Page 151 of The Pucking Wrong Rookie

Lincoln was working on the problem. I didn’t know what he’d do, but honestly, I didn’t care.

Just as long as it ended with Everett bleeding and suffering and completely…destroyed.

* * *

SLOANE

And you know what I do with useless things…

I was back at Everett’s estate. The memories are disjointed, surreal, but so vivid I could feel the cold stone beneath my feet, the silence that hung in the air. The housekeeper had brought home a dog. A scrappy, brown mutt with wiry fur and eyes that I immediately loved. Its job was simple: hunt the rats and small animals sneaking into the estate. Nothing more.

At first, he did exactly that. Focused, determined, his nose always to the ground, darting after anything that scurried. But then he found me.

I wasn’t supposed to pay attention to the dog. I knew that. Everything had changed after the auction. Everything about my life had a purpose, a role. And yet, when those big, hopeful eyes met mine, something inside me cracked. I started sneaking him food under the table, small scraps I could hide in my hand. I’d crouch down when no one was looking, running my fingers through his coarse fur, whispering words I couldn’t say to anyone else.

It didn’t take long before the dog stopped hunting altogether. He followed me instead, his tail wagging whenever I came near. He didn’t want to do his job anymore—he wanted my attention, my love.

I should’ve known it would end badly. I should’ve seen it coming.

The scene shifted, and suddenly I was sitting on the porch steps. The dog lay beside me, his head resting on my knee as I scratched behind his ears. His long tail thumped lazily against the wooden planks, a soft sound that somehow felt louder than anything else in the quiet estate. For that brief moment, I let myself believe he was mine—something warm, something real in a place that had turned so cold.

The next morning, I looked everywhere. Around the estate, the gardens, the stables where it used to chase the rats. My calls echoed in the stillness, unanswered. Panic clawed at my chest, growing with every passing hour.

Later in the afternoon, I heard Everett’s sharp tone with a disappointed edge that made my stomach churn. “Looking for something, Sloane?”

I turned to see him standing there, his hands in his pockets, a faint smirk playing on his lips. My heart sank. “Rory,” I said quickly, the name slipping out before I could stop it. “The dog—I mean. Have you seen him?”

Everett’s smile grew, but it wasn’t kind. He gestured for me to follow, and I did, my legs heavy, dread pooling in my stomach with every step. He led me to the edge of the estate, past the tool shed. And that was when I saw him.

The dog’s lifeless body lay crumpled on the ground, its fur matted and its eyes dull. My breath caught in my throat, the world tilting beneath me.

“Why?” The word escaped in a broken whisper, barely audible over the roaring in my ears.

Everett’s voice was calm, matter-of-fact, like he was commenting on the weather. “He was useless. A dog that doesn’t do its job has no place here.”

I stared at the body, disbelief and grief crashing over me like a wave. Rory had trusted me. He’d stopped chasing the rats because he wanted to be with me. And now he was dead—because of me.

“You softened him,” Everett said, his voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts. “Made him weak. This is on you, Sloane. His death is your fault.”

His words hit like a blow, stealing the air from my lungs. Tears burned the back of my eyes, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. I just stood there, staring at the small, broken body, guilt settling deep into my chest like an iron weight.

Everett leaned down, his voice a harsh whisper that sliced through the silence. “I don’t keep things that don’t serve a purpose. Remember that.”

I sat up with a gasp in the dark, tears streaming down my face, the dream lingering on my skin like the smell of rotten milk.

How had I ever thought Everett was a good man, that he had my best interests at heart? What kind of person kills a dog like that…and for that reason?

How had I been so stupid that those first two years of spoiling and kindness had somehow blinded me to how he really was? Why hadn’t I recognized the fact that he was a monster?

“Sloane?” Logan’s anxious voice called out, and then he was carefully folding me into his lap, making sure not to touch my back.

“It was just a bad dream,” I whispered, hating how weak I sounded.

“Of him?” he asked.

I didn’t answer, because we both knew. All my bad dreams the last few nights had been of Everett.

“I know you’ve already told me I’m wrong—but sometimes I can’t help but think…what if I had just walked away that night? What if I’d walked out of the house, just tried to make it on my own?”

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