I glance in the rearview mirror. “I can practically feel you hating me back there.”
“That’s because I do,” she growls.
“Ouch.” I press a hand over my heart and chuckle. “That’s cold, babe.”
Truth is, I don’t give a fuck if she’s mad. Anger is good. Anger means she still cares, and that I can work with.
There’s a thin line between love and hate, and I’m determined to bring her back over to my side.
“Fuck off.”
Grinning like the lovesick fool I am, I shove open my door and climb out. Peter and Pepper lift their heads from their spot at the foot of the steps. Peter’s ears perk up like he knows I’m not alone.
“Momma’s home.”
Moving to the rear vehicle door, I pull it open and plant my hands on my hips. Madder than a fucking hornet, my woman is lying on her side, her hands tied behind her back, her blonde hair a mess around her flushed face. She looks like a pissed-off angel, and my dick hardens instantly.
“Come on, Troublemaker,” I say, dropping my hands and reaching in to help her out.
She twists away from my touch. “Don’t touch me.”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “You didn’t leave me much choice, babe.”
If it’s possible, that seems to piss her off even more. Her eyes flash with fury, and her jaw clenches.
“Untie me, Bane. Right fucking now!”
Reaching in, I help her into a sitting position on the bench seat. “Sorry, baby. That ain’t happening.”
Hearing their Momma’s voice, Peter and Pepper squeeze past me into the back of the truck, jumping around all over Frankie. Peter’s licking her face like he hasn’t seen her in months, and Pepper’s whole body is wiggling and vibrating like Frankie just got home from war.
“Hi, babies,” she sighs, trying not to smile and failing. Relief floods through me when I catch sight of it.
Thank the Gods for my dogs.
“They missed you as much as I did,” I admit, watching my baby’s face soften as she nuzzles into Pepper’s fur.
Sadly, the moment is over the second both dogs jump out of the truck and head back towards the barn.
Frankie uses her shoulder to brush her hair out of her face. “So what’s your plan, genius? You can’t keep me tied up. At some point, I’ll have to use the toilet.”
I shrug. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”
And just like that, she’s shooting daggers at me again.
Shaking my head, I help her out of the truck and put my shoulder to her belly, hoisting her over my shoulder again.
“Put me down!” she shrieks, pounding her fists against my back.
I ignore her protests and carry her up the stairs into the loft, the dogs trailing behind us. Once inside, I kick the door shut and set her on her feet.
“If I cut those off,” I say, dipping my hands to her wrists tied behind her back, “are you going to fight me to leave?”
“What do you think, asshole?”
Groaning, I pull out the knife in my boot and cut off the zip ties. The second her hands are free, she lunges for the door.
I catch her around the waist and toss her onto the bed. She fights me, all nails, teeth and fury, but I manage to get the handcuff on one of her wrists and the other end attached to my headboard.
