jamie poked her head inside. “Um. Is it okay if I…?”

Shep sighed and stood. “Yeah, come in, I’m leaving.”

Jamie slipped into the room and all but fell over herself in an effort not to get near him.

Shep noticed, and shook his head. But paused at the doorway, and glanced back at Cass, whose heart was still lurching and struggling. God, she wanted him to kiss her. That was the first time she’d consciously thought such a thing, but she knew it wouldn’t be the last. She was in trouble.

“Call your sister,” he said, and she rolled her eyes, because it was what he always said. But then: “What do you want for your birthday?”

“Huh?”

“Your birthday.” Was it her imagination, or did his voice take a gruff, not-quite-comfortable turn? “It’s coming up. What do you want?”

She was stunned.

“Shep, I’m stunned.”

“Pffft. Whatever.” He left, a two-fingered salute lifted over his head in parting.

When he was gone, Cass looked over to find Jamie watching her, goggle-eyed.

“Who was that?”

“Like I said. A friend.”