Page 66 of Submitting to Daddy
Madison props her chin on my chest and flashes him a grin. “We could always find a nice girl for you at the club. Jasmine is sweet. Or maybe a not-so-nice girl, if that’s more your style.”
“Hard pass,” Nik mutters, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and his keys from the counter. “I’m going out.”
I arch a brow. “Now?”
“Yeah. Bar down the street. I’ll find my own girl, thanks. Preferably one with her own apartment so I can fuck her in private.”
“You worried we’ll all hear you only lasting three minutes?” Cillian teases.
“Fuck you.”
“I love you, too, Nik.” I glance down at Madison and raise a brow. “A not-so-nice girl at the club?”
She smiles innocently. “What? He’s not upset. He’s lonely.”
She’s probably not wrong… She usually isn’t.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. I lift it and swipe the screen.
UNKNOWN
I know what you did.
The cryptic words catch my attention, and my pulse kicks up a beat.
I sit up straighter, gently easing Madison onto the cushions. She blinks, surprised. “What?”
“Nothing, firecracker. Just gimme a second.” I stand, tightening my grip on the phone. She watches me with those sharp, too-perceptive eyes, pulling her legs up and tucking the blanket around herself.
I type a reply.
Who is this?
The response is almost immediate.
You’ll find out soon enough.
You have a debt that needs to be paid.
A cold thread winds its way down my spine.
“Nik!” I bark as he’s walking out the door, the edge in my voice sharp enough to make Madison sit upright.
Footsteps thunder from the foyer, and Nik reappears. “What?”
“Read it.” I hold the phone out.
His eyes scan the screen. “What the hell…?”
I nod toward the dining area. “We need to call Enzo. And Eavan.Now.”
Less than thirty minutes later, the five of us are sitting around the kitchen island, the overhead lights casting stark shadows across the granite from the Chinese takeout containers Enzo and Eavan grabbed when we interrupted their late dinner.
I set the phone down between us all. “Messages came from an unlisted number. It’s probably a burner. Could be the FBI fucking with us…” I trail off.
Enzo finishes for me. “No. It feels personal.”
“Debt. That’s deliberate wording.” Madison’s gaze hasn’t left the screen. “It’s not the FBI.”
