Sam’s eyes were fixed on the door like if he stared hard enough, Hudson might reappear and carry him upstairs as well.
I chuckled to myself at that, then stepped closer to Sam, tilting my head as I tried to decide how I wanted to end him.
“You know what the worst part is?” I asked conversationally.
He shook his head frantically, tears sliding down his face.
“You thought you had a chance.”
“I didn’t—I swear, I didn’t think—”
“You did,” I corrected calmly. “You thought if you kept talking long enough, he might give you his number. You thought maybe he was just shy. Maybe he just needed encouragement.”
Sam’s mouth opened and closed.
I crouched in front of him.
“He didn’t shut you down fast enough,” I continued, almost thoughtfully. “And that’s on us. Thanks to you, actually, we had an excellent opportunity to remind him of his place. That’s important for dogs, you know. This was just… like a shock collar. Does that make sense?”
I stood again, rolling up my sleeves.
“None of this makes sense, dude. You’re fucking sick.”
“God, you talk too much.”
“I hope you rot in prison,” Sam spat, anger apparently now taking center stage over fear.
I didn’t even try to hold in my laugh as I went over to the table to peruse the available tools. Normally, I liked to take my time with a kill.
Not today.
I had a sleepy pup waiting for me.
5
Hudson
Oliver was half-asleep by the time I carried him into the bedroom.
He always went boneless after something like that—nothing left behind but soft edges and heavy lashes dusting his cheeks.
I nudged the bedroom door shut behind us and crossed to the bed, lowering him carefully onto the mattress. He made a quiet noise of protest when I went to pull away, fingers catching weakly in the front of my shirt.
“Stay,” he murmured.
A faint smile tugged at my mouth. “I’m not going anywhere. I was just going to grab a washcloth to clean you up with.”
“No,” he mumbled.
“No?” I chuckled. “Fine, we’ll shower later.”
I toed off my boots and climbed onto the bed beside him, easing him onto his side so I could curl around him properly.
He let out a soft, happy sound, pressing back against my hold as my hands slowly worked on ridding him of his pup gear.
We lay in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before Oliver shifted and rolled over, pressing his face into my chest. His curls tickled my jaw. I slid my fingers into them automatically, combing through the messy strands.
“You okay?” I asked quietly.
