Full book 2

[Spoken word] Chapter 1: Blood on the Pavement The rain hit the asphalt like a drummer with a grudge, each drop smacking the pavement with a wet slap. I adjusted my trench coat, shaking off the drizzle, and let out a sigh thick with cheap bourbon and regret. My name’s Duke. Used to be a good boy. Now? Just another mutt trying to stay one step ahead of the pound. The neon from a busted streetlight flickered over the crime scene—an alley behind Benny’s Bone Shack. The smell of wet fur, garbage, and something worse curled in the air. I padded closer, my claws clicking on the concrete. "Messy one, Duke," came a voice. I didn't have to turn to know it was Charlie, a wiry greyhound who ran the precinct with a snout sharper than his wit. "You smell that?" I nodded. Blood. In the dim glow of the alley, a body lay stretched out. Not just any body—Jimmy Paws. Used to be the kingpin of the underground kibble trade. Now, he was just a rug with a bad ending. His throat had been torn open, his collar missing. That was personal. "Someone wanted this to send a message," I muttered, my tail twitching. Charlie flicked an ear. "Thinkin' the Mutts did it?" "Nah," I said, crouching down. "This is too clean for them. Mutts rip and tear like savages. This? This was surgical. A professional job." Charlie scratched behind his ear. "You saying a house dog did this?" I glanced up. "I'm saying a leash-wearer might’ve gotten their paws dirty." House dogs and strays didn’t mix. The rich, pampered types up in Riverside Heights? They looked down on the likes of us. But every once in a while, one of them got a taste for the streets. I sniffed the air again. Something was off. Then I saw it—just beneath Jimmy’s paw. A single tuft of golden fur. Golden Retriever. Charlie saw it too. "That narrows it down." "Yeah," I said, standing up. "Now we just gotta find out which lapdog decided to play executioner." I turned toward the street, the city stretching out in front of me like an old wound that never healed. Somewhere in those neon-lit gutters, a killer was hiding. And I was gonna s Somewhere in those neon-lit gutters, a killer was hiding. And I was gonna sniff 'em out.) Chapter 2: Scent of a Killer The rain had eased up, but the stink of the city still clung to the air—wet fur, stale kibble, and bad decisions. I flicked my tail, shaking off the alley’s grime as I stepped onto the main drag. The lights of downtown flickered in greasy puddles, and somewhere in the distance, a siren howled like a lonely wolf. Charlie kept pace beside me, his long legs moving like he had places to be, even if he didn’t know where yet. "You really think a house dog had the stones to do Jimmy like that?" he asked. I shot him a look. "A golden retriever’s fur was found under his paw, wasn’t it?" "Yeah, but goldens? They’re happy-go-lucky types. The worst crime they commit is stealing tennis balls." "Everybody’s got a dark side," I said. "Even the leash-wearers." We made our way toward Riverside Heights, where the sidewalks were clean, the hydrants gleamed, and the only fights were over whose owner had the biggest backyard. Stray dogs didn’t get invited up here, but I wasn’t just any stray. I had history. At the edge of the district, we passed The Velvet Leash, a high-end lounge where rich dogs lounged on velvet cushions and sipped filtered water. I paused outside, staring past the gold-trimmed windows. That’s when I saw her. Lola. Golden fur like spun sunlight, eyes that could melt a cold heart—if I had one left. She was trouble wrapped in silk, and last time I got close, I walked away with a limp and a lesson. She saw me too. A flick of her ear, a slow blink. She knew why I was here. Charlie muttered, "Duke, tell me we ain’t about to do this." But I was already pushing through the doors. Inside, the scent of expensive shampoo and overpriced beef filled my nose. The chatter of house dogs stopped as I stepped in, a muddy paw print on their fancy rug. Lola leaned back in her cushioned booth, swirling a drink with one delicate paw. "Duke," she purred, "long time." "Not long enough," I said, sliding into the seat across from her. "Where were you last night, Lola?" She laughed, soft and deadly. "Cutting to the chase, huh? What’s the matter—losing patience in your old age?" "Jimmy Paws is dead." The smirk faded. Just a flicker, but I caught it. Charlie hovered nearby, his ears twitching. "We found golden fur at the scene." Lola picked up her glass, took a slow sip. "Lots of goldens in this city, Duke. You think that makes me a killer?" I studied her, watching for a tell. A flick of the tail, a twitch of the whiskers—anything. Nothing. She was good. Too good. But the way she set her glass down just a little too carefully told me one thing. She was scared. I leaned in. "If you didn’t do it, then tell me who did." Her eyes darted toward the bar. My gaze followed. A massive figure sat in the shadows, his coat as smooth as his reputation was dirty. Bruno. Rottweiler. Former enforcer for the late Jimmy Paws. He was watching us