Page 9 of Grim Justice

“Not fair. I have the worst luck in the world,” I joked.

“Aw, baby. I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Blow job?” I asked with hope.

“Yeah. I’ll swallow every drop, too.”

Jesus. Christ. Blood traveled south and swelled my cock. “I can’t go see my son until you make me think of something else.”

She bit her lip. “Rael’s naked ass?”

Ugh. That did it. Any hope of an erection faded.

“We’re good now,” I informed her as I gagged.

“I figured.”

“Mama! Daddy! I want up!”

Creed wasn’t waiting any longer.

Being the president had its perks, including having most of this floor and the apartment all our own. Creed slept in the next room, and the baby monitor didn’t hesitate to announce his happy voice as he called out.

“Daddy! Grrrr.”

“He just growled at me,” I laughed, reaching for Trish’s hand and leading her to Creed’s room. I slowly pushed the door open, grinning at my boy as he bounced on his toddler bed. With his right arm, he clutched a stuffed brown bear to his chest. Cuddles.

The bear had a history. Trish gave him to me the day we met.

Her parents had struck my motorcycle when I passed out on the road, disoriented from a clandestine meeting with Lucifer Morningstar. A newly formed Reaper, I didn’t have a clue how my life changed yet. She was the first person I saw after my ability as an Aurabarer awakened.

I was totally out of it when she approached. Didn’t remember shit until I woke up with her standing over me, lying on the ground in the middle of the highway as a little girl with blonde curls showed kindness to a bloody, injured young man.

Now, all these years later, Creed slept with the bear and loved it. Never went anywhere without the toy either. He got pissed when we forgot it. The kid had my temper.

As we approached, I sniffed the air, catching the worst smell known to humankind. Trish nearly collided with me. My gaze swept over my son, landing on his free hand that was now trying to jam down the back of his diaper.

“Hu-ahh,” I choked, turning my head.

“Dex,” Trish admonished.

“I can’t,” I managed to reply, gagging a second time. “I’m gonna puke, babe.”

“Daddy!” Creed shouted. “Poo!”

Yeah. Poo. Nasty as fuck. No one ever prepared you for the fact that your sweet little child actually shit like a man at two years old before he could potty train. Christ.

“Hu-ahh,” I hacked, tasting bile.

Trish smacked my arm. “Stop.”

“Babe, it’s not possible.” I turned my head, refusing to look at my son.

“I need you to pick him up and take him to the bathroom,” she announced as she walked toward Creed, checking him over for the extent of the damage. “It’s a bad blowout.”

Blowout. Son. Two words that I never wanted to associate together ever again.

I sucked in air, gaining too much of Creed’s odor at the same time, and slapped a hand against the nearest wall. “Can’t do it, babe.”

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