*Maddy*

I sigh as I look down at the tangled mess of wood and screws littering our bedroom floor. Isaac leans against the wall, his hair standing on end and his eyes narrowed on the instruction pamphlet for what should be the cribs for our twins.

I rub my hands together, arching my brow at my mate, who looks more flustered than I’ve ever seen him before.

“I want the head of whoever wrote this fucking thing,” he growls, turning it upside down. “I want them hanging ...