 by Margot Scott.jpg)
Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
I could tell McKenzie Sommers was a fighter from the moment we met. Two broken ribs, countless bruises, her bare feet scraped to hell. She’d stared Death in the face and lived to describe him to a sketch artist.
Now that the danger has passed, she’s straining to pick up the pieces. But some terrors linger in the wake of the threat. They take up residence inside you like bad houseguests—a feeling I know all too well as a US Army Vet.
The monsters under McKenzie’s bed tell her she’s tainted, spoiled, broken. But broken never bothered me. I didn’t buy a fixer-upper so I could pay someone else to repair it. With me, she can shatter into a thousand glittering pieces.
Don’t be afraid to fall apart, baby girl. Trust Daddy to put you together again.
Author’s Note: The third book in the Daddy Loves You Series contains spoilers for previous books in the series, and is best enjoyed after reading Stay Baby Stay.
CONTENT WARNING: This title contains sensitive themes and tropes, including Daddy Dom/baby girl kink within a 20-year age-gap relationship, in addition to discussions of violence, PTSD, and sexual assault. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
prologue
Austin
There’s a girl in my bed.
I haven’t had a woman in my bed, asleep or otherwise, in a good long while. But this girl—McKenzie—isn’t here because she wants to be. She’s here because she’s been through hell, and I couldn’t stand the thought of her laying her head anywhere but my pillow.
As for me, I’ll be perfectly content on the couch downstairs. I had hoped to slip into the ensuite bath with clean towels before she went down for the night, but the day’s stresses got the jump on my plans to be a good host.
Standing in the doorway, I watch her chest rise and fall with her breathing. I could leave the towels out here in the hallway, but the path to the bathroom is short and clear. I served four tours in Afghanistan, two in Special Ops; I can sneak a stack of towels past a little girl without waking her up.
I tread lightly into the bedroom, avoiding floorboards I know to be vocal. I watch for movement on the bed and see only stillness. I make it into the bathroom without incident, closing the door before switching on the light. Aside from the spare toothbrush I left out for McKenzie, there isn’t anything in here to indicate that I’ve yielded my space to a woman.
The way her best friend, Holly, tells it, McKenzie had nothing but the clothes on her back when they found her at the abandoned mall. While I’m sure Holly’s more than happy to let her friend use whatever items she packed for herself, I make a mental note to ask the girls for a shopping list in case they end up having to stay a while. As far as I’m concerned, they’re welcome to stay as long as it takes for the police to find the motherfucker who’s hunting them.
The reminder that the girl in my bed was nearly murdered by a serial killer crystallizes my anger like ice. I feel it scrape against my insides like an itch I can’t scratch.
When I saw McKenzie for the first time, she was wrapped in a light-blue blanket on my buddy Jonah’s couch. My gut clenched as I took in her ashen face and tangled blonde hair. She wore the same hollow look I’d seen on the shell-shocked faces of soldiers and fellow vets. She’d been through the ringer, and to an untrained eye, she might’ve appeared defeated.
But when I honed in on her sea-green gaze I recognized a warrior’s resolve. This scrappy little girl, half my age, had stared Death in the face and lived to describe him to a sketch artist.
I couldn’t help but be impressed.
I hang two clean towels on the rack in my bathroom and grab the used ones to throw in the wash. Switching off the light, I ease the door back slowly—
And lock eyes with a wide awake and upright McKenzie.
“Sorry.” I tip my mouth apologetically, stepping fully into the room. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
She rubs her red-rimmed eyes. “I wasn’t sleeping. I can’t sleep without my meds.”
I spy the orange pill bottle on the bedside table, next to an empty glass. I toss the damp towels on the floor and pick up the glass, pretending not to notice the way she tenses at my approach. I’ve caught bits and pieces of McKenzie’s story over the last few days, starting with the detail about her and Holly living in a motel. Thanks to last night’s very friendly and perfectly legal conversation with Russell King at his house, I know all about the sex parties, as well as the killer targeting the girls who attend said sex parties. Thanks to McKenzie, the cops now have a description of the guy.
But that knowledge came at a price.
I fill the glass with water at the bathroom sink and then bring it back out to her. She accepts the glass with a mumbled thanks and pops one of her pills. I wait to make sure everything goes down smoothly, watching the purple bruises on her neck shift as she swallows.
Fury rises inside me. The thought of anyone putting their hands on McKenzie triggers an involuntary primal response. I don’t realize I’m glaring at her throat until she reaches up to cover the bruises.
“Does it look that bad?” she asks.
I blink to reset my features. No point in drawing attention to wounds she’s already well aware of.
“I’ll let you get to sleep,” I mumble, gathering up the damp towels.
“Wait, Austin,” she says, pauses. “I really appreciate you letting Holly and me stay here. But you didn’t have to give me your room.”
My gaze lingers on the folded hem of her pajama pants—on loan from Holly, I assume, who’s a few inches taller. I shrug. I’m no stranger to putting my life on the line to protect the nameless and faceless. Offering McKenzie my bedroom was a no-brainer.