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He launches into a tale of everything that happened tonight, from making the call to Cara and how he felt when he saw his date for the first time. How he felt that he was being “creepy and weird” but ignored it because he needed rent money. That alone pisses me off. Had I known he was struggling, I would have tried to do more to help. He’s not really mine, but he feels like mine. And I take care of my boys.
Red tells me that after he was left alone for over ten minutes, he went to the restroom where he overheard his date telling whoever someone on the phone that he planned to kidnap Red at the end of the night. From there, my sweet, brave boy tells me how he head-butted this Andler guy—stupid fucking name—and managed to get away. A blaze of white hot anger flows through me at the thought of someone trying to take my boy, but I keep that sentiment to myself. Red finishes up by telling me how he found himself at the airport and got there in time to catch a flight leaving for Quebec, which made him think of me.
After he finishes recounting his night, the panic attack starts. Red’s breaths are coming quickly and tears are streaming down his cheeks. Grabbing his face between my hands, I hold him there and stare into his eyes. I breath in quickly two times, hold my breath and let it out. Again and again, I repeat this breathing exercise like he taught me and soon, Red starts to mimic me.
We breathe like this for what could have been minutes, hours, days, weeks. Long enough for Red to stop crying and for his breathing to regulate. When some time has passed between his previously erratic breathing and the soothing breaths we’re taking now, he collapses on my chest, nuzzling into my neck.
“Thank you, Daddy.” His voice is soft and small. I want to rip this guy’s fucking head off, but I don’t say that to Red. He doesn’t know about my old life. Red knows nothing about me, other than I live in Quebec and I know how to fuck him. I have to fix that before we go any further. But that can wait until I feed him and get him some clothes that don’t remind him of the night he was almost abducted for sex slavery.
Kissing the top of his head, I say, “You’re welcome, sweet boy. You were really brave tonight. You should be proud of yourself.”
I hear Red sniffling again and it makes me angry and breaks my heart simultaneously. “Thank you, Daddy. I was scared. I didn’t think I’d get away.”
“I know, boy. I know. You’re here with me now, so you don’t have to worry about anything else.”
Red tucks himself closer and I both feel and hear his long exhalation as he makes himself comfortable. “What happens now?” my mouse asks me, quiet and squeaky. God, the sound of it melts my heart, but his voice is laced with fear.
Kissing his temple, I rub my hands up and down his back. We really have to talk about him calling me Daddy. We had a scene that I paid him for. I don’t want him to think that just because I’m helping him, he has to continue to call me Daddy. I’m willing to help him with nothing in return because it feels good to give him what he needs.
If I’m being honest, though, I would love for Red to continue to call me Daddy and mean it. I love hearing it from him—how passionately he says it, the reverence with which he treats it when he addresses me, the way he looks at me to take charge of him and his body.
The selfish part of me wants to hold off as long as possible before I tell him he doesn’t have to call me Daddy, but I’m not an asshole. I might not be a good man but I’m an honest one. Red deserves honesty after what he went through tonight.
Drawing in a deep breath, I blow it out slowly and say, “Well, first we get you some clothes so you can shower. Then I’ll feed you, and if you’re not sleepy by the time we’re done, we can talk. How does that sound?” I pose it as a question instead of telling him what we’ll do because I don’t want Red to feel obligated to do what I say.
“Sounds good. Where are we going to get clothes?”
I move him from my lap and sit him beside me so he can meet my eyes. “You’re going to soak in the bath while I go get you clothes.” I see the fear in his eyes and he grips my hand solidly.
“I want to come with you.”
“You want to put that suit back on and go out with me to buy clothes?” I’m sure he doesn’t, seeing as he was so relieved to get it off, but if he wants to slide it back on and come with me because he’s afraid, I won’t stop him.
Red glances at it and starts to quake. Grasping his chin, I bring his face around until he’s looking at me. “Hey, it’s okay. Breathe with me, baby boy.” Fuck, I need to stop that. He’s not mine. He’s in danger and needs help, not a Daddy.
He takes a few more deep breaths, then nods. “I can’t … no, I don’t want to put that back on. Can you, I don’t know, call someone? Or have it delivered?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think people deliver clothes. But here,” I reach behind me, under my shirt and pull out my Sig Sauer that’s usually holstered there. “Take this and you can protect yourself until I get back.”
His eyes grow wide and it takes a second for me to figure out why. “Why do you have a gun?! Is it real?!” he exclaims, then I remember that I am no longer in the US.
Sighing, I put the Sig on the table and Red leans away from it, eyeing it warily. It’s kind of cute, but also not really helping because I want him to feel safe. “It’s real. I need it for my job. And I’m used to carrying it.” I don’t mention that, while I’m in security and we all carry, I work more on the cybersecurity side.
Red kicks up his chin and I see a bit of that bratty side peeking through. “If you’re a cop, you may as well turn yourself in, since you paid for my services.”
Barking a laugh, I shake my head. “I’m not a cop, Red. I work in security. We have a lot to talk about and I promise I’ll tell you everything.” I won’t mention anything about Abel, Savage, or Michael without talking to them first.
Before we came to Quebec, Michael, Savage, Abel and I lived in the US. Savage was the head of the Benavelli family, a mafia family with connections to selling guns and cocaine wholesale. Savage was getting tired of the life of crime when Abel showed up and traded himself for his brother’s life. He agreed to stay with Savage for a year in exchange and during that time, Abel and Savage fell in love. Unfortunately, the Russians that were trying to move in on Savage’s territory kidnapped Abel and tortured him for information. Abel stayed strong and didn’t give Savage up. We already had a plan in place to get out of the life. After we got Abel back, we put that plan in motion, faking our deaths, and moving to the opposite side of the continent to begin new lives in another country.
I have to fill Red in on all of that without telling him why Michael, Abel, Savage, and I moved to Canada. If I’m helping him, it will be inevitable that he meets them, but for now, I want to have their permission to tell Red anything about why we’re really here. Their stories are theirs to tell.
At first, I think he’ll accept that explanation, but as I thought, Red is smarter than that. “Most security personnel don’t carry weapons. Are you into some illegal shit?”
I sigh and sit back so we can talk for a bit. If he’s going to trust me with keeping him safe, he’ll need to know the basics until we can talk more. “I used to be. I worked for a very dangerous man for over ten years before I came to Canada. Carrying a gun is second nature to me. I almost feel naked without one.” I smirk at him, but Red just gives me a wide eyed look. Sighing again, I continue. “When we left the States, I had one of my guys at the border get my guns through so I’ll always have them. I’m pretty handy with a knife, but I’d rather have a gun so I can protect myself.”
“Are people after you?” Red whispers, tears brimming in his eyes but he doesn’t let them fall. God, the strength on this boy.
“No. All the people who were after me are dead and no one back home knows I’m alive. I’m safe, but I feel better with a gun.” Tilting my head to the side, I ask, “Are you afraid of me now?”
