Page 15 of A Daddy for Christmas 2: Kitt

Kitt and I didn’t say anything to each other, just lay there exhausted, our breath mingling. He put his face right onto my chest with his hand around my neck and soon I heard him breathing deeply. Damn it. I closed my eyes too, thinking a little nap might not be so bad—just a small one so I could get a second wind.

I must have slept hard, if just for a little while, and I only woke up when I felt his body sliding away from me. I opened my eyes and raised up on my elbow to ask him where he thought he was going and saw him standing over me holding the bedside landline telephone over his head. Sex and sleep had made me sluggish and stupid. Before I could move out of the way, he brought the phone crashing down on my head.

I didn’t wake up until he was already gone. He’d left the door standing wide open and took not only his own clothes, but mine too, including my goddamn wallet with all my money, though he left my credit cards thrown down on the floor. I had more clothing in my suitcase, of course, so I stumbled to the bathroom, washed the blood off my face, and stared at my reflection in the mirror.

I was angry, numb, furious, and in pain, and I wanted to get my hands on him badly. I was maybe mostly pissed off at myself for letting him play me that way. He’d made a complete fool of me. No, I’d made a fool of own damn self. I looked at myself inthe mirror and vowed not to show him any mercy at all when I found him. And I would find him.

Chapter Four

It was 255 miles from Flagstaff to Las Vegas. I found that out in Flagstaff when I stopped there for gas and to speculate about where Kitt might be heading. The tracking devices in his bag and on his tire were still working like a charm, and he was headed in the direction of Vegas. The GPS was still working in his bag and on the SUV, so the little dumbass had made no headway apparently in figuring out how I had found him in Arizona. He had to be close to running out of money by this time, so I figured he was heading for some other contact or friend who lived in Vegas, hoping to be able to crash with them for a while.

The drive wasn’t all that long, so I managed to wait until he’d stopped again before I stopped to rest too. It was past midnight, by then, so I got a room at a hotel on the interstate, fell into bed, and slept hard till morning. Those little hotel “complimentary breakfasts” were never enough for me, so I found a Denny’s close by and had a good breakfast, with eggs, bacon, grits, hash browns, biscuits, and lots of orange juice and coffee. Feeling energized again, I got back on the road, heading toward his location. The devices showed he hadn’t moved in the last ten hours, so maybe he’d finally landed somewhere.

I got out my laptop and spent some time looking through the information his brother Jazz had given me and I found a name. Jazz had mentioned another name as a high probability of someone Kitt might run to if he’d already left Albuquerque. It was his best friend from high school, a boy named Jack Winslow, and that just happened to be the same boy he’d been caught with at the BDSM club in Atlanta. The incident that had sent his father over the edge. The young man had moved shortly afterthat, too, all the way to Las Vegas. His parents had kicked him out after what happened, and Las Vegas was where Winslow had wound up.

I remember thinking it was odd that he had no employment and was living with some guy there, who was quite a bit older. Could it be a Dom? I decided I needed to find out just exactly what the investigator Kitt’s father hired had found in that BDSM club when he’d gone looking.

I made it to Vegas by early that afternoon and rode by Kitt’s location. It was a set of modest apartments nowhere near the strip, but closer to the UNLV. The rental car was parked in the lot, so I pulled into a parking place out front to stake it out. After a few hours, a red Jeep Wrangler pulled up outside and two people got out—a young guy around Kitt’s age and an older man, who was probably in his forties. They were holding hands as they went up to an apartment and let themselves in with a key. I sat there for another three hours, but no one came in or out. It was fairly late by then, so I went to find a hotel room to crash for the night.

I found one not too far away and checked in. The next morning, after a hot shower and a good night’s sleep, I was back outside the apartment. It was the next day after that, though, before I got my first glimpse of Kitt. All three of them—Kitt, his friend and the forty-something guy—came out of the apartment around eight in the evening and got in the Jeep. Kitt was wearing skintight jeans and a leather vest, with that same denim jacket over it. I followed them to a club called The Red Door and waited until they all went inside.

I followed them in, paid the fee and began to look around. It was a typical club, like I’d been in before—dim lighting, the smell of sex and sweat everywhere and people walking around wearing nothing or next to nothing. This was Vegas after all.

But though I looked in the main room, spent some time in the dungeon room and even went by some of the smaller, specialty rooms, there was no sign of any of them anywhere. I was beginning to wonder if they’d seen me and had ducked out another entrance, when I saw some activity outside a door tucked behind the bar and down a long corridor. It wasn’t too close to the bar—in fact, it was almost in its own separate area, but I saw people coming and going from it a lot. None of them were dressed in fetish wear, which struck me as a bit odd. I headed toward the door, but I was stopped by one of the club employees. At least I thought he was an employee. He was wearing a shirt with the club name and logo.

“Good evening, Sir. Can I help you?”

“I’d like to go inside and look around.”

“I see, Sir. You are aware that this is the Littles Room, aren’t you? Most of them are accompanied, and you’re welcome to observe, but you shouldn’t approach any of them.”

I think I raised my eyebrows—thankfully, it was pretty low lighting, and I don’t think the bouncer noticed my slight flinch. A Littles Room—that could very well be why Kitt’s father had freaked out when he got the report from his detective. It wasn’t much of a stretch to see Kitt as a Little either. He was a brat, for sure. And a submissive—it wasn’t that much of a stretch.

“Yes, I know,” I replied. “I’m here to observe. I won’t approach any of them. I imagine their uh…Daddies wouldn’t like that too much.”

“No, not at all.” He checked my ID again and finally gave me a stiff smile. “Enjoy yourself, Sir.”

I opened the door and stepped inside. There were only about fifteen or sixteen people inside the room, which had a big screen television, with a wide carpet in front of it. Some men or boys were sitting on the rug, dressed in various outfits, like footed pajamas, clutching teddy bears and sucking on pacifiers.Most were watching cartoons, but some were on the rug, playing quietly with children’s toys. At the back of the room were several sofas and big easy chairs, with men sitting there quietly watching their boys. They were the Daddy Doms, or just Daddies.

I saw Kitt right away. He was with his friend at a small table, working with Legos. They were building something that looked like a big robot and both were chatting and smiling. Kitt was dressed in jeans and a brightly colored t-shirt. He wore his bracelets—even more of them now—and a beaded necklace close around his throat.

He saw me at about the same time I noticed him. He gave a huge gasp, jumped to his feet and looked around for a place to run. I strolled over and stood looking down at him.

“Hello Kitt. Well, look at you—here you are, without a single telephone to bash my brains out with. Poor baby. What are you going to do?” His eyes got comically round, and a tiny sprig of pity tried to struggle up out of my heart to reach the light.

I stepped on it and mashed it flat. I didn’t feel sorry for him in the least. He had brought all this on himself. I grabbed his wrist and held onto him tightly before he could try to run.

Before he could move, however, I heard somebody say, “Hey! What are you doing? Let go of him!” right behind me.

I turned and waited, holding a sullen looking Kitt by his wrist as he tried to twist away. I didn’t have long to wait. A big, beefy guy came rushing over to us and headed straight for me. A few of the other “Daddies” were right behind him. I put up a hand to slow their roll, but the guy in front didn’t look as if he were in the mood to listen. Shoving Kitt behind me, but still holding onto him, I got ready for the newcomer to join our little drama, and when the guy strode belligerently up to me, I held up the paperwork from my pocket and held it in front of his nose.

“I’m a recovery officer from the state of Georgia, where this man lives, and I’ve come after him,” I told him, and he gave me a blank, disbelieving stare.

I pulled Kitt closer, took him by the arm, and started out the door. We didn’t make it far before the forties looking guy, along with his companion, Kitt’s friend, the one he’d been playing Legos with, came boiling across the floor at me.

“Hold up,” I told them. “I’m a bounty hunter. I have the right by law to take this man into my custody. Look at the paperwork.”

“What are the charges?”

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