Page 54 of Red Flag Bull

Vince moves around the kitchen as if he knows it well and retrieves a big plate and a large knife. He then cuts the cake — basically in half — and is about to transfer one of the huge portions from the cake stand to his plate, when Jason rumbles, “Oi. What did I tell you about the sweet stuff? Say no to diabetes and heart disease.”

Jason leaves my side to stop his friend. He holds out his hand for the knife, and Vince sighs before handing it over.

Jason cuts him a much smaller piece, sets it on the plate, and then holds a hand to the giant’s chest, preventing him from reaching for it. Keeping him at bay, Jason pulls salad vegetables, cold cuts, and condiments from the fridge one-handed and stacks them on the counter before adding a multi-grain baker’s loaf to the mix. “If you’re that hungry, make yourself a fucking sandwich. With vegetables in it. Then you can have dessert.”

Vince groans but obeys, and I press my lips together, to hide my smile, while I try not to soak my fresh panties. My man may not be a giant, but he is a powerful and sexy fucking badass, who could rule the world with his commanding presence and good intentions. If he insists his loved ones do something, it’s for their best interest, and watching him care for his friend using forceful orders makes me want to be given orders, too.

I’m not disappointed.

“Get your ass over here for some cake, Princess.” Because, of course, he can tell what I need, just by looking at me.

I follow his pointing finger to a stool and sit, and Jason gives me a slice of cake that’s slightly bigger than Vince’s. “Tell me if they got it right.” He watches me like a hawk.

I take a bite, swallow, and deliver my verdict. “It’s good,” I say, covering my mouth. I glance at Vince, who has sliced the entire loaf of bread in half long-ways, to make the whole thing into his sandwich. “Your servant boys have done well,” I add, loading my fork again. “Question — why do you have servant boys? And why do I get more cake than Vince? Do you not care as much about my arteries?”

Jason comes to stand at my shoulder. “I fucking love your arteries. Don’t you ever question how much I care about every part of you.” He crowds me and grips my ass. “You like cake, and your body’s burning fat to produce milk. I don’t want you wasting away from my sucking your tits. I want you healthy and satisfied, so enjoy your fucking cake, and we’ll both be happy.”

I glance at Vince, my face burning.

Jason smiles and closes my jaw for me. “And I don’t have servant boys,” he says, shooting an irritated glare at Vince, who quickly blanks his surprised expression and returns his attention to his food prep.

“I have a number of male assistants I pay very well, to keep my life simple, so I can focus on more-important things.” Jason grips my face and gazes into my eyes with an intensity that makes it very clear I’m one of those more-important things. “Okay?”

I nod, just now realizing how flawlessly I’ve been catered to. I’ve been so preoccupied, I haven’t given much thought to his being wealthy enough to spoil me the way he has been. He’s treating me even more like a princess than he did before, because he has the means now. Does he think that’s what I expect?

My mind races back to how strongly he believed the false reasons my mother gave him for my sudden departure. He was convinced I deserved better — the best. That I was special, and he was not. He said that everything he’s done and who he’s become was with me in mind.

He lived his whole life creating perfection for me, but he was perfect all along.

I push the cake away, and he lifts my chin. “What’s wrong?” he asks. “You don’t want any more? You want something else? Tell me. I’ll get it.”

I grip his wrists, as he holds me trapped. “Dingle-hammer.”

Jason frowns and lets me go immediately. “What is it, Princess? What’s that look?” He circles a finger in front of me, and then grips his T-shirt. “It’s hurting my heart.”

I stand and beckon him to lower his face to my level. When he does, I kiss him on the forehead, to make him feel special, the way I feel when he does it to me. “I love you,” I say. “I don’t need cake or fancy things. Just you. You’re perfect all on your own. You always have been. You’re enough. More than enough. You don’t need to do anything to impress me; I’m already impressed by everything you are. You’re my favorite human, and I’m getting your name tattooed on my ass just as soon as I can book an appointment.”

“Glad to hear it,” he says. He picks me up, sets me back on my stool, and slides my cake back in front of me. “But the truth of the matter is, I’m rich now, I like the perks that affords me, and I will fucking spoil you however I please. This is how it will be. Understood?”

I nod, and he kisses me on the forehead and cradles my face in his hands again. “And thank you,” he says with a lot more emotion behind it than a passing appreciation. “For loving me like that. You’re my favorite human too. And while my work has been a wonderful distraction to keep my mind off missing you, you’re here now, and I have enough wealth to never need to work again if I don’t want to. If I want to make taking care of you and our family my full-time gig, I will. Shall we eat cake and talk about finding our boy now?”

I give him a shy smile. “Yes, please.”

He kisses my head again and gestures toward Vince. “What have you found for us so far?”

Vince puts down his sandwich and brushes crumbs from his beard and the pages of the mystery novel that’s appeared out of nowhere in front of him. He slides it into his back pocket, where it probably came from, and nods at his phone. “Ms. Tabitha Warren-Barber-Smyth enjoys making loud and splashy announcements about having her mouthful of a name attached to charitable foundations that wealthy people only attach their name to when they want people to see how delightfully altruistic they are. The threat of some very public shaming should get you any information she has. A scandal may even be worse than death for her.”

I nod. “You’re not wrong. Death is definitely too kind for her.”

Vince slides his finger down the list of names and taps Gerrard Mordant, the guy who was in charge at Septisma’s Home of Whore Redemption in Butt-fuck, Utah, before it was burned to the ground by some brave and spirited ex-resident, whom I will remain in awe of for the rest of my days.

“I have a few threads to pull, before I’ll know for sure,” Vince says, “but apart from this guy, the ones I’ve been able to find seem like average Schmoes or religious fanatics. They’ll likely respond to more general threats of harm. Far as I can tell, this guy’s doing the best for himself, financially. I’ve been able to link his name to a few disreputable organizations, and after checking out his current employment, family, and gambling situation, I think it’s safe to assume he’s no stranger to being paid under the table for his services, and if he obliges the highest bidder, you should be able to bribe information out him, before you — Before he loses his voice.” He smirks.

I glance at Jason, who’s wearing a similar expression.

I reach for his collar and pull him in close. “I see you’ve already been plotting the demise of my enemies.” I slowly wet my lips and stroke his chin. “That’s very sweet.”

Jason’s cheeks flush pink. He pulls away and growls, before feeding me my next mouthful of cake. “Make me blush again, and I’ll be forced to remind you how very not sweet I am, Princess.”

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