Chapter 33
I’ve always knownmy daddy is awesome but watching him mobilize support to protect the house submissives like a general commanding his troops makes him that leetle bit awesomer.
By the time I wake from my nap and give Livvy a feed, there’s a crowd in the small conference room downstairs. Daddy, Masters Theo, Bull, Mac, and Javier, Daddies Bravo, Henry, Max, and even Laurel’s Masutā. Faolan and Jack have stayed up in the Nursery to keep an eye on the subbies—well, mostly to keep an eye on Sammi—but they have ear-pieces in their ears and I think they can hear what’s going on. When Faolan suggests going to the Stables to visit the fluffle and fainting mini-goat, I take Laurel’s hand and peel off from the group as we troop downstairs.
“I think it’s time for subbies to be involved, too,” I say. “Will you be okay if there’s some talk about things that have scared other subbies?”
“Yes.” Laurel nods her proud, magenta crest without hesitation.
I squeeze her hand. She’s the bravest person I know.
I lead her into the small conference room, which looks like the bridge of the Enterprise now. Max has brought some of his equipment and it’s spread out on the conference table. There are three big screens and lots of laptops on the go. Daddy and Theo are huddled at one end of the table, working together on a laptop while Theo cradles a phone between his shoulder and ear.
I don’t want to disturb Daddy, so I creep over to where Laurel’s Dom sits at a laptop, typing with a frown on his face.
“Tatsu,” Laurel says to get his attention.
Jiro nods and points at the floor next to his chair. Laurel kneels and I kneel beside her, which is somewhat awkward with Livvy in her harness on my chest but I manage.
“Petto. Emily,” Jiro says after a minute. He turns in his chair to look at us.
“We’d like to help,” Laurel offers.
Jiro nods. “Do you still have the number for that professional Domme, Harlow? I’d like to access her network as well.”
“Yes, I do.” Laurel gets out her phone, scrolls through it, and hands it to her Dom.
“Thank you.” He takes her phone and makes a call. He doesn’t say much other than identifying himself, letting Harlow know that a very troublesome situation has come to light at Blunts which affects the whole community, and asks her to call back. I gather the call’s gone to voicemail.
He returns the phone to Laurel. “We’re trying to identify all the members of this odious Wolfpack and the clubs and parties where they’ve been hunting submissives. We know of nine so far?—”
I gulp. Daddy only mentioned Masters Drew and Emmett and a nasty guest named Hans. But nine! That’s so much bigger than anything I’d understood.
“You type a great deal faster than I do,” Jiro says to Laurel, holding up two fingers. Laurel and I giggle. “If you’ll take my seat, I’ll walk you through the searches I’m doing. Emily, I suspect your Daddy very much needs a hug by now.”
“Yes, sir.”
At Jiro’s nod, Laurel and I rise to our feet. Laurel gives her Dom a long, tight hug. Jiro strokes her back and whispers something to her. I barely catch it but I think he says, “I couldn’t prevent what happened to you, petto. I couldn’t avenge you as much as I wanted to. But I can help stop this. I’ve given Logan my full support and my resources. I hope you agree.”
“Yes, Tatsu,” Laurel says. “I do.”
I back away when he kisses her and steal over to Daddy’s side.
“Baby doll,” he says, rising out of his chair. “Is it dinner time?”
It is dinner time. A little past dinner time, if I’m honest. But this is more important than the faint growling of my tummy. I don’t mind putting off surf and turf to another night.
“It is but that’s not why I came to find you. I thought you might need a hug by now.”
Daddy smiles and opens his arms. I unclip Livvy’s harness so I can press against my Daddy. He takes her and cradles her in his left arm while he pulls me into a snuggly hug.
Daddy kisses the top of my head. “I always appreciate hugs from my baby girl. I believe you were promised a yummy dinner that you don’t have to cook.”
“I was,” I agree, stretching up to kiss his jaw. “But I’m happy to take a rain-check if you’re busy with this. It’s more important.”
Daddy slips his hand under my chin. “Nothing is more important than my little girl and Daddy always keeps his promises.”
He kisses the tip of my nose before he releases my chin and pats the conference table. “Everyone, I think we need to take a break.”
Theo tosses his phone to the table with a grunt. “I still can’t reach Apple or Fleur.”
“I’ve added them to the group chat,” Mac says from across the table. “If they check it, they’ll be able to see what’s going on. I think a generic text that says to call you before they agree to any scenes is the best we can do without tipping our hand.”
Theo scrubs his hand down his face and picks up his phone. “Yeah, okay.”
“Dinner in the Trattoria,” Master Javier says, not making it a question. “I’m happy to feed the troops for this excellent cause.”
“I promised my girls dinner out,” Daddy says. “But we’ll be back in a few hours.”
“No.” Theo stands and pats Daddy’s shoulder. “I think we call it a night. We’ve done a lot. Some of us have scenes planned. Some of us still have a sleep debt because of your last emergency. We all need a night to regroup and recuperate. We can check in first thing in the morning.”
That quickly becomes the plan. Javier leads a group off to the Trattoria while Daddy and I retrieve our coats and Livvy’s stroller and head for the train.
“Master Theo’s such a daddy,” I say as we whoosh across Manhattan on the train to Rockefeller Center.
“Such an asshole,” Daddy responds but he’s grinning.
“You like him. You’re glad you’re friends again. I can tell.”
Daddy pecks me on the forehead. “We’ll call him Cranky Daddy. That’ll really wind him up.”
I giggle. Yes, it will. And Master Theo deserves it.
“He’s been a good friend today,” Daddy admits. “He might not have been on the committee before but he plays club politics like a pro. I’m still not sure we have enough votes to get rid of Emmett and Drew. According to the club bylaws, I need seventy-five percent of the committee to remove a lifetime member, which Drew is. I can get Emmett punted with a simple majority. But for Drew, it could all hinge on the Three Cs.”
I hate this for Daddy. I hate that he’s losing faith in the leaders of his club. I remember when he first mentioned Blunts to me all those months ago. His eyes were shining darkly, in his wolfy way. He was smiling with his whole body. The club was something he loved, something he was proud of, even if there was some weirdness going on with his former submissive. Would he shine and smile today if he had to describe Blunts to a stranger?
“I believe in you,” I remind him. “You’ll fix this and things will get better. I believe that.”
He shapes my face with his big, warm paw encased in a leather glove. “Thank you, sweetheart. I’m holding on to that like a life ring.”
“Tell me about the restaurant,” I say to distract him.
He grins. Since he won the fight with the insurance company and sold my house in Scotland, Daddy’s delighted in giving us treats like this. It hurt him, not just his pride but his caregiver instincts, to be so restrictive when the evil debt-collector was threatening to take the house. I don’t need lavish treats but it makes me happy to see Daddy’s pleasure in giving them to me.
“They had the private room available,” he says. “We have it for two hours. It looks out on the tree. I ordered the tasting menu, so we’re going to have a little of everything. It doesn’t matter if Livvy cries because we won’t be disturbing anyone, so you can just relax and enjoy the meal and the view.”
“And the Daddy.”
He leans in to rub noses with me. “And the Daddy. Best thing about today?”
“This part. Although the foot rubs were most excellent. And the swishies.”
Daddy squints in thought. “The swishies?”
“When you hugged me and swishied me in the pool. I don’t like being thrown the way Jack was throwing Sammi because I don’t like face-splashes but I love swishies.”
He chuckles. “I see. I love giving you swishies. We’ll make that a regular thing.” He checks on Livvy, who is sleeping in her stroller. “She seems very sleepy.”
“Probably the swimming. That was a lot of effort for her. She was kicking a ton. Could also be the rocking of the train.”
“Ah, right. I’ll incorporate lots of swimming into our schedules. Build her little baby muscles.”
And conk her out but I understand what Daddy means.
“I was reading something in one of those baby books you bought about letting babies taste flavors. She can’t have anything but milk for another few months, I know but the book said babies taste flavors when they’re in utero and it’s okay to put a mild flavor on your finger or on a paci and let her taste it. Do you think that’s right?”
I nod, remembering that Gracie did that with Connor. “It helps develop their palate. Connor had days where he’d only eat one thing but in general, he wasn’t a fussy eater. Gracie gave him tastes of everything she ate.”
The Gracie-seal-of-approval reassures Daddy. She is my guru in all things baby-related. Daddy seems to have accepted her authority, too, now that he sees how well her schedule is working.
“We’ll give her a taste of dinner tonight,” Daddy says. “Since there will be lots to choose from.”
He’s not wrong. There’s a ton to choose from at “Steak on the Rock.” Black caviar in a tiny dish with silver spoons, oysters in a velvety green sauce, gingered tuna, steak tartare—which is easily my favorite as it melts on my tongue—meatballs, spicy octopus, delicate lamb chops in mint sauce, and the one Daddy gobbles down: maple-glazed bacon. Small bowls of lobster bisque and grilled asparagus arrive as sides. Or maybe just to break up the unrelenting parade of protein. Despite the carnivore overload, it’s all delicious.
Livvy thinks so, too. When she wakes up with a huge stretch and a little coo, we give her tiny tastes of the tomatoey sauce for the meatballs, the mint sauce for the lamb, and the lobster bisque. She licks her lips after every taste and sticks her tongue out after the lobster bisque.
“You have such good taste, Livvy-bit,” I tell her, as I dab my pinkie into the smear of soup left in the bottom of my bowl and touch it to her tongue.
Her grin is brighter than the lights on the tree outside.
The only thing I don’t like about “Steak on the Rock” is a funny sense that we’re being watched. The private room is on the second floor of the restaurant, with a wall of windows looking out over the square with its twinkling lights. People in the other buildings around the square can look in but I don’t have any sense that they’re watching us. The glass might be treated or something. Our nice waiter checks in twice but doesn’t linger. I don’t know why I have this hair-raising sense that someone has an unfriendly eye on us.
“Can we take an Uber home?” I ask as we wait for the waiter to bring dessert.
“Of course.” Daddy wipes his mouth. “Are you tired?”
“A little. It’s more that I feel like we’re being watched.”
Daddy straightens in the maroon-upholstered chair. “How long have you felt this way?”
I reach across the table and curl my fingers over Daddy’s. “Hmm, maybe when we left Blunts but I’m still a little self-conscious in public when I call you Daddy, so it might just have been that on the train.”
“I’m going to break the phone at the table rule for the sole purpose of putting Max on alert, baby doll.”
I nod. Safety first.
Daddy pulls out his phone and sends Max a text before tucking the phone back in his jacket pocket.
“Thank you for always taking my concerns seriously, Daddy.”
“Always, baby. Always.”
Daddy’s phone buzzes. He takes it out and reads the message, taps a quick response, and puts it away. “Mac’s inbound. He should be here around the time we’re ready to go, so there’s no rush. I want you to relax and enjoy dessert.”
“This has been wonderful, Daddy.” I squeeze his fingers. “I love having all our friends around but sometimes it’s nice to just be with you. And Livvy.”
“I always want to make time for us, baby. And that can be just you and me if you don’t want to spend time with Livvy. You’ve been wonderful with her but I appreciate you may want down time. This has to be taxing for you.”
I shake my head, feeling my hair brush my shoulders through the thin fabric of my dress. “I love taking care of her. I’m a little more tired than usual but not too much. If you could add a nap for me now and then, I think that would take care of it.”
“Okay, baby, I’ll do that.”
The door to our private dining room opens and the waiter brings the tasting flight of chocolate mousse, mini-cheesecakes, and three different types of cognac for Daddy. I don’t get any creepy vibe from him. Daddy evidently doesn’t either, although he gives the waiter an extra once-over before thanking him and asking for the bill.
As a special treat for being out together, Daddy gives me sips from each of the small glasses of cognac. I don’t really like hard alcohol but the cognac is delicious. One’s light and fruity, one’s sharp and tingly, and one’s smoky. I lick my lips like Livvy after each sip. Daddy, watching me, grins as he finishes off each glass of cognac.
By the time the waiter’s come back and Daddy’s paid for our meal—I don’t look at the bill, this is a treat and I’m sure it was an extravagance but I trust Daddy to manage our money—Mac has messaged to say he’s five minutes away. We pack up and head down to the street to wait for Master Mac.
There’s a special magic to New York at Christmas-time. Everything’s sparklier, rosier, merrier. People who would normally hurry past with their heads down meet your eyes and nod in acknowledgement. With the stores open late and playing Christmas tunes, there’s always music in the air. I cuddle under Daddy’s arm and soak in the atmosphere.
Until I meet a pair of bright blue eyes.
I straighten. She’s standing across the street, wearing an oversized coat, a gray hoodie pulled up over her hair.
I move out from under Daddy’s arm and turn Livvy’s stroller so she’s behind us, tucked against the restaurant’s outer wall. I glare at Miranda.
Daddy follows my gaze. “Fuck.”
Miranda ducks her head and crosses the street with a flow of pedestrians. As she approaches, Daddy shifts to stand in front of me.
“Stop there,” Daddy says when Miranda reaches the sidewalk.
Miranda lifts her head and glares blue fire at Daddy. “Why? It’s a public sidewalk. I can walk anywhere I want.”
“Walk any closer to Emily and Livvy and we’ll have a problem. You don’t want to have a problem with me.”
Miranda rolls her eyes. “If you touch me I’ll scream, fall down, and develop bruises that will have you in handcuffs before you can blink. What would that bastard judge think of your fitness as a parent then?”
“Since I’m defending my daughter and fiancée from an unhinged stalker, I suspect the court would commend me. Turn around and walk away,” Daddy’s voice drops to a growl.
Behind me, Livvy starts to whimper, probably reacting to Logan’s tone.
Miranda clutches her chest dramatically. “She’s crying. She needs me. She needs her mother. How can you be so cruel as to keep my baby from me, James Logan?”
Her voice rises on Daddy’s name. A few of the people milling around, waiting for the light to change, look our way.
Daddy shakes his head but I can see his shoulders tighten. He doesn’t know how to deal with Miranda.
But I do. While Daddy’s still shielding me, I take out my phone, start the voice recording, and slip it back in my pocket. Then I step up beside Daddy and slip my hand into his, pulling the stroller close behind me.
“Miranda.” At her name, her eyes track to me. “Making a scene is not going to get you access to Olivia. Following us around New York is not going to get you access to Olivia. You’re just alienating us and giving us evidence for a restraining order. What are you trying to gain?”
She sneers at me. “Don’t talk to me, you dozy little mare. You had your chance. I told you to bring her to me. We could have worked things out, woman to woman. You ignored me, so I had to escalate.”
I check her pockets. There’s no bulge, no heavy hang to her coat. She could still have a weapon, though. She’s a doctor, although Daddy said she hasn’t treated patients in a long time. She could do a lot of damage with a scalpel and it wouldn’t weigh down her pockets too much.
I shift the backpack of Livvy’s diapers and Little Larrys off the stroller handle and into my free hand.
“This is escalating?” I ask. “Following us? Confronting us on a public street? This isn’t going to get you anywhere.” I step forward, holding the bag in front of me. “Why are you in New York, Miranda?”
“To be near my baby, of course.” Her eyes redden. “There’s nowhere else in the world for me.”
“That’s not true. You still have your house in England, by the river, isn’t it?” I pause and when she nods in agreement, I continue, “You decorated it just the way you like, didn’t you?”
“Olivia’s never gotten to see her nursery,” she says.
The first tear spills down her pale cheek. Her skin’s mottled with red patches, like eczema. Stress? Or maybe she’s not used to New York’s dry cold?
“She’s never going to, Miranda,” I tell her. It’s a little brutal but I want to snap her out of whatever crazy fantasy she’s building in her head. “She’s never going back to England with you. She’ll never live with you. That will never be her nursery. But it’s still your home. It’s where you belong. Where your career is. Where your friends are?—”
“Where her empty nursery is,” Miranda spits.
“You can redecorate the nursery,” I say firmly. “If you go home now, you could have it done for Christmas. You don’t want to be here in New York for the holidays. I know how awful it is to be alone during the holidays. It’s terrible for your mental health?—”
“What do you care about my mental health, you bitch?” Miranda yells. Her hand, raw and red, plunges into her pocket.
I knew it. Behind me, Daddy shouts but I’m already bringing up the bag as Miranda lunges forward.
Everything slows down. I have time to focus on the glittering edge in her hand, to see her fingernails, chewed to the quick, pressed so hard against the handle of the small blade they’re white. The impact on the bag staggers me back into Daddy. His hard arms close around me, catching me, keeping me from falling, the way he always does.
Miranda stumbles backwards, her hand flying to her mouth, tears running down her chapped cheeks. “Oh, God.”
I’m a fierce, white, baby dragon and I’m not afraid of her.
I pull myself upright in Daddy’s hold. “Knife!” I say, loudly enough to get the attention of everyone around us. People stop and turn to look at us.
“Motherfuck—!” Daddy’s hands run down me frantically. “Baby?”
“I’m okay,” I reassure him. Sharply, I say, “Miranda, go home. You just attacked me with a knife. Everyone here is a witness. I’m recording this. There’s CCTV. If you don’t want to spend Livvy’s childhood in jail, go home.”
She hunches over like she’s going to puke, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry. Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”
“Lo!” Master Mac shouts. I hear running footsteps but I don’t take my eyes off Miranda.
“Miranda, I won’t warn you again. Go home.”
She straightens and looks at me, her eyes pleading. “Emily?—”
“Don’t you dare talk to her,” Daddy snarls.
“It’s okay,” I say. “This is the last time she ever will. Go home, Miranda. Go home. This is done.”
She nods, turns, and runs across the street, dodging traffic.
Daddy grabs my shoulders and turns me around. I hold the bag out to the side so the scalpel doesn’t get caught between our bodies. Daddy looks down at me, his hand running down the front of my coat.
“Baby, where’s the knife?”
I hold up the diaper bag.
Daddy chokes, then begins to laugh. “Livvy’s diaper bag?”
I nod. “She may have hit a few Little Larrys, too.”
“Baby.” Daddy pulls me close and wraps me in a tight hug. “I’ll buy you a million Little Larrys.”
I reach behind him, grab the handle of Livvy’s stroller, and move it back and forth so she stops whimpering. I couldn’t hear her during my confrontation with Miranda. Tunnel hearing, I guess. But now I can hear her building up to a full fret. My psychic baby.
“I’m okay, Daddy,” I promise him. “Can we go home now?”
He kisses me on the forehead and squeezes me before he lets me go. “Yes, my little wonder. Let’s go home.”
A hard arm comes around my back. I control a flinch. Miranda wouldn’t touch me like that. It has to be Master Mac. I look up into his red face. He takes Livvy’s diaper bag and glares at the scalpel handle sticking out of it like it’s done him personal wrong.
“Don’t touch it,” Daddy warns. “It’ll have Miranda’s fingerprints on it.”
Mac nods and holds the backpack horizontal so the handle sticks up out of it. A silver, accusatory finger. I imagine it chasing Miranda all the way back to England.
Mac leads us to an Uber where a very harassed-looking driver is trying to ignore the horns blaring behind him. We make quick work of climbing in, unclipping the stroller seat from its base, and clicking it into the seat belt. I settle on one side of the stroller seat and Daddy sits on the other, awkwardly stretching across so he can put his arm around my shoulders. I understand his need to have us both in his arms and lean in.
As the car pulls out in a fresh flurry of horns, I take a deep breath and let it out. It took a sword, a shield, and an attempted stabbing but the Mir-beast has finally been defeated.