Page 4 of Zade (Den of Sin)

He isn’t pleased with that question to say the least, his initial response, a dark, angry glare.

“Why would that matter?”

I shrug, “If you do, I’d like to know if I’m walking into a house with an angry bitch that’s going to start shit with me.”

His gaze softens, “I know you are nervous about the uncertainties of your life now. I understand. I don’t have a girlfriend but watch your tongue, baby girl. Now, go pack your bag.”

First, I roll my eyes at Zade, then I smile sweetly,“Yes, Daddy.”

Do I love his clenched fists, and the anger that simmers just beneath the surface? Maybe.

ChapterTwo

ZADE

I’d love nothing more than to take her over my fucking knee, and spank her ass, until she learns how to behave properly. It took me under five minutes to realize she’s going to be a complete pain in the ass. Until now my visits to Den of Sin have been rather sporadic, but I have a feeling they’re going to be far more frequent after tonight. I have excellent self-control but everybody needs to let off steam. This little brat is going to cause me to have even more than usual.

My closest male friend is Sinclair, but we’ve called him Sin since junior high. Through the years he’s earned the nickname well. He’s the owner of Den of Sin, half BDSM club and the other half for the more tame crowd. His biggest draw is his Virginity Night. Girls literally auction off their virginities. I’ve never been because it’s not really my thing. Why the hell would you pay a fortune to fuck a scared girl that has no clue what she’s doing? My personal favorite is a seasoned submissive. My dick comes to life at the thought as I spot Amira walking out of the house carrying a bag on each shoulder. The straps from the bags squeeze her tits together and she’s aware. Very fucking well aware. That little smirk on her face tells me so.

The last time I saw her, she was a skinny twelve-year-old girl, with braces and flat chested. She no longer looks like a little girl. Long blonde hair hangs past her shoulders, her teeth straight, that bright red lipstick on those full lips threatens to turn me into a worse man than I already am.

Zade, stop it. You can’t think about her like that.Step-Daughter, I remind myself. Off limits. I take a deep breath as I resign myself to doing the right thing. Take care of her as a father would. Set her up for a successful life and keep my filthy fucking hands to myself. Walking up to her I take both bags from her shoulders, and carry them to my truck. After throwing them into the back I turn around to Amira’s gaze, locked on me. I knew I’d get the call I got today from Dale. It was only a matter of time. If I’m honest, it took longer than I expected.

“Get in.”

She flashes me a sweet smile, “Yes, Daddy.”

I stifle a groan threatening to escape. Amira has turned into an absolute brat but for now I’ll let it go. She just lost her mother and I’m sure she’s hurting. When you add to the fact that she has to go live with a man she’s convinced abandoned her five years ago and I’m sure that’s difficult. She’s going to act out while she tries to figure out her life now.

Closing her door, I walk to the driver’s side and slide into my seat.

“Seatbelt.”

Amira groans like the brat she is, “Are you always so bossy?”

Glancing at her while I start my truck, I smirk, “You have no idea.”

She doesn’t have a clue of course what kind of man I became after her mother and I divorced. Indeed, I am bossy, controlling, and have zero tolerance for bullshit.

I watch out of my peripheral vision as she pulls out her cell phone and begins texting someone. Glancing at her I arch a questioning brow.

She shrugs, “I have to tell my boyfriend where I’m going.”

“Great.”

She has a boyfriend and I’m not sure why I’m equally annoyed as I am surprised. Of course Amira has a boyfriend. Why wouldn’t she? She’s absolutely stunning and I’m sure she draws the attention of many boys her age. Obviously, it’s acceptable for her to date boys appropriate to her age. It’s completely normal I attempt to convince myself. Why this information has me gripping the steering wheel with white knuckle force, I don’t understand.

“I’ll need to meet him,” I say as I peel away from the curb and begin the short drive to my house.

“Why?”

When I look over to her, she sits gazing at me like I’m being ridiculous. Isn’t this what parents do? Make sure their teenage daughters are safe with the people they choose to be around?

“What did your mom think of him?”

She shrugs and then rolls her eyes, “She never met him. Never asked to.”

Of course, she didn’t because she was too lost in her mind to worry about what the fuck her daughter was doing.

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