Sierra glanced at me and nodded.
I turned my attention to Bitch.
So how did you rope Rachel into this?
“You owe me,” she said. The rain had plastered her short hair against her scalp. Her gang of four people stood by with dogs on leashes: Barker, Biter, a college-aged kid with the scars of four parallel claw marks running across his face, and a girl with her arm in a sling. They didn’t look scared, like my people had, but they still didn’t look fantastically thrilled to be in close vicinity to one of Bitch’s dogs on full throttle.
They’re more used to it, but working for Rachel sounds like a nervewracking experience anyway.
Nevermind that you were the one that came here early. “Of course.
Wait, are you suggesting that Rachel hurried here when asked, eager to help even if she won’t admit it, says it doesn’t mean anything, it’s not like she likes you, b-baka?
We’ll get you and your people some lunch.”
She frowned. “Lunch?”
Yeah, I think maybe she thinks you owe her more than that.
There was a bit of a pause. I waited patiently as she considered the idea.
“Fine,” she decided.
“But it’s strictly platonic! It’s not like it’s a date!! You hear that, baka?!”