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I hate him and everyone else who contributed to turning him into this weak little runt of a thing.
But still nowhere near as much as I hate myself.
Booker’s decision could take weeks. Months even. Am I supposed to spend my days in service of protection for someone who probably shouldn’t have made it this far?
I might need to pay Booker a visit.
Sasha reaches me and pushes the bucket of potatoes into my arms. He’s covered in sweat and dirt, but even those things don’t hide the inherent sweetness he radiates. “There. Done. And it’s not even sunset yet.”
“Good.”
“Good?” He plants his hands on his hips once I’ve taken the bucket and glowers at me. “I worked my ass off for your dinner, and you’re not even paying me for it.”
I reach into the bucket and pick up a potato before holding it out to him. “Here. Enjoy.”
He slaps my hand away and turns to Wilde. “See what I have to put up with?” His bottom lip droops, and I swear his eyes get bigger. “Please don’t make me come back here tomorrow? I’ll do anything else.”
At first, I think Wilde is going to give in to him. “Nah, sorry. You still have some carrots to work off, and I have a feeling you’re more useful to me here than anywhere else.”
Sasha’s shoulders drop in defeat, and I narrow my eyes at Wilde, trying to work through what he means by that.
“Fine,” the rabbit snaps. “But I’m keeping these gloves.”
Considering I gave them to him, I have no idea why he wouldn’t.
“I’ll drop him off bright and early,” Wilde promises, with a smile in his voice that I’ve never heard before. At least not directed at me.
“I train my cubs at noon.”
“Good. That will give you the whole morning to … do whatever you’re planning to do.”
Tomorrow’s Thursday, which means checking my protections are still up around the properties in town. It’s too important to miss, but if I’m going to be stuck here watching out for this tiny excuse for a human … fuck. It’s not like I can do both.
“I can’t wait,” I push out through my teeth.
Wilde actually grins, while Sasha’s expression goes in the other direction. They pass, but Sasha pauses long enough to pet Bob.
“Would you stop that?” Bob is a wild animal, and wild animals deserve respect and a healthy amount of wariness.
“But he’s the goodest boy. And the goodest boys get the goodest pats.”
I’m horrified both by him thinking Bob is good and the baby voice he delivers that with.
He follows Wilde before I can come up with a decision.
I glare at Bob and find him already looking my way. “You’re embarrassing me.”
He doesn’t answer. Because he’s an animal.
But the long look he gives me makes it feel like he does.
CHAPTER
FOUR
SASHA
The cabin I’ve been allocated on Hobby Straight is a tiny thing in a line of six others. Most of them are empty, like wooden skeletons accepting their untimely decay, but the one next door to mine is obviously lived in.
