Page 128 of Rent Free

I did not want to be bitten by the big bastard.

“I am going to send you straight to hell,” I snarled, trying in vain to get the stupid thing with my next hit.

I didn’t.

ATLAS

“Hello?” I answered.

I was tired.

But I’d been tired since our second son, Glades, had been born.

Glades—like the Florida Everglades— was named after Pepper’s mother, Gladys.

Our first born son, Ware, had Emmanuelle’s name as a middle name.

Ware was one and a half, and Glades was just shy of a month old.

“Hey, pull up your app for the nursery at the bakery.”

Auden’s amused voice had me shifting, even though I’d just gotten Glades back to sleep.

Catching my phone with a foot so I wouldn’t move the colic-prone child too much—his sleep was precious to us both—I swiftly opened the app, knowing instinctively that it had something to do with my girl.

I opened the app, and the camera watching over the nursery was still. Yet, I could hear sounds.

“Listen here, you little dictator,” I heard my wife’s voice growl. Gosh, she was cute when she was mad. “I’ll kill you. I’ll kill your brother. Your sister. Your mother. Your other mother. Whoever the fuck I have to kill, they’ll die. All because you’re a fucking fucker.”

My lips quirked at the words.

I wasn’t worried that she was in trouble.

We had that place wired. Plus, if there’d been danger, Auden, who liked to spend his early mornings at the bakery with Maven before he went on shift, would’ve done something.

“Why won’t you fucking…” I saw her whirl past the doorway, my olive green DPD SWAT shirt in her hand, after something imaginary.

Though, if I had to guess, it was either a horse fly or a spider. She didn’t like either of those.

The horse fly more than most.

She got bitten by one at least four times a year, and she welted up really bad, to the point where she had to be on antibiotics.

That was how we’d gotten Glades, after all.

Grinning like a fucking loon, I picked up the half-empty bottle, a diaper, some wipes, and made the trek over to my nearest neighbor.

I used my code to get into the door, and then disarmed the alarm.

Everyone knew everyone’s codes, and it was hard to keep a Carter out if they wanted to be there—at least in their families’ homes.

I walked toward Garrett’s bedroom, unsurprised to find him still in bed.

What was a surprise was to find him with who he was with.

“Don’t shoot me,” I teased.

“I’m not going to shoot you,” the woman grumbled, face buried in the pillow beside Garrett’s.

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