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"Boys who wantDaddies—plural. Not one. Three."
My eyes meet my brother’s. "Explain yourself."
"We’ll join forces. Find a boy who enjoys each of us for who we are. He’ll wear pink around Lazaro, spend time with you when I’m working, and hopefully, be into Daddy kink. Preferably, we want a boy who’s been in rough situations—not a twink who doesn’t know how to deal with vicious men."
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Marcello’s had worse ideas.
"You really think this would work?" I’m skeptical to say the least.
Marcello grins. "It wouldn’t hurt to try."
"Let’s head to the bar tonight." Lazaro’s voice is firm. "Maybe we’ll find the boy of our dreams."
Jericho
Well, this night is a bust.
I turn to my little brother, Bentley. "I apologize for making you tag along."
Bentley sets his frilly drink on the table. "At least we gave it a shot."
Roman, Bentley’s Daddy, pushes out a growl. "Next time, we should head to a beach bar where they serve piña coladas in pineapples."
My eyebrows quirk. "Inpineapples?" I’ve never seen that before.
I’m not exactly well-traveled. I’m sure that sort of drink is popular in beach destinations, but ever since I broke out of prison with Roman, I’ve been confined to Upstate New York.Hence why pineapple piña coladas seem odd.
"They carve the pineapples out and fill them with liquor," Roman drawls. "They’re the bomb dot com."
Bentley makes a face. "Noone says that anymore, Daddy."
Roman rubs Bentley’s back. "Let your Daddy live, little reindeer."
That’s Roman’s nickname for Bentley—reindeer.It’s because Bentley carries his reindeer stuffy wherever he goes.
They met during Christmastime last year. Roman rolled up to our grandparents’ farmhouse in Upstate New York on a work release program. Bentley wasn’t thrilled that a giant, tattooed convict was spending the holidays with him, but it didn’t take long for Roman to sweep my little bro off his feet.
I’m sipping my beer when the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on stands up.
"It’s so fucking hard," he yells at the bar. "All we want is a boy to love—to give our hearts to. To spoil. Pamper. To help him recover from a traumatic past. Is there any boy out there for us?"
Everything in me grinds to a halt.
The man’s got to be at least six-foot-ten.
His eyes are black and specked with gold.
Tattoos glisten on his skin.
The scars criss-crossing his body speak to something dark and deadly within him.
Hello, Daddy.
I turn to Bentley. "We’d better leave—this dude sounds nuts."
Bentley snickers. "You love it. Don't lie."
