Page 5 of Peak Cruelty

At first, I think it’s a piece of trash in the ditch—some shredded bit of insulation or a sweater that got dragged out of a moving truck.But then it shifts.Tries to.A twitch, small and shaky.

I slow down.

Then stop.

Take a closer look.Bone-thin.Fur like rusted velvet.A puppy with one leg tucked under awkwardly, and one eye half-closed like he's too exhausted to keep the world in focus.

I crouch.

“Hey, buddy,” I say, like I’ve known him all my life.

He doesn’t move.Just stares, the way broken things do—like maybe I’m not worse than whatever came before.

I slide my hoodie off, wrap him in it, carefully.He makes a sound—not pain, not panic.Just...relief.

And I fall in love.

Not the kind you plan for—the kind that crashes into you, bleeding.The kind that makes you lie to everyone else just to be honest with yourself.

By the time I make it back to the house, I’m sweating, out of breath, and already Googling emergency vet clinics.

The staff entrance is unlocked.No one sees me slip through.

I head for the laundry room.It’s warm, quiet, hidden from view.I set him on a towel.He licks my hand, once, like he knows better than to get his hopes up.

“You’re okay,” I say.“You’re safe.”

I believe it, too.For maybe twelve whole seconds.

Then I hear his voice.

“Why are you tracking mud through the house?”

I turn.He’s leaning in the doorway like he owns the air.Button-down open at the throat, Rolex peeking out just enough to catch the light.“What in the?—”

“I found him,” I say.“He was dumped.He’s hurt.”

He looks at the dog like it’s a roach on the marble.

He sips his espresso.“I can see that.”

“I’m taking him to the vet.”

“No, you’re not.”

“He’s injured.”

“That’s not your problem.”

My mouth falls open.Not because I’m surprised—but because he means it.Because he delivers it in that special way of his that means there’s no room for compromise.

“You have enough on your plate,” he says with conviction.“And you’re slacking as it is.You owe me, let’s not forget that.Thelastthing you need is something else to take care of.”

He picks up his phone.Presses a contact without looking.

“There’s an animal in the laundry room,” he says.“Take care of it.”

That’s all.

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