Page 62 of Wolf Tormented
“Gods, Jara. You have to be careful.” Angela holds a hand over her chest.
Her heart thumps loudly in the silent room as she stares at me with wide eyes.
“I’m frustrated, okay? It got away from me.” I throw my hands up in frustration.
It’s all Archer’s fault and the stubborn pack members who refuse to talk to me in front of Angela.
“Yes, I know, but let’s not make that frustration deadly, okay?” she asks.
“Don’t make fun of me,” I grumble.
“I’m not making fun of you.” Angela rears back like I’ve slapped her.
Standing up, I wander around the small area, gathering the rogue cans and stomping to the back where the correct shelf is located to stack them neatly upside down.
It’s the only thing I would ever stack that way. It keeps dust off the top.
Angela frowns at me. I shrug and continue stacking them.
The repetition helps clear the dark cloud from over my head, and soon, I’m humming to myself as I work. My shoulders relax, and I move back to the box and grab the rest of the cans to do the same.
When that’s done, I pull the box from the freezer section and organize all the meats and frozen foods. I chuckle to myself when I remember how embarrassed John had been when he admitted he couldn’t cook.
“What do you think about a cooking class for the unmated wolves?” I ask Angela and McKenna.
“You want to teach a cooking class?” Angela raises a brow.
“Not me, but I think there should be something. I think embarrassment was more of the reason several enforcers didn’t take rations.”
McKenna hands me a package of chicken. “Who would teach it then?”
“My aunt is an amazing cook. She’s still acclimating, but I think it would keep her mind off my mom still not being here.” I place the chicken on the shelf.
“It could also help her get to know some of the pack members. She isn’t like Ellie. She’s been kind of skittish.” Angela drops a banana on the top of the produce basket.
“That doesn’t go there,” I say as I grab the banana and shuffle the fruit around until the rest of the older produce is on top.
“What’s the difference?” Angela asks.
“We put the brand new stuff at the bottom. That way, the older stuff gets eaten and doesn’t rot at the bottom of the basket.”
“What the fuck did we do before you got here?” Angela asks.
“Ate rotten fruit?” I ask, giggling.
She picks up another banana, motions as if she’s going to throw it, then shrugs before peeling it and taking a huge bite.
A few of them are turning a little brown.
“Let’s get some of this older fruit out to the pack members with pups before it goes to waste,” I call to McKenna.
“That’s a great idea. We’ll still have plenty left to go out in the next rations until we get the list together for Jordan,” McKenna says.
Angela flinches at the name. What the fuck is that about? I’m about to ask her when the door upstairs flies open.
Patrick rushes down the stairs, scanning the room with wild eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, taking a step toward him.
