Punish (Feral Justice Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Legal Page

  Title Page

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  New Excerpt

  About the Author

  Publisher Page

  Punish

  ISBN # 978-1-78651-086-0

  ©Copyright Vella Munn 2016

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright September 2016

  Edited by Sue Meadows

  Totally Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2016 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

  Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Simmering and a Sexometer of 1.

  Feral Justice

  PUNISH

  Vella Munn

  Book one in the Feral Justice series

  Three dogs search for animal abusers. Punishment is exacted. Life is simple—they do what the Force commands. It’s more complicated for the humans their existence impacts.

  Three large gray dogs, ruled by a force only they comprehend, search for animal abusers. When they find them, punishment is meted out with fangs and claws. For the two brothers and their sister, life is simple—they do what the Force tells them to.

  Life is much more complicated for the humans their existence impacts. Joe, a former POW, has loved the trio since they were helpless puppies. They make him feel part of something alive. His stepdaughter Rachelle longs to connect with the only father she has ever known, but, from the moment she sees the grays, she knows Joe has made a mistake by letting them run free.

  Even though he believes the victims got what they deserved, animal control officer Nate must do everything he can to stop the man-killers. Rachelle and Nate should have very different goals, but life is never that simple.

  Dedication

  Many people and forces played vital roles in helping me create this book and the others in the series. I’m forever grateful to my animal-loving family and my confidante Lynda Hilburn, but mostly I’m thankful for the rescue dogs that have enriched my life. Their forgiving hearts serve as powerful examples of why I decided to write about making animal abusers pay for their crimes.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Cujo: Stephen King

  Glock: Glock Ges m.b.H

  4-H: United States Department of Agriculture

  Yankees: Yankee Global Enterprises

  America the Beautiful: Katharine Lee Bates, Samuel A. Ward

  Giants: National Football League

  The History Channel: A&E Networks

  Chapter One

  “There’s another dead one.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Hell yes, I’m sure. What do you think I am, stupid?”

  You’re no brain trust, bro. “How many live ones?”

  “I can’t tell. Have to be at least five.”

  “They look okay?”

  “They look squished together.”

  Cursing, Bruce Cimspy made his way down the double row of rabbit cages set on three-foot-high legs. Puppies stared at him through the wire mesh. A few wagged their tails and pressed their noses against the doors’ openings, but most of the dachshunds, Chihuahuas, and Yorkshire terriers kept what distance they could from him.

  The air reeked of piss, dog shit, rotten food, filthy animals and blood. Add all that to the B.O. pouring off Andrew plus the heat, and he nearly barfed. The minute he got out of here he’d be opening a cold one.

  His half-brother, Andrew, stood with his arms folded over a belly that made him look eight months pregnant, peering into one of the cages. Andrew needed a shave, a comb for what hair he had, and a much bigger T-shirt.

  Trying not to think about how many times he’d done this, Bruce followed the line of Andrew’s gaze. A matted Yorkshire bitch lay panting on her side with her swollen teats accounting for maybe a third of her body. Five—or was it six?—still-sightless puppies wrestled with the nipples. If being mauled by sharp claws and teeth hurt, the bitch gave no indication. She paid no more attention to the small inert mound inches from her front legs.

  “Damn,” Bruce muttered. “That’s the third this week.” He looked around but couldn’t remember which cages the other dead puppies had been in. At present there were only four nursing bitches and just two definitely pregnant, which meant there weren’t enough puppies in the pipeline.

  “It’s the heat,” Andrew observed. “We always lose more in summer.”

  “Not this many.”

  “Whatever.”

  Whatever was Andrew’s response every time he didn’t have the words to hold up his end of a discussion. Sometimes that pissed Bruce off, but today he was too hot to care.

  Even though he’d vowed to keep his mind on the logistics of having enough dogs to sell, Bruce couldn’t stop himself from looking around. The cages blocked his view of the open land beyond the operation. That made him uneasy.

  Again.

  Not for the first time he wondered if years of booze had done something to his brain cells. Used to be he had no trouble staying on task—which mostly meant finding ways to make money. Recently, however, he’d sleepwalked through the days.

  Until the morning a couple of weeks ago when he was hit with the suspicion that he was being watched as he walked toward the cages. He’d been so hung-over he’d nearly fallen down trying to make sense of things. When the feeling returned the next day, he’d gotten out his binoculars and checked things out as best he could, but hadn’t seen anything beyond dry grasses, shrubs and the ever-present buzzards.

  When he’d mentioned the creepy feeling to Andrew, Andrew had laughed at him. A few days
later he’d admitted to the same thing. If animal control had them under surveillance—hell, that would be the end to things. Maybe it was those crazy PETA fanatics thinking they had a right to rob him of his ability to pay the bills.

  Wondering if he could order whoever it was—if someone was out there—off his property, he stepped away from the cages and shielded his eyes.

  “What are you doing?” Andrew asked.

  “Don’t worry about me. Just do your job.”

  “I do mine, and yours.”

  On the verge of telling his brother to shut his mouth, he tried to focus on what might be movement under one of the oaks. They kept a baseball bat handy for when a mutt needed to be put down. He wished he had his hands on it now. If something like a cougar or a coyote charged, he’d smack it between the eyes.

  “You see something?”

  He took a few more steps, only to stop because the sun was scorching the top of his mostly bald head. His eyes started burning, and his arm grew tired, but he waited out the better part of a minute. Nothing moved, at least he didn’t think it did.

  “No,” he finally said. “Nothing.”

  “Better not be.”

  Angry at himself for getting spooked, he returned to the cages. He should unhook the wire closure and remove the dead pup, but then he’d have to take it over to the pit at the back of the property—with the sun pounding down. Besides, he hated touching the filthy, flea-invaded creatures. Sighing, he noticed that the chewed-on plastic water bowl—how many damn bowls had the mutts destroyed?—in the cage to the right of the one Andrew and he were standing near had been knocked over. Andrew held the hose but wasn’t doing anything with it. Just like Andrew to not see what needed to be done.

  Damn it, why had he gone into business with the idiot?

  Because Andrew had had the initial idea to get some purebred bitches and start breeding them.

  “We’re out of dog food,” Andrew announced.

  Then pull it out of your ass. “I told you to buy some.”

  “How? The credit card’s maxed out.”

  Andrew’s unsurprising revelation deflated Bruce. It wasn’t the first time a card they used for the business’s expenses had reached its limit. Tomorrow or the next day he’d load up a dozen puppies and take them to a pet shop in another county. As soon as Andrew got back with cash in hand—no accepting checks in this business—he’d make a dent in the credit card bill.

  One dent. Not damn enough because too many puppies either died or were stillborn. He knew what the problem was—the breeding stock was getting old. But replacing them took money. They needed to sell every pup they could to make the rent.

  Wiping sweat off his forehead, Bruce turned from the cages to where hopefully more air moved. His legs tangled, prompting him to plant his hand against a metal roof for support, only to jerk it back. “Damn, that’s hot!”

  Whimpers and yips from who the hell knew how many throats pounded against his ears. Thank goodness fall was around the corner, because summer heat made coming out to the kennels a miserable task. It had to be well over a hundred degrees under the metal roofing, and it smelled like the inside of a porta-potty. Flies filled the air and crawled over the piles of dog crap. No way was he going to shovel it out of there until the temperatures got below freezing.

  He put distance between himself and what had once been a dependable way to bring in some money. Not only were the bitches wearing out, the cages were falling apart, the cost of food kept going up and the pet stores they sold to refused to increase what they were willing to pay.

  “I’ve got some cash,” he reluctantly admitted. “Maybe a hundred. Get something for these dogs to eat.”

  “Today?”

  “Yeah, today.” You idiot. “We can’t afford to lose any more.”

  Andrew pulled a pack of cigarettes out of a back pocket and extracted a bent one. Bruce, who’d forced himself to cut back because of the cost, clenched his teeth to keep from saying anything.

  “I’ll go tonight,” Andrew said after a long, slow pull. “Too damn hot now. You want me to pick up some beer?”

  “Hell yes. And wine for Amy.”

  “Yeah, Amy.”

  Hearing his half-brother use that tone about his wife had Bruce looking toward the trailer. For the past year and then some, either Andrew or he always had to be around to make sure Amy didn’t leave the stove on or wander off. He figured she had either dementia or Alzheimer’s, but without insurance there wasn’t much he could do about it. Eventually, when she got bad enough, he’d have to jump through the hoops to get her on Medicaid.

  Shit. Would they insist on seeing Amy’s living conditions? Someone would come out here, see, hear and smell. Put them out of business.

  Double shit. What if someone at the grocery store, which was practically the only place he took Amy anymore, had said something about the way she acted? They could already be under investigation.

  Maybe they were already here. That’s what he’d been sensing.

  No. Their operation was too small to concern a financially strapped county. There’d been cutbacks in every department, animal control included, thank goodness. What staff remained had more important things to do than go after him.

  He wiped sweat off his forehead, then pressed his hand against it. The heat and wondering what the hell to do about Amy was getting to him, messing up his thinking. Even though he didn’t want to, he again stared at the tree he’d been looking at earlier. Too bad his sunglasses were scratched. Otherwise, he’d know whether he was imagining things or something was really up there. Watching.

  What the hell could it be? Not long ago Andrew and he had chased off some coyotes, and one night he’d seen a fox cart off a dead puppy. Once, when Andrew was gone, he’d spotted a dog out in the open, looking like it was watching him. The damn thing had stayed around more than an hour, barely moving. It had been far enough away that he couldn’t tell much about it other than it was one of the biggest he’d ever seen.

  The damn cur had shown up in a nightmare that night.

  Instead of going to the trailer with its portable fans and a cold beer for himself and his brother, he hurried over to the shade cast by a scrub oak. Soon as he’d cooled off a bit and pulled his thoughts together, he’d finish the trip to the trailer.

  The zoning out here called for each place to have at least five acres, which suited him just fine. The parcels on either side were owned by an out-of-state developer apparently content to let them stay the way they were. He didn’t have what he could call a neighbor, not that he wanted one.

  He and Amy had been here for fifteen years, just the two of them, her working retail in town until she started forgetting too much, while he did a bit of everything, including collecting scrap metal for recycling and driving a pilot car for oversized loads.

  Andrew had moved into the second bedroom some three years ago after his marriage fell apart. He hadn’t said much about what had happened, and Bruce hadn’t asked. It wasn’t the kind of thing men talked about. Andrew was behind in his child support and his ex was giving him hell about it. Andrew had told her to shut her yap. Otherwise, he’d hunt her down and take back all the furniture he’d bought during the marriage, including their girls’ beds.

  If Andrew made good on his threat, it would just be Bruce—and Amy—for a few days.

  At the thought, a shiver hit him between the shoulder blades. He didn’t want to be alone.

  “What’s up?” Andrew asked as he joined him in the shade. “You’re staring into space.”

  Bruce straightened. “The hell I am. It’s ripe out there.” He indicated the pit where they put the carcasses. “You’re going to have to pick up some more lime to throw in.”

  “Why don’t you do it?”

  “I did last time. It’s your turn.”

  Before his brother could respond, a dog yelped. Another echoed the first, then suddenly a bunch of them took up the cry.

  “What the hell?” Andrew muttered. “Sh
ut up! Shut the fuck up, you bitches!”

  The dogs kept barking, yipping and squealing like they were having a drunken convention.

  “Hey!” Andrew bellowed. “Shut the fuck up or I’ll wring your damn necks!”

  If anything, that got the dogs going even more. Bruce didn’t waste his breath telling his brother he was making things worse. The caterwauling had an unnatural sound to it.

  Where the hell was the bat?

  These mutts were small, their voices high. The bitches—and the males who serviced them—seldom made a sound. Most of the time he was able to shut out the puppies’ yammering. Not now. There was something unified about it, as if they were all saying the same thing.

  Welcoming something.

  “Fuck.” His hands fisted. Why hadn’t he gone straight to the trailer?

  Chapter Two

  Movement beyond the burial pit caught his attention. There were so many bushes and weeds around it that it was hard to see what, if anything else, was there.

  “Fuck it, fuck!” Andrew pressed against him, nearly knocking him off balance.

  He pushed him away. “What the—”

  “Don’t you see them?”

  He shivered. “Them?”

  “Whatever the hell they are.”

  Cold and heat surrounded him. The penned dogs’ caterwauling suddenly shut down. He’d never heard it go so quiet so fast, almost as if they’d all died.

  “You’re crazy. I don’t see—”

  “Look. There.” Andrew pointed to the left of the burial pit.

  A long howl coming from a distance coated the air. This was nothing like the high-pitched sounds the caged dogs made. It was deeper, longer lasting, malevolent.

  “Wolf?”

  Don’t be stupid! There are no wolves around.

  Barely aware of what he was doing, Bruce sidled closer to the byproduct of his old man’s out-of-control penis. Andrew was ten years younger, four inches taller, and a lot heavier.