Page 49 of R for Rough

“Oh yeah. Caught this little fuckhole quick enough.”

“You suck!” Kit croaked.

“Nope, that’s gonna be you—if you’re lucky,” Colt replied.

We walked closer and closer together until we joined forces, both with the same direction in mind. Kit was cuffed behind his back too, and Colt must’ve gotten his revenge from the backhand he’d received from Kit earlier. The boy had blood smeared over his cheek, and he was limping.

To be fair, so was Colt.

“Have you seen the others?” he asked.

“Not since we got separated,” I answered.

He sighed. “Yeah, mine took off half a minute after your boy did.”

Well, we had faith in Ryan and Jameson for their brats.

I rubbed my nose gently and winced. I didn’t believe it was fractured, but he must’ve come damn close. This was gonna hurt for a while.

Colt nudged his boy forward. “You gonna talk or what? Where’s the key?”

“Maybe in your ass,” Kit muttered, sniffling.

Colt grinned to himself.

We didn’t tell the boys we might’ve gotten a little lost on the way. Eventually, we made it to the interrogation site, where Ryan, Jameson, and Madigan had tied their prey to the trees.

“Don’t say anything about the key,” Justin urged.

“What key?” Tracy replied coolly.

I chuckled under my breath and accepted a bundle of rope from Ryan.

It was a good location. Small clearing, firepit blazing at the center, logs circling it, and trees that were fairly bare down here. I fisted Tracy’s hoodie and pushed him toward the tree next to where Abel was restrained, and Colt took the next one for Kit.

Aside from having a good location, Ryan was clearly not new at this. He had a pot of coffee on the fire and snacks set up. All part of the torture. And the comfort for us, of course.

“These are damn good, baby girl.” Ryan spoke around a mouthful of a cinnamon roll.

“I regret making them,” she scoffed.

Ryan shrugged. “I don’t care.”

Madigan opened a small jar of Nutella, and Abel glared before he looked away.

Tracy clenched his jaw and watched my face as I tied him to the tree.

The streaks of blood from the deeper scratches, his matted hair, and the wildness in his eyes made for one sexy-as-sin little masochist. I almost kissed him right then and there.

Almost.

I smacked his cheek lightly instead, before abandoning him for a good cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll.

I had to hold back a groan when I sat down on one of the logs.

Goddamn, I was sore all over.

Though, I suspected I had nothing on the hurt the brats were in. They were all in various states of discomfort, with cuts, scrapes, blotchy marks, and dirty clothes.

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