Goddamn.
I am going to have so much fucking fun punishing her.
It’s ten minutes later when she returns to the hatchback and I’m still sitting here with a raging hard-on, immersed in fantasies of how I’m going to torture her into telling me everything about those nipple piercings. My dick has no hope of calming down with that faint grin still plastered on her face.
“You good?” she asks when she pulls off her sunglasses and slides into the passenger seat. Her eyes flick to mine as she tugs the seatbelt across her body.
“Great. Yep. Just great.”
“You sure? You want me to drive for a bit? You look a little…distracted. Wouldn’t want something shiny to grab your attention and you run us off the road.”
I shoot her a glare as I key the engine and shift into drive. “Christ alive. Let me just survive the next two hours and then we’re going to have some words.”
And I feel like that’s what I barely manage to do. Survive.
As soon as we arrive at Fionn’s house, I’m ready for a stiff drink. It’s barely noon. I text my brother as soon as we’re parked, but he doesn’t answer, so I assume he’s immersed in some of his workout shit and head around the side of the vehicle to collect Sloane. Her bruises have darkened and she looks exhausted, which I guess isn’t surprising, but she bites down on any complaints as I help her out of the car and up the front steps of Fionn’s white-and-red Cape Cod home.
I ring the doorbell.
We wait.
I pound three times on the door.
We wait longer.
“Fucking Fionn,” I hiss. “He’s probably playing Metallica full-blast on his headphones as he does eight thousand burpees, the little shit.”
Sloane glances up at me, her pain now infused with worry. I give her my best attempt at a reassuring smile before I press a kiss to her temple.
“He knows we’re coming. It’ll be okay. He won’t let us down,” I say as I wrap a hand around the doorknob.
Unlocked.
I roll my eyes—of all people, Fionn Kane should know better. “For such a smart guy, he’s a fucking dumbass sometimes.”
The house is quiet as we step inside. It’s quaint as fuck. Definitely Fionn in his peak ‘Hallmark Sad Man Cinderwhatever’ era, just like Lachlan said. There’s even a lace doily on the coffee table.
Leading the way farther into the living space, I start heading toward the kitchen where I can see a rear door to the backyard. “Peckerhead,” I call out to the silent house. “Stop dicking around.”
Something cracks me across the skull. Stars explode within my vision.
“Dick this, motherfucker!”
A woman’s screech precedes a second hit that whacks my hand where I clasp it to the sore spot on top of my head. I manage to grab the weapon and rip it free of her grasp. Sloane is yelling behind me, a series of ‘whoa, whoa, whoas,’ as I wield the club with one hand while I try to keep Sloane behind me with the other. Except, the club isn’t really a club, but…a crutch…？
“Who the fuck are you?” a small, twenty-something, dark-haired banshee of a woman yells, hobbling into my field of vision as she takes a swipe at me with her remaining crutch. I hit it out of her hand and it spirals across the hardwood, but the little demon manages to stay upright. I’m about to jab her chest with my crutch in an attempt to push her over when she whips a hunting knife from behind her back, the blade nearly as long as her arm. “I said, who the fuck are you?”
“Me? Who the fuck are—”
“Did you do that to her face?” she snarls. She points the tip of her blade between me and Sloane, who’s now by my side with her good hand raised in a placating gesture. “You did that?”
“No, Jesus—”
“I’ll cut you—”
“How about everyone just settle down. I think this is all a simple misunderstanding,” Sloane says as she takes a careful step closer to the little banshee. “What’s your name?”
The banshee’s dark eyes dart to Sloane and stick there. “Rose.”
“Rose. Cool, okay. Nice. I’m Sloane.”
“You look like one of the bally broads kicked you in the face in clown alley,” Rose says.
Sloane blinks. Her mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. “I…I honestly have no idea what that means. But he didn’t do it, I swear.”
“Right, sure.” Rose scoffs, her eye roll nearly as good as Sloane’s. She takes a hobbling step closer, but the cast thuds on the floor and she grimaces. “He just nudged you with his foot, did he? Just a love tap? You don’t need to protect this piece of shit, honey. I’ll fucking cut his balls off,” she growls, pointing the tip of her blade toward me. I try to knock it with the end of her crutch but she dodges my swipe before Sloane steps between us.