“I’m out of here.” Weston, still frowning angrily, threw the last dart as he was turning away from the board, sending it rebounding off the wooden cabinet surround and clattering to the floor.
I scrubbed my hand across my face and took another drag of my joint. What a great fucking evening this was turning out to be.
TWELVE
My hands were shaking with rage.
Deep breaths.
Okay, maybe I was overreacting, but it was my mother’s house. I wasn’t expecting to see anything out of the ordinary, as far as the party went. I assumed it would be a bunch of rich people, standing around drinking or whatever.
Peering through the small opening, I could make out a huge darkened room, heavy curtains covering the windows. A few dim lamps were scattered around, providing the only sources of light. In the near corner to my right stood a large roulette table, people surrounding it, laughing, watching as the wheel decided their fortune. Well, probably not their fortune, going by the wealth that practically oozed from their pores, but it decided whether they were lucky or not.
Straight ahead, off to my left, there was a giant TV screen, with another smaller screen next to it that looked like some kind of betting scoreboard with lists of names and odds next to each name. A large group of people—mostly men—gathered around the screens, shouting and cheering.
It was what was on the larger screen that made my blood boil, my heart pounding, fury and nausea filling me. I could see two dogs fighting in some kind of pit, snarling and snapping at each other, foaming at the mouths. I watched as one of the dogs grabbed the throat of the other and began to shake it in its jaws, red blossoming on the fur. The other dog desperately tried to get away, scrabbling on the dirt floor, but it was no use. It let out a horrible high-pitched whimpering screech that was abruptly cut off. Its struggles died away, until… I couldn’t watch anymore. Bile rose in my throat, and I stood for a moment, clenching my jaw, struggling to contain my emotions.
Anything to do with animals fighting, animal cruelty, basically any kind of animals struggling, and I was raging. The jeers and laughter from the spectators in the room only fuelled my anger.
A memory flashed through my mind,
long buried, repressed and forgotten until that moment. My father, buying me a puppy for my fourth birthday. My mother, screaming at him for being irresponsible, that dogs were a waste of space, the argument raging on and on. My poor puppy quivering in fear, until I’d scooped her up, and we’d both hidden in the laundry room, huddled in a corner against the dryer. The next morning, coming downstairs to find the front door wide open and no sign of my puppy. Running outside and seeing the small, limp bundle of fur under the back wheel of my mother’s car. Her insisting it was an accident. My inconsolable cries.
Fuck. I swallowed hard, pushing the memory away and coming back to the present, to the people taking joy in the torment of these animals.
I had to do something. Anything.
Reaching out my hand, I hesitated, then took a step forwards, ready to throw open the door.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you.”
I whirled around to find the speaker leaning casually against the wall, one eyebrow raised. He looked so much like an older version of Zayde, I immediately guessed who he was. I temporarily forgot what I was so angry about as I took him in.
“Zayde’s dad?”
“Michael Lowry, at your service.” He bowed exaggeratedly, his dark eyes twinkling at me, and I laughed, surprised. How different could he be from his son?
“Winter Huntington. Lovely to meet you.”
“Enchanté.” He took my hand and kissed it, a smile on his handsome face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. As he lowered it, he stepped a little closer, dropping his voice.
“Whatever you were thinking, don’t.”
“I-I just…I,” I stammered.
“Let me guess. The dogs?” He sighed heavily, a sympathetic twist to his mouth.
I nodded, my fists clenching.
“Listen. There are some things in this world you need to turn a blind eye to. Believe me, you don’t want to be meddling with those people. It could get you into serious trouble.”
“But—”
“There’s nothing that can be done. Those dogs were bred for violence. Besides that, they’re at a protected location, so you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it, other than cause a scene. Should it be happening? No, but it is what it is. Do not, under any circumstances, do anything to put yourself on the radar of the people here. You don’t want to get on their bad side. Trust me.”
The warning in both his tone and his eyes gave me pause. What could I do, really? He was right—I’d just be causing a scene if I said anything, and it would all be for nothing.
“I guess you’re right,” I whispered, defeated.