Page 166 of Stabby Little

I was… free.

No longer stuck in a cage, surrounded by rats and mice.

No longer forced to fuck evil men who got off on abusing me.

No one could hurt me.

Grant ended the day by helping me bury Gordan and Xavier's hands next to an elm tree where no curious tourist will ever find them. Then he allowed me to man his car for a few miles on a dirt road. He said that in addition to signing me up for classes to finish my GED, he was enrolling me in driver's ed and that he was taking off every afternoon to help me practice. I didn't see it coming. As I kissed Grant behind the wheel of his BMW, I realized it was a perfect day.

Grant also enrolled me in therapy to speak about my problems. At first, I was reluctant to go. I've kept everything bottled up for so long and the last thing I needed was some inexperienced psychologist lecturing me about my coping mechanisms.

Imagine my surprise when Grant found a psychologist who was a sex trafficking survivor like me. She's a fucking badass—she served a ten-year prison sentence in Rikers Island for killing her abuser before the previous mayor commuted her sentence. She promised to never share anything I tell her in confidence, and she's kept her word.

Grant holds my hand while I speak to her, letting me know it's okay to trust her. To take a risk. To rely on someone beside myself. Every time I open up, the pain I carry within me dissipates a bit more. Every time my therapist congratulates me on making progress, Daddy plants a kiss on my temple and says he's proud of me.

But thebestdays? Those are when we head to the Little Bunny Club's playroom to play with stuffies. Or blocks. Or diamond painting. Or kitty puzzles. Or rattles that I go crazy over.

My favorite rattle is one that's black with two fire eyes that remind me of a dragon. Grant sometimes lays me on my back and plants loud raspberries on my tummy, and I reward him with a kiss. We reenact all my "firsts" in the playroom—my first word, my first crawl, my first step, my first time hugging Daddy. All the things my own parents never did for me because they didn't give a shit about me.

Grant even took me to see my parents. Guess what. They didn't care that I was still alive. My father raged and said I should've come to him months ago, before I latched onto Grant. He said Daddy took advantage of me when I was vulnerable.

Unlike my father, Grant never gave up on me. He searched for me until the end.

He also asked me to help return Kobe Bailey to his Columbia dorm. He was protecting him from the Diavolos, but he figured they wouldn't touch him again after Michael fled from the Ferraris and Antonovs. I handed Kobe his stolen ID and apologized profusely for putting him in danger. Daddy paid him one-hundred-thousand dollars so he wouldn't sue us—and sponsored his hair transplant surgery. Now, Kobe won't need to worry about wearing hats anymore to cover his bald spot. He'll have a thick, luscious head of hair.

I hold up my ducky. "I don't like this one, Daddy. It's too yellow."

Grant kneads my neck muscles, drawing stress from my body. "I'll ask Nikolai for a pitch-black duck. Little Land needs demon ducks for you to play with."

Sparrow swims over to me. "You were right, Ollie. All these years, Finn and I thought you were exaggerating Grant's qualities. I'll be the first to admit I was wrong. He really is a perfect Daddy."

I can't help but chuckle. "You'll find your dream Daddy, too. Keep searching. He's out there somewhere."

Sparrow's eyes drop to the bubbles as he bites his lower lip, then scoots back to Finn. Instantly I know what flashed through his mind.

Jagger. His former Wilderness Explorer leader. That's the man he desires. His best friend's uncle. If he can't have him, he doesn't want anyone.

Grant thumbs an especially sore part of my neck. "Go comfort your friend, kitty. He's down in the dumps because he doesn't have a Daddy."

"Ouch!" I scoot away from Grant. "You hurt my neck, Daddy. Be careful."

"It's because you're stressed," Grant quips. He doesn't even bother to lie to me. "If you played with your friends more, you wouldn't be so tight."

I groan and stick out my tongue. "You're too blunt. Good Daddies always lie to their boys when they know they can't handle the truth. We're fragile AF."

"I know you didn't just say AF in a sentence. You're not texting."

"What's wrong with AF?" I gather bubbles in my hands and give myself a Santa beard. "Christian and his friends say it all the time."

Grant shakes his head. "Those boys' attitudes are rubbing off on you. I knew I should've thought twice about letting you play with them."

I smirk. Daddy walked right into my trap.

"Then you should've let me play by myself," I shoot back sagely. "I was perfectly content mapping out my plan to murder the Diavolos alone. I didn't have to come over here."

It happens before I can process it.

"Littles!" a voice shouts. "Attention, please!"

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