Set Me Free

Riled Up

Braxton

Strange thing, watchin' your kids grow up, watchin' 'em turn into everything you prayed they wouldn't. Logan locks eyes with me, and for a moment I feel like I'm lookin' in a damn mirror. Got my eyes, my height, my attitude. Got his mother's light hair, but at least it's dirtied through with my tint. He's still growin' into his muscles, but judgin' by the size of him, he'll be a beast like his dad.

Kids make ya think you did somethin' right in this world.

"Take the cot in the shed or the couch, and feel free to set to splittin' more wood," I grunt, dragging a hand along my exhausted face. Little Girly is poutin' on the couch, I can feel it, that damn attitude nudgin' me. She wants attention, and I ain't givin' in. Reminds me of my daughter. My fist tightens on the table as her face flits into my hazy memory.

"Gee, thanks, pops," Logan jests, pressin' my last ribeye to his swollen left jaw. Cut's already healin'. He leans in, nodding to the couch, to the top of Girly's blonde halo of hair. Hadn't noticed before how wild it is—kinked and curled in all the right places, like she just hopped off a sailboat in summer. She reminds me of summer, all golden and sun kissed and spunky with a smattering of freckles across the tip of her nose and the points of her cheeks.

"So—"

"Don't go there with me, boy," I growl, crossin' my arms. He leans back with a knowing smirk, droppin' the meat and holdin' up his hands.

"Just wonderin' if you'd wanna share is all."

I grit my teeth. Logan's a good kid, and I know he don't mean nothin' by it. He's too busy sowin' his wild oats all over Ledinia, the fuckin' twerp, but he sees somethin' he likes, he takes it. Just like me.

His words make hot acid lick the back of my throat. Would be better if someone Logan's age had her, not me. It ain't wrong in my society, but it's wrong to me. I lean my forearms on the table, levelin' him with my fatherly look.

"You best keep this between us," I warn. He leans back with a thump and crosses his arms, frownin', but he nods all the same. I smooth my rough palms together when his eyes light up once more, the color of a golden sunrise and a bright green spring day.

"Not into blondes anyhow, but I know you are," he says, standin', pushin' out his chair. I glare up at him as he gives me a sarcastic salute.

"Be in the shed, pops. Nice to meet ya..." he trails off. She turns around, throwin' her petulant, icy glare his way, her pink mouth twisted down into a spoiled as shit sneer.

"You wanna go another round, Girly?" I growl. Her eyes widen, cheeks flamin', and she simmers down real quick.

"Sofie," she says softly, meek and tamed once more. I chortle, tuggin' on the ends of my short beard. Logan doesn't move, though, and I catch his eyes. Filled to the brim with some kinda emotion.

"Girly?" he whispers. My heart clenches. Hadn't realized I'd given the girl that specific monicker. I stand, leanin' on my knuckles.

"Get on down to bed, boy, 'fore I whoop your ass for losin' a fight."

***

I chain her up to her bed on the floor. It's late now—or early, I s'pose. I can hear her huff and roll and try to get comfortable once more. Bit annoyin', layin' here tryin' to get some shut eye while she pesters me. I am just driftin' off when her tiny little voice crawls inside my skull and takes up residence there. Fuck me, when she talks so nice like that, makes me wanna pull her up here with me, cocoon her in my warmth and comfort like we were on the couch. She was sweet as apple pie then. Would be easier if she was always like that, but then again I like playin' with fire, and she's full to overflowin' with it.

"Brax?"

"Yeah, Girly?"

"I have to pee."

I groan, wipin' a hand down my face before I roll out of bed. I was decent enough this time to wear boxers. Hard, goin' from the life of a bachelor to whatever this is. I lean down, unlocking her. She moves to stand, but as tired as I am, I don't trust her not to make a dash for the door. I bend low, throwin' her over my shoulder.

She kicks and growls, all bark and no bite, far as I'm concerned. But it makes me chuckle anyhow. I reach up to her bare butt and give her a hard smack.

"Knock it off, too tired for your shit."

She sags against me, light as a sack of potatoes.

"I don't like you," she grumbles, makin' me chuckle again. Fuck, haven't laughed this much in a long time.

"Same, Girly. Never did like spoiled rotten bitches."

She tenses as I cross the threshold into the bathroom and begins to kick and beat her tiny fists on my back once more, no stronger than a fly. I kinda like pissin' her the fuck off. Gettin' her riled up, watchin' her face scrunch in her tiny fury.

"I'm...not...spoiled," she growls, wrigglin'. I snort at the irony of her statement.

"Sure coulda fooled me," I say, slidin' her down near the wall, pressin' my palm to her throat and pinnin' her there. She blinks up at me, stunned, her throat bobbin' against my hand as she swallows down her evident fear.

"Life lesson one: don't pick a fight with someone bigger 'an you, got it?" I growl, my hand tightening on that little throat of hers. She glares through her fear, the moon's beams kissin' her cheeks and hair. I tower above her, able to engulf her with my shadow and body alike. I quirk my brow, waitin' for her to respond at all.

And damn, but she's a quick little minx. She raises her knee sharp and fast and precise, landin' her blow against my tender balls and cock, and in that small, momentary lapse where I release her to gather my breath and see stars, she's dashed out the room, the screen door slammin' loud as a gunshot through the still night.

A/N: Uh oh....