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“Bree, Bree Stanton, and trust me, I know enough about you to agree with Mrs. Parker.”
“You know shit about me and mine.”
“They call me Auntie,” she countered and crossed her arms.
“And they call me Daddy, and not in the way you want to.”
“I don’t know what the hell Misty saw in you,” she scowled.
“My dick mostly, though my tongue had some honorable mentions,” he jibed. “I’m done playing nice. You need me to sign something? Nope? Good.”
He answered his own question because it didn’t matter. He was getting his kids and leaving, even if he had to call a Prospect to roll over with a ride. The woman was right about one thing. He couldn’t just pop the kids on his motorcycle and roll out. Guess that’s the problem with having twins.
“Double Trouble, where’s your stuff?” he called out, not about to sit in the judgment zone.
The sound of little feet jumping off the couch and running around gave him the satisfaction that at least someone was listening to him.
“We are not done here,” Mrs. Parker warned.
“You know, Misty did teach me one thing. There’s noweif only one person wants to be a part of the group.”
Heading to the living room, he dialed up Bullet, only to have his phone snatched from his hand, making him turn as the sound of the Prospect’s voice sounded in the room.
“He’ll call you back,” Bree said, hanging up and tossing his phone into the pouch of her hoodie.
“I know you didn’t just do that,” he snarled.
“Put your hands on me—”
“Don’t beg. It’s not really becoming.”
“And I’ll file charges,” she continued her threat, and he brought his hands in front of his face as if he were settling in on a prayer. “Mrs. Parker may not be willing to press her luck, but those babies aren’t getting on a frickin’ bike and riding off with you.”
“Did you just sayfrickin’?” he laughed at the simple sweetness of her words. “Is that because of the twins? Because trust me, they’ve heard worse from their mother.”
“Not from me,” she said, hands fisted on her hips. “Now, if you don’t mind, this is my house. You’re here as a courtesy.”
“Those are my kids. Your presence isn’t necessary.”
“They don’t understand what’s going on,” she countered. “Do you even have a place for them to sleep tonight that isn’t a foldout sofa? Misty said she never let you have them overnight.”
“Because she was a bit—”
Bree’s hand shot up, then acted as if she were doing thequack, quackpart of the duck dance, as if her fingers were his lips and they were supposed to shut.
“She wasn’t perfect, but she was their mother,” she refuted in a tone he’d heard only a few times in his life.
From those he respected and who never held judgment on him fully.
“You think those kids would love you the way they do if Misty sat around talking about you with them the same way she did to me?”
“What the hell should I think?” he questioned. “Since you seem to know exactly what I should and shouldn’t do with my children.”
“You had a few swimmers that hit at the right moment. Don’t act as if you’re their dad.”
Grasping her upper arm, he guided her to the far end of her kitchen, away from the kids. “I get it. You don’t have the undying love for me my kids have because Misty’s a whiny bitch that liked to point out all the fucked-up shit I’ve done over the years. But she’s far from a saint and used those kids for years against me. I fought for them, hard, and she fucked a government official, hard, because the last thing I want is to claim a bitch as mine.”
“She loves—loved John.”
