Page 57

We’ve already committed to robbery, drugging, and relocation without consent. May as well eat the man’s cheese, too.

We gather around his kitchen table, as if we’re old friends helping him move and not the world’s most cheerful criminal syndicate. She slices tomatoes like she owns the knife, the house, and the man it came with. Dean steals a cucumber slice and pops it in his mouth like this is a cookout.

I pour water. Because hydration, apparently, still matters in crime.

She leans against the counter, beaming. “He was so sweet, you guys. He gave me water, didn’t even ask questions. Just invited me in, sat me down, total gentleman. For a minute, I actually considered just asking him to come.”

Dean laughs like that’s the punchline.

I blink. “That would’ve been far too sane an approach.”

She winks at me. “I know. Gross, right? Don’t worry. I came to my senses.”

Dean leans back in his chair. “So you drugged him.”

“Of course I did,” she says, completely unfazed. “Did you see him?”

She’s glowing now. Like a woman who just found the last working espresso machine on Earth and married it.

Dean grins at her like he’s watching her juggle fire. I look between them and shake my head, because there is no world where this should be working.

And yet it is.

Somehow, we are the new normal.

And I’m still not sure if that’s horrifying… or kind of perfect.

“We still need to round up the livestock,” Dean says, stretching his arms like he’s warming up for the Olympic farm games. “Wade gonna be good a few more hours?”

She glances wistfully toward the couch, like she already misses him, which, honestly, she probably does. “Yeah. I can give him more if he starts to come to. It’s very mild. Perfectly safe.”

Because drugging a grown man and robbing him blind is totally fine, as long as the dosage is gentle.

Dean and I head out, apparently now in charge of livestock logistics.

Step one: the cow.

The cow, massive, indifferent, and clearly smarter than both of us, blinks at us like she’s unimpressed by our existence.

Dean crouches a little, puts his hands on his knees like he’s approaching a toddler. “Hey, girl. You wanna come with us? We’ve got a nice trailer, fresh hay. Premium kidnapping experience.”

I’m ready to laugh until the damn cow follows him. Just… clomp, clomp, up the ramp like she’s done this before and has no notes on our operation.

Dean turns around and grins. “Told you. I’m the bovine whisperer.”

I stare. “I hate how proud you are right now.”

Next up: goats.

There are six of them. They’re smallish, chaotic, and give exactly zero fucks. I crouch and make kissy sounds because why not? Two of them trot right up to me. I pet them. They let me. One tries to eat my sleeve, but it’s still affection-adjacent, so I’ll take it.

I scoop one under each arm like goat luggage. “Look at this. King of goats.”

Dean snorts. “You’re peaking, man. This is your final form.”

The others are a little trickier, but they follow their buddies with minimal resistance. Goats, apparently, are all about peer pressure and snacks. I’m genuinely starting to feel good about myself.

Then come the chickens.