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Mama Didn’t Sign Up for This
Butcher’s Babygirl
The Story Began Once Upon a Time
Acquainted With Vice
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Their New Daddy by Maggie Ryan (MMF)
Copyright © 2023 by Maggie Ryan and Red Hot Romance, Inc.
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including, but not limited to, photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. [email protected]
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, locales, and events are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, and events are purely coincidental.
Chapter 1
What the hell?
Jackson questioned his own hearing as a sound had him stopping mid-step. That made absolutely no sense as Tastsinn, the exclusive BDSM club owned by Logan Dietrich, had closed two hours earlier. Still, he knew something wasn’t right. His feet didn’t move so much as an inch as he focused in on the sound that meant he wasn’t alone.
His head swiveled toward the back of the huge space where the staircase was nothing more than a dark smudge against the wall. The surprise of hearing what sounded like a giggle proved not to be a fluke as distinct laughter drifted softly on the air. Jackson shook his head. He’d never encountered a laughing burglar before, but he supposed it wasn’t outside the realm of possibilities. He was halfway to the stairs when what sounded like a huge tree falling had him flinch and freeze. He looked up fully expecting to find the ceiling crisscrossed with multiple fracture lines only to discover it appeared intact. Even as he recovered from that disturbance, the shriek that followed had him forgetting about stealth and tearing across the space.
“Max!”
The name was screamed just as Jackson hit the landing at the top of the stairs, giving him a direction in which to run. His boots pounded against the floor making almost as much noise as the felled tree had. He tore through a door and planted his feet on something that rolled, causing his arms to flail as he caught his balance before face-planting on the floor. Unlike the majority of the club, this room wasn’t almost pitch black. Well, not all of it anyway. An industrial-sized work light had been placed at an angle to provide a semi-spotlight on one area. Shadows still played in the darkness outside the ring of light, but there was no hiding that he’d found the reason for the quasi-quake that had practically shaken the entire club.
Jackson stood mutely as he took in the scene before him. The tree turned out to be a pile consisting of boards, nails, screws, and what appeared to be the head of a hammer poking out from beneath a large tarp in the center of the floor, one of the two industrial sawhorses that he supposed had originally supported the building materials was lying on its side, the other upright but skewed out of alignment. The heavy-duty nuts and bolts beneath his boots were why he’d done a parody of an amateur ice-skater.
“What in the hell?” he asked for the second time, this time actually speaking the words. He fully expected an answer, but the squeal that followed his question wasn’t exactly the response he was looking for.
“Who’s there?”
Jackson raised his head to look up as if it were perfectly normal for barked questions to be issued by a blindfolded, naked male, arms and legs spread wide and secured to the thick posts of a St. Andrew’s cross. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but be both amazed at the man’s predicament and angry at the thought of him allowing himself to be put in such a vulnerable position and left to his own devices.
“Max! This isn’t funny. Get me down!”
“Sorry, buddy, but it appears we’re the only two here,” Jackson said as he peered into the shadows, but nothing came close to resembling an actual person.
“What happened to Max?”
