Page 3 of Double Daddies (Dirty Daddies Anthologies #8)

Chapter Two

Nicole

My feet are killing me.

I’ve lost count of how many miles I’ve walked. All I know is that I’m exhausted, hungry, and pissed off that not a single person has stopped to offer me a ride in three whole days.

And that my feet are fucking killing me.

Getting the hell out of the middle of nowhere, West Virginia had seemed like a good idea at the time.

I’d had big dreams about heading to New York City, getting a job waitressing or something like in the movies until something better came along.

Maybe go to college if I could scrape together the pennies.

But my car broke down less than a day into the drive and considering I’d barely had the cash for the gas it would take me to get to NYC, getting the damn thing repaired was absolutely out of the question.

So here I am, hitchhiking my way across the great state of New York.

At least, I think I’m in New York. That’s what the trucker told me when we parted ways a few days ago.

He’d been nice enough, like someone’s grandpa, and I was grateful he seemed more interested in talking my ear off than copping a feel as payment for the ride.

Above me, the sky turns pink, then red as the sun begins to set and I let out a groan of frustration. The days haven’t been too bad, nice and warm and springy, but as soon as the sun drops behind the horizon, the temperature drops with it. I need shelter, and I need it soon.

Just as the thought crosses my mind, I see a building in the distance.

It’s getting too dark to really make out the details, but it’s huge.

An office building maybe? Or a school? Whatever it is, maybe I can get inside and find somewhere to hide out for the night.

I have to at least try if I want to actually sleep tonight instead of lying awake under the stars, terrified of what lurks in the dark.

Time seems to drag on forever as I make my way to the building, which I discover is actually one of many buildings spaced out along a sprawling campus, making me think it’s probably a school.

But it’s the middle of April, and I haven’t come across a single person hanging around outside, so maybe it’s not a school. Or maybe it’s abandoned.

That thought actually emboldens me and I pick up my pace as the sky darkens above me. Stars are beginning to wink to life in the dark space as I reach the door.

Locked. Dammit.

A window, maybe. Making my way around the building, checking over my shoulder every so often to make sure I don’t get caught, I try all the windows on the first floor.

Still locked.

Fuck my life.

Tears of frustration spark in my eyes as I turn to try another building—and promptly trip over a large rock.

Perfect.

Lifting the rock from the ground—a feat easier said than done considering how weak I am from not eating for nearly a week save for the fast food the trucker bought for me—I manage to toss it at a window.

The rock hits the glass and falls harmlessly to the ground.

Not even a crack.

Seriously. Could anybody have worse luck than me right now?

Maybe I just need to throw it harder. Shaking out my arms, I pick the rock back up and chuck it at the window again, a little harder this time.

And I'm rewarded with the sound of glass cracking.

Finally.

It takes three more times for the glass to shatter.

Relief nearly drives me to my knees as a sob rises in my throat.

Pulling my shirt off, I wrap it around my hand to clear the shards away so I can wiggle through.

A few of those pieces get lodged in my skin but I can pick them out later. For now, I just want to get inside.

It’s warm in the building, too warm for it to not be heated. Closing my eyes, I will back the fresh tears of relief as I make my way toward a door with gold letters nailed to the front of it.

1C

An apartment building, maybe? If it is, I’ll need to be careful. Moving slowly, doing my best to keep my steps light and silent, I creep through the corridors until I find what looks like a lobby.

Okay, definitely an apartment building of some kind.

The elevator seems too risky, so I head for the stairs, easing the door open as quietly as I can before sneaking up the stairs like a thief. I suppose I am, in a way, though all I’m really “stealing” is a place to crash for the night.

Every floor is the same. Three apartments on each side of the hallway, with a small living area at the end of the hall.

It almost looks like what I imagine a college dorm might look like, except for the small number of rooms and the wet bar in each living area.

Colleges may turn a blind eye to drinking but I doubt they’d go so far as to enable the behavior by installing an actual bar in the dorms.

The building goes on like that for five floors. At the sixth, I’m thwarted by a door that doesn’t budge. There’s a little black box with a number pad off to the side of the door, telling me it’s locked and locked up tight.

So no comfy beds for me, apparently. But at least it’s better than sleeping outside.

Dropping my heavy backpack to the ground, I pull out the old, worn blanket my grandmother made for me before she died.

It’s the only thing anyone in my family ever gave me that was worth a damn, and I’ve clung tight to it for nearly ten years now.

While it isn’t particularly warm, it’s a comfort I haven’t been willing to risk while sleeping outside.

Propping my head on the backpack like a pillow, I pull grandma’s blanket over my shoulders.

And sleep.

Ezra

Alert: Break in reported in Building A, first floor window, west side of building.

“Hmm.”

Byron looks up from his own phone, where he’s been busy hashing out the details of yet another business merger he’s overseeing from a distance. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.” My boy can be a bit excitable, so I don’t want to alarm him.

But he does have a right to know what’s going on at our school.

Especially when whatever is happening is happening in our building.

“The alarm system is reporting a break-in at Building A. It could be a false alarm.”

Rolling his eyes, Byron gives me a withering look. “In the three years we’ve had that system up and running, how many false alarms have we had?”

“A few.” Granted, they were all within the first few months of having set the system up, but it’s not im possible.

Unfortunately, Byron isn’t buying it for a second. “Call Thomas, get him over to the building to check on it. Then call?—”

Reaching up, I lay my hand on the back of his neck, giving it a gentle warning squeeze. “Thomas is already on his way, and the police are on standby. And you are well on your way to a week of no orgasms if you continue barking orders at me.”

“Sorry, Sir.” Blowing out a breath, he runs a shaky hand over his hair. “It’s just that I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to our girls.”

My annoyance fades and with my hand still clamped on the back of his neck, I draw him to me for a long, slow kiss. “Nothing will happen to them. We pay a lot of money every month to ensure nothing happens to them. Just breathe, love.”

“Yes, Headmaster,” he responds with a cheeky grin.

“Brat. You’re lucky this car isn’t large enough for me to put you over my knee.”

The banter seems to distract him from his worries, at least until we pull up in front of our building. Thomas is waiting for us at the front door, his face an unreadable mask.

“Turns out it was a break-in after all,” he tells us as we approach.

Beside me, Byron practically vibrates with fury. “Where the hell are the cops?”

Thomas’s gaze shifts to mine, long enough for me to see the hint of worry in his eyes before he looks back at Byron. “Thought you might want to see this for yourself before we called anyone.”

“Why? Someone broke into our home. I want them put in jail. Tonight.”

There is only one reason I can think of why Thomas would wait for us to arrive and check out the situation before calling the police. Placing my hand on Byron’s arm, I give it a gentle squeeze. “Let’s go inside and have a look, then we can decide what to do next.”

“Fine,” Byron says with a snarl. “I want to get a look at the asshole who thinks he can violate the sanctity of this place.”

Behind his back, I roll my eyes at his theatrics, earning the smallest twitch of his graying beard from Thomas. He was my personal head of security before I hired him on at the university, so he’s well acquainted with how dramatic my boy can be.

Thomas leads us inside and up the stairs, which I admit intrigues me.

Byron grumbles about not using the elevator for two whole floors until I’m finally annoyed enough to land a sharp swat to his ass.

He turns to glare at me, but he wisely doesn’t give voice to any of the thoughts clearly running through his head, and he does quit his grumbling.

Halfway up the last flight of stairs, he comes to a halting stop and I nearly run into him.

“Is that…” He trails off, swallowing hard at the sight that greets us.

“It is.” Thomas keeps his voice low so as not to disturb her. “You can see now why I wanted you to see this before I made any calls.”

“I can,” I assure him. “You did the right thing.”

Slipping past Byron, I climb the last few steps in silence, my gaze locked on the huddled form curled up beneath a worn, hole-filled blanket in various shades of pink.

Her face is streaked with caked on dirt, and she reeks, as though she’s been outside for days without showering.

Which, if the state of her shoes is anything to go by, is exactly what happened.

“Oh, Ezra. Look at her.” Behind me, Byron’s tone is filled with the same awe I feel looking down at her

The girl at the top of the stairs whimpers, her nose scrunching slightly in her sleep and I know in that moment I won’t be calling the police.

Whoever this mysterious trespasser is, she is ours .