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“Lord… This one isn’t very bright, is he?” Marc asked, referring to Isaac’s attempt at blocking a laser pointer from hitting him in the chest.
Chase tightened his jaw. He was losing patience quickly. “Jared, you’re up.”
Jared tucked the empty box under his arm and adjusted his junk one last time.
“Press the damn button,” Chase snarled impatiently.
Shooting Chase a side-eye, Jared pressed the doorbell, then adjusted his stance. He placed his hand on his hip and puffed out his chest, all while flexing his biceps. If there was one thing that the guys at La Maison were good at, it was striking a mouthwatering pose.
A moment later, the front door opened, and a smiling Peabody poked his head out.
“Well, hello there. How may I help you?” the unsuspecting man greeted. He adjusted his glasses as his eyes immediately dropped to the large bulge straining against Jared’s shorts.
Guess Jared was right.
“Are you Oldridge Peabody?” Jared asked, holding up the box in his hand and reading the name on the label.
“Why, yes, I am,” Peabody responded, eyes lighting up.
“This is for you,” Jared said, holding out the package.
Chase remained kneeling behind the bushes.
“Well, thank you, son,” Peabody responded, reaching for the package.
It was at that very moment that Peabody let out a cry of pain as Jared headbutted the man. Blood burst from his nose as he stumbled backward into the house. He dropped the box and clutched at his gushing nose.
Jared leaped forward, tackling Peabody to the floor. Chase and Isaac leaped from their hiding places and rushed into the house right behind Jared.
“What the fu—” Peabody began but was cut off by the sound of Jared’s fist cracking his nose once again.
“It’s time we had a little one-on-one chat,” Chase growled as he grabbed Peabody by the arms and pulled him to his feet. He dragged the bleeding old man through the hallway and into the kitchen located at the back of the house.
This should give them some privacy.
“What’s going on?” Peabody shouted. His eyes shifted between the three men who had invaded his home.
“No, no, no, Gramps, we’re the ones who will be asking you the questions,” Isaac responded, dancing around his kitchen, opening and closing drawers as he went along.
“Pass me the duct tape,” Chase huffed as he pushed Peabody down onto one of his kitchen chairs.
Isaac pulled the tape out of his little bag and tossed it toward them.
Cursing, Peabody struggled as Chase and Jared taped his arms and legs to the chair. For a man in his fifties, he had quite a bit of strength.
“Yes!” Isaac cheered as he pulled a bottle of whiskey out of the cabinet above the fridge.
“We didn’t come here to drink,” Jared snarled, huffing as he secured the tape around Peabody’s struggling left leg.
“I know. Doesn’t mean I can’t have a few while I watch you two pull off this geezer’s arms one at a time,” Isaac said as he hopped up onto the counter and popped open the bottle.
There was a hint of an Irish accent in his voice Chase noticed for the first time. It was very subtle, but it was there. He wondered what the boy’s story was and how he ended up at La Maison, but that bit of trivia would have to wait. He had more important things to do, like making this old fuck talk.
Peabody became hysterical at the mention of being dismembered.
Chase shot Isaac a look. Fucking idiot.
“We’ll only pull off your arms if you don’t answer our questions,” Chase clarified, wrapping the last piece of tape around the man’s arm.
