Stabby Boy (Deadly Daddies Book 2), page 1
STABBY BOY
MM MAFIA DADDY ROMANCE
ASTER RAE
CONTENTS
Publisher’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Epilogue
FREE GIFT
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Also by Aster Rae
About the Author
Copyright © 2022 by Aster Rae
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names and characters have been made up, and the story came from the authors imagination. Any resemblance to real life events, people, actors, movies, books, or other forms of entertainment is pure coincidence.
Cover design: Aster Rae
All characters are 18+. Not for readers under 18 or those uncomfortable with adult content.
Created with Vellum
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This book contains dark content including, but not limited to, murder, gratuitous violence, a bad relationship with food, and human trafficking. It’s a slower burn that heats up halfway. This book is a darker spin-off of my Italian Protectors series. All acts between the two main characters are consensual.
There’s a free prequel novella that accompanies this story titled Ollie’s Escape. It’s not required to read before the events of this book, however, it paints eighteen-year-old Ollie’s actions toward his abusers in a more understanding light.
You can grab Ollie’s Escape free: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/qmkdpwxca6
1
SPARROW
Friday, July 8th
I'm sliding a fresh clip in my Glock when I see the puppy.
He’s curled up underneath a cardboard box. Wounds and scratch marks cover his nose. His brown fur and wide eyes tell me he’s a pit bull, one some asshole abandoned in this alley.
No doubt he’s a fighting victim.
The sad look in his eyes tells me he’s seen more than a dog should ever see.
I move in a flash. Pulling my half-eaten ham sandwich from my backpack, I drop to my knees and break off a piece.
"Here, puppy."
I wave the food in front of him, praying he smells the ham and cheese. It's a sandwich I picked up from a local bodega, one that I've frequented ever since I moved to the Upper East Side last month. My friends Ollie, Finn, and I used to live in a grimy one-bedroom apartment we rented from a creep on Craigslist, but everything changed when Ollie started a relationship with his former best friend’s Dad, Grant. He moved Ollie into his suburban estate and put Finn and me up in a much nicer place.
Why the hell won't this puppy move?
I tap the ground. "You won't get this treat unless you come out. I have shit to do."
The dog’s ears perk up at the word treat, but he still doesn't move from under his box. His tail wags, but my sandwich isn’t enough to convince him to leave his safe abode.
Fighting back a groan, I toss him a slice of ham. I'll employ the technique grocery store salespeople have used for decades: free samples. My sandwich isn't the best in Manhattan and there are far better options in Brooklyn—such as the Jewish bodegas that serve chicken schnitzel which I could kill for—but it should be enough to sway a dog. Hell, two bites were enough to satisfy me this afternoon, and I was hungry as hell.
The dog gobbles down the ham. He lets out a woof as he drags his eyes up to me.
I pat the ground. "There's more where that came from. But I refuse to give you more unless you come with me."
The dog reluctantly crawls out from his cardboard box. He sniffs my hand, then licks it.
I rub his belly. There's a scar next to his hind legs, one that gashes his fur. He whimpers when I touch it and instinctively backs away from me.
Splitting what remains of my sandwich in two, I feed him the half I won't eat. "Here, boy." I scratch behind his ears and tug him away from the dumpster. "You were smart to trust me. I'm gonna help you get healthy."
I heave the puppy into my arms and carry him out of the alley. I don't care if he gets me dirty or gives me fleas. I can bathe him when I return to my apartment, buy him a collar and leash, and nurse him back to health.
Shit, with the money Grant wired us, I can even afford to send him to a veterinarian. He's likely been on the streets for far too long, which means he needs a checkup.
I wonder if he’s had his shots. The motherfuckers who abandoned him likely didn't even give him those.
I plant a kiss on his head. "Your new name is Burrito. That's what I'm preparing for dinner tonight, so you'll just have to live with it."
My phone buzzes.
Ollie: Hey bitch
Ollie is my best friend. We escaped a sex trafficking warehouse together earlier this year. Our captors kept us in metal cages and forced us to have sex with grown men multiple times a day. Ollie was a protector figure to me who ensured I didn't let my dark circumstances overwhelm me.
What’s not a match made in heaven is his former best friend, Miles, and his mother, Linda—who tried to sell him to his captors. He still needs to figure out what the fuck to do with them.
Me: What's up, bitch
Ollie: You threw out Gordon's finger I was storing in your freezer
Me: You're welcome
Ollie: I was keeping that as a prize after Grant made me bury his hand
Me: Your war spoils are no longer welcome in our home
Ollie: I already told you I was moving it to Grant’s house—you didn't need to store it for me much longer
Me: I can't believe Grant allowed you to keep it
Ollie: My psychopathy is rubbing off on him
Me: It's cute you think you need to tell me that
Ollie decides to quit texting and FaceTime me.
"You look rough," he drawls, looking me up and down.
I shoot him a death glare. "I'm on a humanitarian mission to rescue abandoned dogs in New York City. Forgive me for not wearing my best clothes."
Ollie cocks an eyebrow at me. "You're an animal rescuer now?"
I hold Burrito up so my friend can see. "This is Burrito. He's a pit bull puppy I found abandoned near a dumpster that I'm adopting."
"Does he have an owner?" Ollie asks. "You can't just steal a puppy. Someone will sue you."
"I said he was abandoned," I snap. "What part of that don't you understand?"
Ollie shakes his head in disappointment. "Someone's going to get pissed at you someday. You can't take things that aren't yours."
"You took Gordon's hand." My astute observation is nothing short of genius. "That didn't belong to you."
"Gordon was a human trafficker who had it coming."
"Well, Burrito’s going to help us kill the Diavolo brothers." The Diavolos are the sadistic crime family we're hunting. Their names are Michael, Anton, and Zaire, the men who ran the underground Mafia sex trafficking ring that abducted us. There was originally a fourth brother, Seth, but he died when our friend Callum's Daddy shot him in their Yonkers warehouse. "Now will you let me keep him?"
Ollie rolls his eyes. "Fine. But you need to introduce me to him tonight."
This gets my attention. "Why tonight?"
"My Daddy and his friends are throwing an exclusive party at the Little Bunny Club. They want you and Finn to come."
The Little Bunny Club is a high-end kink club for billionaires, tech titans, and Wall Street hedge fund managers. Ollie’s friends Arlo, Rusty, and Callum's Italian Mafia Daddies own it. They pride themselves on secrecy and they never reveal their clients. Ollie and Grant met there before they got together, although they didn't realize they were getting each other off. That was due to the masks they wore when they hooked up.
I've never had an excuse to go.
"I'm not sure a kink club is the best place for Burrito." I scratch behind Burrito’s ears yet again. "The noise might overstimulate him."
"Grant’s work partner trained dogs when he used to lead wilderness explorations. He can help Burrito."
“Is he hot?”
“Come tonight and see for yourself.”
&
Or at least I think he appreciated it. When I tugged Gordon's finger out of the trashcan to place it back in the freezer for Ollie, Burrito tried to eat it. And then he nipped my ankles.
Something tells me he’ll be very useful when I hunt down the Diavolos.
"Sparrow." Ollie’s voice cuts through the night air. "I'm glad you made it."
Ollie rushes out of the doorway and buries me in a hug. I let out a groan and push him off, nearly toppling on my ass.
"You rammed into me like a linebacker." I steady myself so I don't fall into the hydrangea bushes lining the club’s cobblestone sidewalk. "If you hugged me any harder, I'd break like a bone."
A sheepish look forms on Ollie’s face. "Grant makes me buttermilk pancakes every morning. Our captors put us on a starvation diet so he wants to see me grow big and strong."
I take a moment to regard my friend. With his floppy brown hair, bright blue eyes, and thin, lanky limbs, he's quite a catch. The kitty outfit he wears adds another few points of attractiveness to the scale, putting him in a league with models.
I grimace as I glance at my awkward frame and slight belly. Unlike Ollie, I'm not a natural stick. Before my captors abducted me, I was overweight. I've eaten everything I can get my hands on since breaking free and the calories go straight to my gut.
"This is Burrito." Heaving my new puppy into my arms, I bring him close to Ollie. "Say hi."
"This way, Burrito." Ollie motions for me and Burrito to follow him. "We'll introduce you to the man who’ll clean you up."
I snap the leash I picked out at the pet store around Burrito's rhinestone collar. Pink skulls and crossbones sweep across the leather, matching his fabulous personality. I want my puppy to be deadly. After the shit I've been through, I don't associate with wimps.
If he snuggles with me while I watch animated movies, that's fine, but he needs to eat my enemies when the time calls for it.
The smell of vanilla smacks into my nose the instant Ollie leads me and Burrito into the Little Bunny Club. Men in leather grind against younger men as loud music pulses from hidden speakers. Eight men rut in a violent threesome, plowing each other's asses across the room next to a stripper cage. Ollie takes me to the basement where a man in a diaper suspends a silver fox in a mask over the club floor, then swats him with a slotted paddle. The man rips his dick out of the diaper, then rams it into his partner’s hole. The attendees surrounding the display jerk their cocks as they watch, moaning and kissing each other at the sight of the ritual.
"How do you like it?" Ollie waggles his eyebrows.
"It's not bad." I gesture to my dick. "It turns me on."
Ollie points to a room tucked down the hallway. "You’ll like the Little playroom even more. They have an adult-sized bunny mat, blocks, stuffies, and as many picture books as you can read."
"Really?"
"Yes. There are even Daddies who’ll play with you. Or other Littles, if you prefer."
I envision myself playing with Littles in the playroom. I can't say why, but something about this agrees with me.
I discovered I was a Little in the warehouse. Of course, I didn't know the name for it then, mostly because our captors never allowed us to discuss kink. Every time my clients gave me a new stuffy, I cared for it like it was my own baby. My sparrow, my favorite stuffy, ruled the roost and helped me through many terrible nights. If I didn't have him, I don't know what I would've done.
Our captors didn't allow us to keep stuffed animals most of the time, but I snuck mine in the back of my cage. I hit it under my food bowl, keeping it in the darkness, and only took it out when the basement lights were off.
Ollie grabs my arm. "This way to the back."
I check out Ollie's kitty outfit as he walks in front of me. Ugh, he's a perfect eighteen-year-old boy. Slim, slender, with a tiny little butt I bet his Daddy loves to cuddle. I stick my palm on my tummy, and fight off the insecurities welling up inside me.
Why did I eat so much when I escaped the warehouse?
If you could get yourself under control, you could find a Daddy like Ollie. Your belly wouldn't be so damn pudgy.
Ollie's eyes light up when he spots the man at the end of the hallway. "Daddy."
Grant wraps his arms around his baby boy and presses him against the wall. "My little psycho." He lets out a groan as he rams his lips on Ollie's, kissing him with passion. "Have you killed any men since I last took my eyes off you?"
Ollie giggles, then shakes his head. "No, Daddy. I behaved myself so you'd be proud."
I stare at Grant… and lose my ability to think. Holy. Fucking. Shit. I can see why Ollie was crazy about him in the warehouse. The most perfect silver foxes in GQ can't compare to him.
Ollie turns to face me. "Sparrow, meet Grant."
I approach my friend and his Daddy and extend my hand. "It's nice to meet you."
Grant narrows his eyes. "Did you say… Sparrow?"
"It's a nickname, Daddy." Ollie playfully swats Grant’s chest. "We call him Sparrow because of his sparrow stuffy."
Grant's jaw tumbles to the ground. "Get over here, Jagger."
A man in the corner rises to his feet. "What do you want?"
Grant places his hand on the small of my back. "This is Jagger, Sparrow. I believe you two know each other."
Everything in me grinds to a halt. I stare at the man in the corner, emotion rocketing over me. He has thick, pronounced muscles, a sexy Dad bod belly, and a chiseled jaw that could cut steel. His dark eyes slice into me like they used to do when I played with his nephew as a boy.
I recognize him at once.
My former Wilderness Explorer troop leader.
My best friend Chase’s openly gay uncle.
The man who took me on camping trips up north and taught me to set up a tent and fish and survive in nature.
The only reason I survived in the fucking warehouse.
I drop Burrito's leash. "Jagger?"
2
JAGGER
I’m staring into my past.
There's no other way to describe it.
One look at the gorgeous black-haired boy standing next to my work partner, Grant, eliminates the previous seven years and takes me back to the man I used to be.
Before Sparrow disappeared.
Before the FBI, NYPD, and every other fucking alphabet agency wrote him off as a lost cause.
I knew I was right to ignore them.
My gut told me Sparrow was still out there, alive, breathing, waiting to be found.
Waiting for someone to penetrate the underworld and discover exactly what happened.
I take another look at the sweet angel in front of me… and fight off the rage barreling through my being. Who the fuck took him? I questioned everyone—pimps. Drug dealers. Human traffickers with connections to Mexican cartels.
I even downloaded a list of registered sex offenders in Manhattan and paid visits to each of their fucking homes. I beat the violent ones senseless if they didn't give up information about Sparrow.
My efforts were futile. No matter who I spoke to, they all told me the same thing: we don't know him. We've never heard of this boy before.
