“His shoes,” Poppy whispered.
But I was already out of the room, pushing her down the hall, through the kitchen and living room. Opposite the front door was the slab of wood that swung open to the basement.
Poppy blanched. “No! Ivan, no, I—”
Whatever she was going to say was cut off in a fit of coughing.
“Either go down those steps, or I’ll carry you over my shoulder,” I warned in a voice that challenged her to argue.
Covering her mouth, and wrapping the other arm protectively over her frame, the little mountain flower bowed her head.
And took a step into the basement.
I smacked my hand on the light. Each step shouted in a creak of greeting. I’d told Brady not to play down here. Not because I ever brought work home, but because there were tools of the trade that weren’t safe for children. I might not know everything about car seats yet, and my formal education was shit, soteaching him books was out of the question, but I knew that much. I was determined to be a good father.
She almost made that impossible.
Fuck me, if she’d succeeded in running off with him—
I growled.
Poppy’s spine hunched over.
But she didn’t whimper or protest. She seemed to understand her fate and made no attempt to fight my anger.
The whirr of the dehumidifier welcomed us into the space. The left was where I kept my workout equipment when the garage was too cold. The right was an arsenal. And in front of us was a little office area, blocked by a toilet and shower that didn’t have a proper stall. It was an unfinished basement, but it served me well.
Poppy sneezed. “It’s damp down here.”
I grunted.
“I knew there was mildew,” she muttered, taking in the space with a wrinkled nose, not even trying to hide her discomfort.
“Yeah, well, princess, we can’t all live in castles,” I snapped, guided her to the office, and pulled out the chair from my worktable.
Poppy looked at the chair, then at me.
“Sit,” I barked.
“I’d rather stand—”
“Sit the fuck down,” I repeated.
She scooted forward and slid into the seat. I walked to the bar cart and uncorked the vodka. Tipping it to my lips, I opened my throat and let the liquid hellfire quench my need for violence.
“I don’t suppose I can have a bit of that,” she muttered.
I paused and narrowed my eyes at her.
“What?” She shrugged. “It will numb whatever unpleasantries you have in store for me.”
A rueful laugh clawed from my throat. “Unpleasantries?”
Ebasi, the vocabulary on this woman. Such a smart mouth too.
I gazed at her lips. They would look amazing wrapped around my cock.
“Torture? Death?” She was trying oh, so hard to be brave.
