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I do love taming a brat.
LAYLA
Ok…7pm.
But only because you’re the first man this week that hasn’t sent me a dick pic.
There is no stopping the smile that tugs at the corners of my mouth or the small chuckle that rattles from my lungs as I read her message.
“What so fucking funny over there?” Liam chimes from the driver’s seat as I quickly type a response.
I wouldn’t want to scare you off, darling.
Send me your address.
Tomorrow. 7pm.
Hitting send, I slip my phone back into my pocket before responding to Liam, “Nothing.”
“Bull-fucking-shit,” he quips. “I haven’t seen a shit-eating grin like that on your face in I don’t even know how long.”
“Definitely a cailín,” Finn gives his two cents from the backseat.
“Tris doesn’t have time to meet girls,” Liam rebuts. “It’s been so fucking long, at this point, he’s probably going to blow dust when he comes.”
“Fuck you both,” I seethe—annoyed at the accuracy of how fucking long it’s been since I’ve properly had a woman in my bed—as their roaring laughter fills the confines of the Tahoe. “Every day, you lot make me wish Mom and Dad had given me sisters.”
“At least then you’d be around pussy,” Liam chodes as the two of them continue their rambunctious laughter.
“You say that like I’m not surrounded with pussies when I’m with the two of you,” I deadpan before laughing as I finally cave and give them back their shit.
When the laughter dies off, we sit in silence for the last few minutes of our drive. The atmosphere and our demeanors quickly grow dark as we pull to a stop at the curb before a brownstone on the Lower East Side.
Checking my watch, I note the time. 9:22 a.m. The kids will be at school, and her husband will be at work. I glance up and down the sidewalk, ensuring the streets are bare before commanding, “Now.”
The three of us climb from the SUV in unison, slipping on ski masks and drawing our guns as we make our way up the front steps of the house. We don’t stop to ring the bell or wait to be invited in. Liam checks the door twice with his broad shoulder, and it flies open. We rush into the house as Finn pauses to close the door behind us.
“Put it down.” Liam waves his gun at the thirty-something, blonde trophy wife currently dialing for help. Tears well in her eyes as she drops the phone on the marble kitchen countertop.
Tucking my gun back into the waist of my pants, I stalk toward her. Swiping the rogue tear from her cheek, I attempt to soothe her fear. “Do exactly as your told, and we won’t fucking hurt you.”
“What do you want?” she snivels.
“To give your husband a message. One he hasn’t quite been receptive to yet.” My words are slow and calculated as I begin to undo the zipper running down the side of her dress.
Her entire body trembles as I slide the dress down her arms, leaving it in a pool around her feet. Standing before the three of us in nothing but a lacy white panty set, she attempts to cover herself with her arms.
“You’re doing so good for us, Marlene,” I praise as tears stream down her face, leaving trails of mascara in their wake. Lifting her phone from the counter, I rub my hand along her jaw and ask, “What’s your code?”
“T…two…one…s…six…five,” she stammers through sobs.
“Good girl.” I nod while keying the numbers into the phone. Granted access, I hand it to Finn before bending her over the counter. “We’re almost done.”
Pressing her chest to the marble, I step closer until I am flush with her well-toned ass and pinning her to the counter as I tell Finn, “Make the call.”
Finn swipes through her contacts and presses the button to video call her husband. I slip my fingers into her hair and give a firm tug. “Time to see if Marty actually loves you,” I whisper in her ear.
He promptly answers the call, gasping when he’s immediately met with the tear-stained face of his wife.
