Page 9 of Bartender Daddy’s Girl (Daddy’s Girl #11)

JUDGE

C arrie’s going to make me fuck her in the middle of town if she keeps this up.

Teasing is one thing, but now that I’ve had a taste and feel of her sweet, little cunt, I’m an insatiable beast that won’t give a fuck about the consequences.

The only reason I had to today was because there’s a larger threat looming, and I don’t want to be caught with my pants down … literally.

We finish up at the clothing store and drop off the bags in my truck.

I chose my parking spot carefully. The Gray Hotel is in view from my door, and I can see all the coming and going around it.

Not that there are many. It’s Thursday morning, just after ten, and most folks are either at work or touring the town already.

From the corner of my eye, I see the way she’s looking at me. She can tell something’s up and wants in on the secret.

“Want to grab something to eat before we head back?” I ask, leaning on the roof of my car. There’s a bistro two buildings over with a similar view of the hotel. We can have a nice brunch and stake out the place all at the same time.

“We just had breakfast,” she says, shocked at my request. I chuckle, forgetting that normal people don’t have the insatiable appetite I do.

“It takes a lot more than bacon, eggs, and toast to fuel all of this. And I want to be at peak performance when I get you alone again.” Her cheeks turn that dark pink I adore.

“Fine, second breakfast it is,” she says, slamming the door shut. “But you have to promise to let me pay for it.”

“Absolutely not,” I use my stern voice to deter that silly idea.

“You bought my toothbrush and my clothes. It’s the least I can do to say thank you.” Carrie loops around the car and joins me on the street. She slides her arms around my waist and pulls me closer for a kiss. I lean in and take as much as she’s willing to offer.

“And now I’m going to buy you a second breakfast, and you’re going to stop thinking these silly things,” I say when my lips are free.

“You’re too good to me, y’ know that?” She takes my hand and we start walking.

“Baby, you haven’t seen half of it yet.” That, I can guarantee.

Completely oblivious to the impending threat half a block away, Carrie skips on the sidewalk, window shopping at every store that has anything on sale. She doesn’t stop at any of them, though I wouldn’t mind if she did. I’m here to spend time with her, and if she enjoys shopping, then I do too.

We get to the bistro and find a table outside under a parasol that matches Carrie’s eyes. The thought makes me smile.

Everything reminds me of her.

I order coffee, a stack of pancakes, and a handful of waffles. Carrie gets the Death by Chocolate waffle, and when it arrives, I can see why they call it that. It’s thicker and wider than the ordinary ones on my plate and smothered in a mixture of chocolate syrup, shavings, and broken-up blocks.

We eat in silence, a habit I picked up a long time ago, and she barely makes it through half the sugary treat.

“Too sweet for you?” I ask, taking a big bite of my syrupy treat.

“It was after the first bite,” she says, pushing the plate away from her. “I’m pretty sure the rest is going to put me in a sugar coma.”

If only . . .

Then I could handle my bloody business without her ever having to know it happened.

As the thought crosses my mind, Carrie’s attention snaps toward the glass-paneled door that brought us out here. Her eyes widen, and her entire body becomes rigid. That’s the look I’ve spent all morning trying to avoid.

“They’re here?” I ask, taking another bite. There’s no point in acting the fool now. I’m sure she’s summed up my odd behavior as having something to do with her boss coming to town.

She gulps down hard but doesn’t respond. Not even a nod of the head. Stunned and frozen with fear.

Time for Daddy to get to work.

I look over my shoulder just in time to see two men approaching us.

They’re both wearing grey suits with earpieces dangling from the side of their heads.

One’s wearing shades and walks with a cockiness I’d love to slap clean off of him.

The other is bald as a cue ball, and his head sparkles in the sunlight.

“That’s him,” Carrie whispers so quietly, I almost miss it. “That’s the guy who followed me around.”

“Shades or baldy?” I ask. I want to know which one of them is getting more of my attention.

“Baldy,” she repeats my name for him. I like to think that if it were under different circumstances, that would’ve made her laugh.

“Sit tight. Don’t pay them any attention.” It comes out as an order. “Look over that way, pretend they’re not here.”

“What are you?—”

“Mr. Aimos is very upset, Carrie.” Baldy cuts her off. “He would like you to come with us. He wants to have a word with you in private.”

As soon as they arrive at our table, Carrie looks away. When he speaks, she doesn’t give him any attention at all.

“Nah, pal, she’s not going anywhere with you.” I drop my half-eaten waffle onto the plate.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Who are you?”

I ignore him. It’s prudent to remember that this doesn’t have to end in blood. Then I realize I always tell myself that right before things get messy.

“He asked you a question, big man,” Shades jumps in.

I stand up out of my chair to show them how big I really am. To my surprise, Baldy is nearly as tall as me, but he’s got a much leaner cut. Shades is short, softer-bellied, and has pencil-thin arms.

I like my odds.

“Listen, boys, we’re not doing this dance here.

” Years in the military, followed by years as a thief and a short stint in prison, have taught me how to keep my temper in check.

Where, beneath the surface, my blood is boiling against my skin.

I don’t show it. Calm on the outside, ready for war on the inside.

The best way to survive. “This is a nice place. We’re having a nice meal.

These folks don’t need any of your trouble. ”

“These folks can go fuck themselves,” Baldy says. “We’re here for her, and we’re not leaving until we have her.”

“Fine, I understand.”

“Yeah, so get out of my way,” Shades steps forward and tries to push past me.

When he’s in arm’s reach, I shoot a hand out and grab him around the throat. I hold him there a moment before lifting his stubby legs off the ground while staring deep into Baldy’s eyes. Shades latches onto my wrist, clawing at the skin to be let go, but I don’t budge until Baldy makes a move.

He comes at me with a right hand that I slap away. Dropping Shades, he crumbles to the floor, gasping for air and rubbing his hands against his throat.

One on one. I like those odds even better.

Baldy throws a few more jabs in my direction. One of them connects with my chest, but they’re just testing punches. Not too hard that he might hurt himself, but not soft enough that I won’t get bruised.

Realizing it’s going to take more than a single punch to drop me, he puts more weight into the next one. I catch him by the wrist before it connects, and stop his momentum immediately.

“Sure you want to do this?” I ask. As much as I want to hurt him for tormenting Carrie, I don’t want the other patrons of the restaurant to walk away traumatized.

“Fuck you.” He yanks his arm out of my grip and adopts a poor impression of a boxer’s stance.

Well, I warned him .

Baldy comes at me again with the intention of delivering a flurry of blows I won’t be able to stop. Expecting me to back away from the wild jabs, I do the opposite and step in closer. With less distance to prep his punches, they don’t have much weight on impact.

Catching him off guard with my movement, I drive my head forward and connect with the bridge of his nose. The blow rattles him, and he stumbles back a few steps. Blood appears.

See, I don’t often use my hands in a fight.

They’re weaker than you might think. Sure, I could’ve cracked his skull with a harrowing right hook, but I’d probably break my hand in the process.

Using your forehead is the way to go when you want to inflict heavy damage while sustaining very little.

It’s a solid, heavy block. No brittle bones that can rupture or break from impact.

Speaking of brittle . . .

“How did that feel?” I ask, hearing my voice shift from the calm serenity of a few seconds ago, to grim and blood hungry.

“Got someone your own size to pick on now, son. Better remember that when you try fucking with Carrie again.” I take a few calculated steps toward him.

“You tell your boss she’s mine now. And if he doesn’t stop chasing her, he’s gonna get fucked up. ”

“You broke my … ”

I’m not sure Baldy’s even listening anymore with how focused he is on repeating how I broke his nose. I’m starting to suspect their boss, Mr. Aimos, didn’t do much in the way of vetting when he hired these boys. They aren’t very good security.

“Let’s get out of here, Baby,” I hold my hand out to her, and she rushes to my side.

Hopefully, this will be enough to scare them off.

Because next time, I won’t hold back.