Page 142 of Painted Scars
Harper diffuses the testosterone with a perfectly timed one-liner. “Shall I get popcorn, or break this up with something sharp?”
“Popcorn.” Katar smirks. “I like an audience.”
I tilt my head and examine August’s chest. “I think he’ll look good with a nipple piercing.”
August rewards me with a sharp ass spank.
Then he looks at Katar like a man who can finally admit he can’t shoulder every war alone. Softness buried under steel. “I didn’t say it earlier, but thanks for coming to our rescue. I don’t forget shit like that.”
Katar blinks, caught off guard. The deranged smile that slides back over his face says he’s not used to being shocked. “Careful, Kelly. Keep talking like that, and people will think you have a heart.”
August presses a hand over his. “It’s started beating. Call the press.”
The two men burst into laughter. This is the closest to a hug either of them get. Something tells me August doesn’t touch him beyond the greeting, almost as if he might detonate a fuse.
I raise both palms. “Someone needs to explain this nickname to me.”
August exhales and pinches his nose as Katar regales me with the tale of my broken vibrator and calling him Daddy.
I clap and cheer. “Oh, I’m going to call you this from now on.”
Brats get spanked.
“Great,” August mutters. “You’ve created a monster.”
Katar nudges me with his elbow. “Welcome to the club.”
Hah! Monster—he looks like one. Harper will eat that up like her favorite midnight snack.
Satisfied with his sniffing expedition, Josh finally enters the conversation with a demanding woof, nails clicking on the floor like he’s been waiting for the right dramatic beat to steal the attention.
Katar retreats a few paces to scan outside, recording every exit in case he needs to make a fast getaway.
August bends down, scoops the terrier up in those massive arms and presses a kiss into his silky fur. “Missed you, PJ3. Come and kiss Momma.”
He leans my dog in my face, and I’m ambushed by slobbery enthusiasm that aims to erase every bad memory with dog breath and happiness.
I gasp in between the affection. “Okay, I surrender. I won’t leave you with Aunty Harper anymore.” I stroke his head. “She didn’t teach you any questionable tricks or feed you too many treats while I was gone, did she?”
Josh glances at Harper like he’s holding state secrets.
August snorts. “If Murder Spice starts hiding knives in his chew toy, we’ll know who to blame.”
Harper chuckles darkly and drops the box she carries on the counter. “All toys, blankets, and bedding accounted for. No knives. Sorry to disappoint.”
August’s mouth quirks as he watches us, something soft settling into the sharp lines of his face. He’s not just my protector, he’s ours. Grumpy Daddy. Doggie Daddy.
“Have you had a tea, cupcake?” Harper asks me. “Sit your ass down before I pour it down your throat.”
She breaks away to steep me some, returning to the sofa with four mugs and baked treats. We all sit by the fire, except for Katar, who stands, glancing at the door like he suspects a monster waits on the other side.
Once the food is down the hatch, August grabs the champagne and crystal flutes, popping the cork and pouring everyone a glass. “Are you staying for dinner?”
Katar snorts. “Why? You want to play Pictionary?” He nods to the games on the bookshelves.
“Me? Have fun?” August slides his friend a drink, then gives one to me and Harper. “To getting out alive.”
Harper arches a manicured brow. “Barely.”
