Page 50 of Bronson

I chuckle. I’ve lived next to Carter for years. I’ve grown used to his chiseled looks. Sasha has a panther-like sleek quality about her, with long dark hair. Her lithe body is constantly covered in black spandex, showing every inch of her tight curves—she lives in the fabric. “They own the gym around the corner from Bachman’s.”

“Barbells?” Paige whispers.

“That’s the one.”

Sasha flips her shiny mane over her shoulder. “Fine. I’ll go out on my own and you can stay home.” She turns to flounce up the stairs. Leaving Carter on the street alone.

The door slams.

Swearing underneath his breath, he runs his hand through his hair again, leaving it standing on end.

“If you’ll excuse me just a moment,” I say to Paige.

She gives me a small nod.

I leave her on the sidewalk and go to the streetlight to speak with Carter.

Returning to Paige a few moments later, we watch as he takes the stairs, two at a time, his jaw set with determination.

Paige’s brow knits. “What’d you tell him?”

“I said, If you don’t spank her, I will.”

Paige turns to me, her eyes wide. She gasps, “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You… wouldn’t do that, would you?” she squeaks. I say, “I knew it wouldn’t come to that. Though I’ve been wanting to take that woman over my knee and teach her a lesson for over a year.”

It wasn’t my place, at the time.

But things simply cannot continue the way they are.

And as head of the family, I’ll act on my responsibility if necessary.

“Has he spanked her before?” Paige asks.

“If he had, they wouldn’t be suffering from these intolerable arguments they keep having. I never interfere in others’ relationships, but I can’t take it any longer. It’s starting to affect the Village. Just spank the girl already,” I say, more to myself than to her.

Paige’s temper makes an appearance, as it often does when I’ve said something that rubs her the wrong way. “That is so sexist. So she wanted to go out? She’s a grown woman. What’s the big deal?” Paige asks.

“Do you think a beautiful twenty-something young woman with a fiancé belongs out drinking at clubs? Alone? Out to all hours of the night? Not to mention, she made a commitment to the gym and with the fees those members are paying, they deserve their instructor’s full effort. Not a cranky sluggish woman reeking of last night’s booze.”

Paige sniffs. She knows I’m right.

“Besides. She’s dying for it. I don’t know how Carter isn’t seeing it,” I say.

“How do you know?” Paige asks. That blush that I love so much is rising in her cheeks.

I shrug my shoulders. “Simple. She’s bratting.”

“Bratting?” Her brow wrinkles adorably.

Paige may have a temper, but she is no brat. I simply can’t tolerate bratty behavior. Especially when there’s such an easy cure for it.

“Bratting. Testing. Seeking to find his boundaries—the limits of what he will take. When a woman picks fights for no reason, especially trying to break rules that have been clearly set from the beginning of the relationship, she’s secretly begging the man to take control of her. Show her who’s boss.”

“Rules? Taking control? I can’t believe I’m standing here, listening to this right now,” she huffs, feigning disgust.