Chapter 2 - The Whispered Name
Vincent’s grip on my wrist was like a band of forged iron, but his eyes weren't on me. They were locked onto the monstrous black dog kneeling on the polished floorboards at my daughter’s feet.
Grimm, the beast who had put three grown men in the hospital and forced armed guards to step lightly whenever he entered a room, was now resting his massive, scarred jaw directly against Lucy’s tiny knees. His dark, golden eyes—usually fixed in a cold, predator’s glare—were soft, half-closed, and glistening.
Lucy leaned down until her cheek touched the dog’s velvet ear. Her small lips parted, and she whispered a single word into the dark fur.
It was barely a breath, but in the dead silence of the hallway, it hit the air like a thunderclap.
"Buster."
Vincent froze. The color drained from his face so quickly I thought he might faint. His hand slid off my wrist as if all the strength in his body had suddenly evaporated. Behind him, his chief security guard, Marcus, let out a sharp intake of air and reached instinctively for the wall to steady himself.
"What did she just call him?" Vincent’s voice dropped an octave, turning low, rough, and trembling with a sudden, raw edge.
Lucy didn't look up from her scratching. "Buster," she said simply, her little voice bright and clear. "That’s his real name. My daddy showed me a picture of him when I was little. He said Buster was a good boy who saved his life in the snow."
My heart stopped. The hallway seemed to spin on its axis.
Four years ago, before I started cleaning houses to pay the rent, my husband, Thomas, had died in an explosion in northern Maine. The police had called it an industrial accident at a remote logging camp. Thomas had been a former military k-9 handler who had taken a private security job in the woods to pay for our mortgage. I had never known who he was working for. I had never known what really happened in those woods.
Vincent walked toward my daughter. Every guard in the hall held their breath, but Vincent didn't look angry. He looked like a man who had suddenly stepped into a room filled with ghosts.
He knelt on one knee beside Lucy, his designer suit trousers pressing against the floor. He didn't touch Grimm, and he didn't touch Lucy. He just looked at her, his dark eyes searching her little face with an intensity that made my stomach twist.
"Your father," Vincent said softly, his voice gravelly. "His name was Thomas Vance?"
Lucy nodded, her curls bouncing. "Yup. He had a big dog with a notch in his left ear just like this one. Daddy said Buster got lost when the bad fire happened, but he promised Buster was still a hero."
Vincent slowly closed his eyes. A muscle worked violently in his jaw. When he opened his eyes again, he looked up at me. For three years, I had known Vincent Hale as a ruthless, calculating crime boss who ruled the New Haven docks with an iron fist. I had seen him order men out of his office with a flick of his wrist. I had seen him ignore bullet wounds like they were mosquito bites.
But looking at him now, kneeling beside my daughter, I saw something else. I saw a man carrying a debt he could never repay.
"He died pulling me out of the burning cabin, Claire," Vincent whispered, his voice barely audible above the hum of the air conditioning. "Your husband threw his body over mine when the roof collapsed. And when the fire took the camp, Buster was the one who dragged my unconscious body two miles through the snow to the highway. I thought the dog died of hypothermia that night. I found him three months later in a county shelter, half-starved and wild. I renamed him Grimm because he wouldn't let anyone touch him again."
Tears pricked the back of my eyes, hot and sudden. "You knew who Thomas was?"
"I knew Thomas had a wife and a child," Vincent said, standing up slowly. His eyes locked onto mine, burning with a strange, dark fire. "I tried to find you after the funeral, but you had moved. I set up a trust fund, but the lawyers said the cheques were returned marked 'recipient unknown.' I spent four years looking for Thomas Vance’s family."
"I changed my last name back to my maiden name," I whispered, my knees trembling. "I was terrified Thomas’s debts would follow us."
"Thomas didn't have debts," Vincent said sharply. "He had a brother-in-arms who owed him his life."
Before I could answer, the heavy oak doors at the end of the grand entrance hall slammed open.
Heavy, hurried footsteps echoed off the marble. A tall, broad-shouldered man in a leather jacket stepped into the hallway, flanked by two heavily armed men. It was Nolan Hale—Vincent’s younger brother, a man whose volatile temper was feared even by his own family.
"Vincent!" Nolan barked, his eyes scanning the hallway before landing on Lucy and Grimm. "What the hell is going on here? Why is a kid standing next to that hound? Get her out of the way before he tears her face off!"
Nolan reached into his jacket, pulling a heavy leather lead from his pocket.
Grimm’s ears pinned back instantly. A low, demonic rumble started deep in the dog's chest, and he stood up, placing his massive body squarely between Lucy and Nolan. The hair along his spine bristled like needles.
"Put that away, Nolan," Vincent said coldly, stepping forward.
"The dog's unpredictable!" Nolan spat, taking another step. "You know he almost took my hand off last month! We need to put him down or keep him locked in the kennels!"
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Grimm bared his teeth, letting out a deafening bark that shook the glass light fixtures above. Lucy didn't flinch. She simply wrapped her small arm around Grimm's thick neck, leaning her head against his side.
"He's not unpredictable," Vincent said, his voice dropping into a register that made even Nolan pause. "He just knows who belongs here, and who doesn't. From this moment on, Claire and her daughter live in this house. And if anyone in this organization so much as looks at them sideways... I'll feed them to Buster myself."
