Chapter 3 - THE BEAST WHO KNEW THE TRUTHThe sound of Goliath’s paws slamming against the concrete floor was like a drumroll of thunder inside the enclosed garage.
Richard’s professional composure shattered instantly. The slick executive mask melted away, replaced by a primal, undiluted terror as a mountain of muscle, scarred hide, and bared teeth hurtled straight toward him.
“Get that beast away from me!” Richard shrieked, stumbling backward over his own polished leather shoes. He tripped violently over a spare tire, crashing hard onto the oil-stained concrete floor with a heavy thud.
Goliath didn’t tear into him. The veteran fighting dog was too smart, too disciplined, and too attuned to the unspoken commands of the room. Instead, Goliath skidded to a halt directly over Richard’s chest, planting his massive, heavy paws squarely on either side of the man’s expensive linen shirt.
The pitbull lowered his blocky head until his wet snout was barely an inch from Richard’s sweating, chalk-white nose. Goliath didn’t bite. He simply let out a low, vibrating growl that rattled deep inside Richard’s ribcage—a sound so ancient and primal that it froze the breath right in the man’s lungs.
“Goliath. Stand down,” Big Mike commanded quietly.
At the sound of Mike’s voice, the dog eased back, though he kept one heavy paw planted firmly on Richard’s chest, pinning him to the floor like an insect under a magnifying glass.
The thirty bikers closed ranks, forming a tight, unyielding semicircle around the fallen executive. Not a single man laughed. Not a single man spoke. They simply stared down at the respectable suburban father whimpering in the dirt.
“Get this damn dog off me!” Richard gasped, clawing frantically at the concrete, his expensive cuffs scuffed with black grease. “You’re all insane! I’m going to sue every single one of you into bankruptcy! I’m a respected member of the city council advisory board! I know judges! I know the chief of police!”
“Is that right?” Big Mike stepped forward, his heavy boots clicking sharply against the floor. He crouched down beside Richard, bringing his scarred face level with the panicked man. “Because the little girl sitting over there on my couch just told us a very different story about who you are. She said your name is Richard. She said you threw her puppy against a wall because it whimpered. And she showed us the dark, purple fingerprints wrapping all the way around her little arms.”
Richard’s face turned an even paler shade of grey. His eyes darted wildly toward Mia, who was still clutching tiny Buster tightly to her chest, trembling as she watched from behind the tool chest.
“She’s lying!” Richard stammered, his voice pitching up into a frantic, high-pitched whine. “She’s clumsy! She falls down stairs! She makes things up for attention! It’s a psychological condition!”
May you like
“She’s seven years old, Richard,” Mike whispered, his voice dripping with a lethal, controlled fury. “And dogs like Goliath? They don’t care about bank accounts, nice cars, or city council badges. They smell fear, they smell cruelty, and more importantly... they smell blood.”
Mike reached down, grabbed the collar of Richard’s shirt with one massive fist, and hoisted the grown man effortlessly to his feet as if he weighed nothing at all, shoving him back against the locked metal door of the storage shed.
