Page 22 of The Brat Tamers

Her wide eyes betray her shock, but she keeps her voice light and lyrical—amused even. “Hey, Lee.”

I grab her upper arm and yank her out of the seat. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

I’m dragging her to Case’s truck when she resists and pulls against me. “Hey, I am not your prisoner.”

I throw her over my shoulder and walk around the truck to the driver’s side, where Case has the back door open. I toss her across the backseat and am on top of her before I can think twice about it. Pinning her with my body, I put my nose to hers and glare down at her. “No, you weren’t a prisoner, but when we get back to the house, I am tying your ass up. Then we can talk about what being a prisoner really feels like.”

She seems to understand she’s pushed me to my breaking point, but then has to take it one step further by flashing me the tiniest of smirks.

I narrow my eyes. “Are you sure you want to go down this road with me?”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.”

She chuckles darkly. “I’m not afraid of any of you.”

The challenge is obvious in her tone.

“You can only poke a caged animal for so long before he bites, Epiphany.”

Her smirk turns into a smile. “Poke, poke, poke.”

I hear Case suck in his breath as I lift off her, which means he also heard her challenge. She sits up and meets both of us with unwavering conviction.

“You have a half mile or two minutes to change your mind and attitude, otherwise—”

“Otherwise what?” She raises her brow.

I glance at Case, his feelings evident.

There is no otherwise.

There is no going back.

This is going to happen.

“Fuck it. You don’t get to change your mind.” I slam the door shut on her.

Three minutes later, I’m walking into the cabin with her over my shoulder. She’s fighting me, squirming around and whining—kicking her legs with her hands bunched around my belt—all of which only makes me harder. Porter’s gray eyes flash, his chest expands, and I hear the unspoken words tumbling out of his mouth.

About fucking time.

“Grab the Velcro cuffs.”

He nods, diving into one of our go bags.

I set her down in front of the banister, grabbing her hands and shoving them so high above her head, she has to stand on her tiptoes. “You choose. Either you strip, which we know you have no problem doing, or we’ll strip you.”

“I kind of thought you were taking me to the bedroom.” Her eyes are wider than earlier as she glances between the three of us.

“Pleasure happens in the bedroom. Punishment happens here.” I tilt my head to Porter, who is standing above her on the stairs. He wraps the Velcro criss-cross through the banister and over her wrists until she’s secure. “You wanted our attention, Epi? Now you have our attention.”

Case flips open a blade and walks up to stand beside me. “Can’t volunteer to strip now. I guess we’ll have to cut your top off of you.”

Not that she can complain about a ruined shirt. She’s wearing one of ours. The little imp has been stealing our clothes—when she wears them—all week.

He takes a step toward her and grabs the hem of the T-shirt.

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