Page 48 of Roll With The Punches

Chapter Thirteen

Late Saturday morning, Brandon was enjoying lounging on the lanai, naked, watching Stuart and Jeff taking care of the pool.

Naked, natch.

They’d started the morning with spankings, followed by vigorous fucking, breakfast, and now—chores.

Jimmy Buffett blasted from the Bluetooth speaker connected to Brandon’s phone. All he needed to complete that picture-perfect afternoon would be a pitcher of margaritas and a pot of peel-and-eat shrimp.

Mmm, shrimp.

That wasn’t a half-bad idea. Maybe he should make a run to the grocery store and buy them a few pounds of shrimp for dinner to go with the burgers.

He was giving serious thought to doing just that when his phone rang. When he saw it was Emma calling, he answered before remembering that the speaker was hooked to his phone, and had a built-in mic.

Both Jeff and Stuart straightened, watching and now listening when she started speaking immediately. “Dad? Are you there?”

“Yeah, honey. What’s up?”

“Dad, Mom and Pat won’t let me leave.” In the background, he heard muffled yelling.

“What do you mean they won’t let you leave?”

“I mean Pat parked behind my car and won’t move it. Corey and Pat’s parents are going to be here this afternoon, and I told them I was leaving. Before I could get back outside with my stuff, Pat had moved his car and blocked me in. He said I’m not going anywhere. Then he tried to grab my phone. I ran and locked myself in the bedroom.”

Jeff and Stuart dropped the scrubber and dip net and bolted for the house. Brandon was now up and moving, too, and figured out how to disconnect the Bluetooth speaker.

“We’re on our way, sweetheart.”

“Do you want me to call 911?”

“Has he laid a hand on you?”

“Not yet. I blocked my bedroom door with a chair. He keeps pounding on it and yelling but I think he’s too stupid to know how to jimmy the lock from the outside.”

“We’ll be right there. Stay on the phone with me.”

By the time he made it to his bedroom, Jeff and Stuart were already emerging from their respective rooms, half-dressed and frantically pulling on clothes, phones, keys, and wallets in their hands.

Brandon wasn’t far behind them. “What did your mom do while this was happening?” He piled into his car after handing Stuart the keys to drive, and Jeff climbed into the back seat.

“She just stood there and didn’t say anything, like she usually does—OH MY GOD, SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU ASSHOLE!”

Brandon was glad he was on the phone with her and not right next to her when she screamed that or he would have been even deafer.

“Honey, are you ready to leave when we get there?”

“You better believe I am.”

Brandon didn’t want to call the police, but if forced to, he would. He knew Tracey didn’t need additional grief in her life and hoped to solve this without calling the cops.

While it wasn’t the first option on his list, it still made the top two.

They pulled up in front of the house and Brandon directed Stuart to park on the street, not in the driveway. He didn’t want to give Pat any additional ammunition.

When he raced up the front walk, Tracey opened the door. “She’s not going home with you, Brandon. She doesn’t want to.” Her face looked beet red, her tell for a lie.

All the goodwill he’d had for her that week vanished. “Bullshit, Tracey. I’m on the phone with her right now. Do I need to have her hang up and call 911 for you kidnapping her?”