“But… there is someone requesting a meeting with you,” Mal says. I tilt my head, encouraging him to continue. “His younger brother was attacked recently. Liv’s been having a hard time getting the details on that, but she did find out the man requesting the meeting is a doctor.”
“Really?” Seems like things are falling into place. “Get him on my schedule.”
“Will do.” He stands. “I’m going to shower and get to bed. I’m tired of bloodstains on my sheets.” I wave him away. “Good night, boss.”
“Night.”
I open my laptop again and the article is still there.
Are you a Daddy?
Fine. I might as well read it.
After all, I learned about milk bunnies, and now I need to find one. Maybe this Daddy thing could be a good idea too.
My eyes skim the article, and with each line I read, the more the idea takes hold.
Someone who needs me, who wants me to care for them, and who wants to submit to my needs. I do like absolute submission and fear, but that’s not what this is about. Having someone who submits because they want to, because they want to make me happy…
But then they get to things like toys and coloring, and while I don’t see the appeal of watching them play like that, I do like the sound of giving them baths and getting them dressed.
I picture a pouty redhead spread out before me. I imagine bathing her before wrapping her in a blanket to snuggle while she feeds from me.
Yeah. I need that.
Maybe I could message them and see about sending me over a playmate?—
There’s a frantic knock on the door before Mal enters again. “Sorry, boss. But we caught one!”
I stand from my chair.
Seems my night just got a whole lot better.
“Where?”
“They’re taking him to the basement.”
I’m not thrilled at the idea of traveling back to the city at this time of night, but getting to vent some frustration will be worth it.
“I’m impressed, Mateo,” I say as I wipe my hands on a towel. He’s taken more of a beating than most men twice his size and age.
“Thank you, sir.” He spits blood.
“You really don’t know the main location, do you?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t.”
Grabbing the bolt cutters off the table, he flinches but stays mostly still. He’s accepted his fate, and he looks at me with respect. I open them up and lightly press the sharp blade to his index finger.
“Last chance,” I warn, and he nods. Clamping the cutter tight enough to draw blood, he still doesn’t waver or look away, so I drop the cutters and lower Mateo’s arms to relieve some of the pressure on his shoulders. “How long have you been with the Hellhounds?” I ask and sit down.
“A few weeks.” He slumps forward and breathes heavily.
“How old are you?”
“Nineteen, sir.”
“Why join them?”
