Chapter 170
[ 506 words ]
Chapter 170:
The alley was shielded from the rain by a slight overhang, but it smelled heavily of damp brick and rotting garbage from the row of green dumpsters lining the wall.
Brenna leaned against the brick, violently brushing the water off her floral dress, cursing the weather loudly.
Caroline reached into her purse to grab a tissue for her friend.
Suddenly, her hyper-tuned auditory senses caught a sound beneath the roar of the rain. It was a microscopic, pathetic whimper.
о𝗿𝗴𝖺𝗇𝗶𝗓𝗲 уo𝘂r 𝗹𝗂𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗿y оո 𝘨𝘢𝗅ո𝘰ve𝘭𝘀.𝗰𝘰𝗺
Caroline froze. She turned her head toward the darkest corner of the alley, behind the last dumpster.
She completely ignored Brenna’s complaining. She walked straight toward the foul-smelling trash bins and crouched down in the grime, a brief wince flickering across her features as her bruised leg protested the sudden movement.
Wedged in the narrow, filthy gap between the plastic dumpster and the brick wall lay a medium-sized, pitch-black stray dog.
The animal was completely soaked. But worse, its right hind leg had a massive, brutal laceration. The muscle was torn open, and the heavy rain was rapidly washing the blood away, turning the puddle beneath it pink. The dog was shivering violently, its eyes glazed over. It was bleeding out and freezing to death.
The nurse and the combat medic inside Caroline ignited at the exact same second.
Without a moment of hesitation, Caroline reached down, grabbed the hem of her three-thousand-dollar cashmere sweater, and pulled it over her head.
Wearing only a thin, white silk camisole in the freezing wind, she bundled the incredibly expensive wool and wrapped it tightly around the dog’s bloody, filthy body to trap its failing body heat.
Brenna turned around and saw her. She let out a piercing shriek of absolute disbelief.
“Caroline, stop!” Brenna yelled, stepping forward instead of backing away. “That stray could have anything—rabies, mange—let me at least call animal control first!”
Caroline didn’t even blink. Her hands moved with steady, focused precision. It wasn’t the cold efficiency of a soldier—it was the practiced calm of a nurse who had seen too much trauma to panic at the sight of blood. She used the sleeves of the sweater to firmly stabilize the dog’s spine and apply steady compression to the lacerated leg.
She lifted her head and looked at Brenna.
Her gray eyes were calm and utterly resolute. “It’s dying, Brenna. I’m not waiting.”
Brenna stared at her for a long second. Then she let out a sharp breath, shoved her phone back into her purse, and crouched down beside Caroline in her expensive floral dress, the hem dragging through the filthy alley puddle.
“Fine,” Brenna muttered. “Tell me what to do.”
Caroline looked at her friend—the woman who had seen her through grueling night shifts and toxic workplace politics, who was now kneeling in garbage-strewn rainwater without a second thought. A fierce, silent gratitude swelled in her chest.
“Help me keep him warm,” Caroline said. “I need to get him to a vet. Now.”
Together, they lifted the bundled dog, cradling the shivering, blood-soaked creature between them as they walked out of the alley into the freezing rain.
Caroline’s hands stopped moving.
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