Because the three of them were, in their own way, more than a bit fucked up.

That afternoon, as the kids put their lunch dishes in the dishwasher, Hawk glanced at the schedule created by the parental authorities—Caz, JJ, and Kit—and saw no changes had been made since he’d gone to South America.

This was still supposed to be quiet time. Sounded good. The morning had been damned energetic and noisy.

“Regan, pick a book and sack out somewhere.”

“’Kay.” She pulled a book from the shelves and curled up in a blanket pile by the windows. “I want to watch the rain too.”

“Good choice, kid.” He ruffled her hair, heard her snort in the way of all children ever, and saw the tiny happy smile on her face.

She really was a good kid; Caz had gotten lucky.

He headed back to figure out a good spot for Aric. Upstairs in his corner, maybe? No, he’d want to be down with Hawk and Regan.

Hawk dropped pillows, a blanket, and a picture book at one of the tunnel exits. “Here, Aric.”

Standing by the toybox, the boy held up a T-Rex and scowled at Hawk. “I want Regan to play with me.”

“After quiet time, you can ask her.”

Turning red, Aric stomped his foot. “No. Now.”

Fucking-A, look who’d turned into a regular kid. Hawk barely kept from laughing. “Sorry, boy. We got a schedule, and it’s quiet time.”

“No!” That little foot kicked over the box, and then Aric started throwing toys everywhere.

Hawk’s gut clenched, then he relaxed. Regan wasn’t in range. Mako’s place was designed for roughhousing. There was no damage the kid could do.

Breathing out slowly as he watched the tantrum, Hawk found his center to ensure he wouldn’t lose his temper.

But ignoring the behavior wouldn’t do the boy any favors. Hawk knew the harm that could happen from unrestrained anger.

Well, since the kid lived in the sarge’s house, seemed only right that he’d receive the discipline the sarge used to dispense.

Gripping the kid’s collar, Hawk, gently, but firmly guided him outside and across the deck. Rather than being frightened, Aric struggled, still spitting mad.

It was still raining. Off the deck, the splatter of cold drops brought the boy’s fighting to a halt.

“Tough to be you, kid.” Hawk let go and retreated a couple of steps back under the deck roof.

Water streamed over Aric’s face, flattening his blond hair.

“When I got angry and started throwing things”—usually his fists—“the sarge made me run laps till I cooled down. You can do that now.”

“Huh?” Wide blue eyes stared up at Hawk.

“Run to the smokehouse and back. Then ask me—politely—if you’re done.”