by Smith, Maren
Ommin nodded. He started to walk away, then thought about it. What the hell. He swatted Jim too.
“But I saved the day!” Jim whined, bouncing once.
Ommin swatted him again, harder.
That stopped the whining. It stopped the bouncing too.
“That’s better.” Daddy discipline dispensed, he went back out to get the last two boxes.
All the things he owned in the world had barely filled half the U-Haul and had taken no more than four hours to pack once he’d made the decision. It was a decision that hadn’t been at all hard to make from Britney’s hospital bedside with the doctor standing over her, telling her how lucky she was to only have a bump on the head and a few very minor second-degree burns.
“He has a very hard hand,” Ommin heard Jim saying as he made the last trip into the house.
“You have no idea,” Britney commiserated.
“No talking in the corner,” Ommin reminded them both, and made his way to the kitchen to make sandwiches for lunch. Because that was what Daddies did when they had Littles.
Daddy Sharks did it too. They made sandwiches, planned trips to the comic book store on weekends, and even grudgingly agreed to make a stop at the fabric store, but only because it was Britney who’d asked. He was pretty sure she was in league with Jim on that one.
It would be a cold day in hell before he put on a super suit, especially if it was made of spandex.
Still, he could make some concessions. Later today, in fact, he would be making a trip to Walmart for either a bucket or a kiddie pool. He wasn’t sure which Jim might prefer to sleep in. After that, they would visit the local Build-A-Bear where already TV advertisements declared they were pulling out last summer’s backstock of shark stuffies in Superman capes.
He wasn’t going to wear a cape, either, but he was going to buy a shark for Britney. So she could have a Daddy Shark to hug while he was out—as Jim put it—fighting crime.
Like Batman, apparently. Only with a far less impressive utility belt. Mostly because he didn’t have one.
Give Jim time on that one.
It didn’t matter. Life was good.
Because, of course it was.
THE END
If you liked this story and would like to read more from Maren Smith, please check out her Amazon page here.
Daddy’s Justice
by
RJ Gray
About RJ Gray
RJ Gray romanticizes life with a slightly kinky mind. She resides in Virginia with her husband, two young sons and naughty beagle lab puppy. Her hobbies include whipping up delicious meals, capturing life’s beauty with her camera and spending time in the strong arms of her husband of fifteen years, Bomb Dom.
RJ brings her over two decades of experience in BDSM and domestic discipline to the page, writing books with dominant alpha males and feisty, stubborn females. RJ holds college degrees in both social work and criminology, topics that can often be found in her novels. Having spent the past fifteen years married to a military bomb technician, RJ has a passion for military and veteran causes.
You can find out more about RJ Gray by joining her on Facebook. Feel free to contact her at [email protected]
Copyright © 2019 by RJ Gray
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including, but not limited to, photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, locales, and events are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, and events are purely coincidental.
Edited by: Maggie Ryan
Prologue
Forseti
The dark forces had ascended on Midgard, and Odin’s Operators had been given their assignments. My mission was to take my team and track down and protect the valkyrie demigod, Morrigan. Thirty years before, Odin had encouraged his strongest valkyries to procreate with those of his favorite gods. The offspring would be sent down to Midgard as defenders, the first line of defense ahead of the next great war. This war would not be another world war where they fought among themselves, but instead it would be between humankind and the dark forces from outside of their world, an enemy they had never battled and had no chance of winning against. Loki had set his sights on taking over and ruling Midgard. In preparation for the battle to come, Odin had sprinkled these warrior women among all the nations on Midgard, or as the humans called their planet, Earth.
Unfortunately, Loki had overheard some of the valkyries discussing their offspring. The women had kept track of their children and took pride in their accomplishments. They often watched together from Asgard and occasionally, against Odin’s express orders, would interfere in their lives. Loki, now knowing Odin’s plan, gathered a group of dark elves to find and eliminate each of these women, often joining them for the murder. As none of these women knew who they were or what they were capable of, they had no chance. Loki had turned it into a game, a hunt. He had put a bounty on each woman’s head. As the list dwindled, the price raised, until there was only one left. Odin had finally had enough and stepped in, sending my team to save her before Loki and the dark elves could kill her.
It was my job to protect her, no matter what the cost. We had failed the rest of them. With her, the rules had changed. We were to keep her alive. To accomplish this mission, we would take her to my vacation home here on Earth. That was the part of the plan I didn’t like. Leaving them here on Midgard hadn’t worked out too well. I had argued for all of them to be brought home to Asgard, where it would be nearly impossible for Loki to get to them, but I was overruled. Granddad Odin insisted we protect her on Earth, where she would be needed later. My task went further than simply keeping her alive. I would have to introduce her to her powers, so that she might be ready when the threat came knocking. I had to drop down, unannounced, kidnap her, convince her she was a demigod and help her find her inner powers.
Sure, no problem. I’d had tougher missions before this. I intended to have it all done and wrapped up in just a few short days. My team summoned, we were headed to Midgard to come to her rescue.
I had no intention of falling in love with her. Nowhere in the plan was there room for it. Yet, here we are. Once she had called me Daddy, everything changed.
Chapter 1
Morrigan
I needed a drink. My back hurt from bending at the odd angle I was in, trying to get a better view of the screen. DNA took entirely too long to process. I liked lab days. The swirling and clicking sounds surrounding me were normally soothing. It was like coming home. My workplace changed frequently as a forensic science technician, or as my nephew liked to say, “My aunt is a CSI superhero!” Half of the time, I was on-call. On my on-call, or field days, I was on the scene of many gruesome crimes. Crime scenes are chaotic, messy and exciting. The other half of my work week usually consisted of dividing my time between paperwork, testimonies and the lab. My office, while comfortable, was my least favorite place to be. The piles upon piles of paperwork were daunting and monotonous.
My lab, however, was the best of all three worlds. There was something incredibly satisfying about lifting a fingerprint, running a strand of hair or processing saliva, and coming out with a definite suspect. Bringing justice to victims was something I truly loved to do. But, this case… this damned case… I had been working on it for months, spinning my wheels and getting nowhere. Glaring at the whirling machine, I willed it to find a match.
I wanted to go to the Irish Pub down the road and order a Malibu and Sprite. It was way too early in the day for that, but I had been craving a S’mores Frappuccino from Starbucks for weeks now, ever since I had seen the advertisement on TV for the chocolatey, marshmallowy, coffee drink from heaven. The machine in front of me swirled and whirled, swirled and whirled. A red light. No DNA results. Damn it. I ins
erted the next piece of evidence and stood, stretching. Time for that drink. And a break.
I left the lab and went to my locker. Punching in the numbers, I grabbed out my phone and walked outside into the bright sunshine. There was a Starbucks right around the corner from my lab, and I got there quickly. After standing in line for what felt like forever, I finally had my Frappuccino in hand. Scanning the park for an empty bench, with the least amount of people nearby, I spotted the perfect spot under a large shade tree with no one, not a single soul, nearby. Score!
Sitting down, I smoothed my skirt over my legs. Today was Friday which meant that for a five-dollar donation to the Fallen Officers’ Family Fund I could wear something other than my normal work attire of khaki pants and black polo with my department logo on it. Forcing myself to clear my mind of all things work, I took a deep, cleansing breath and slipped into my civilian self. For my own sanity, I had two very distinctive personalities. My thirty-year-old, serious, professional side, in which I had to put on my work hat, contrasted mightily with my giddy, relaxed, almost childlike side, who loved the simpler things in life. I summoned the latter and sighed happily, slurping away at my dessert in a cup. It was finally summer. The drink confirmed it, or maybe it was the eighty-five-degree, full-sun day and the sundress I was wearing. Either way, it was finally warm enough to spend more time in nature. I dipped my finger into the whipped cream and popped it into my mouth, smiling. Nothing could ruin this moment. The warm breeze coming off of Lake Michigan was caressing my bare legs. The Chicago skyline behind me and the sweet drink in my hand changed my mood for the better.
This case had been driving me crazy. We were chasing an international serial killer. A monster who was being incredibly careful. Too careful. We hadn’t found a single shred of physical evidence at any of the crime scenes. No witnesses, nothing. It was maddening. No one was this careful. The murders themselves were bizarre.
The eleven victims, all women, had no connection to one another. The only similarity was that they all fit a very specific physical profile. Each was just under six-foot-tall, had hair so blonde it was white and piercing blue eyes. Their eyes seemed to contain more pigment than the average human’s, making them an incredible shade of blue.
What’s more, the killer had committed murder across the globe. It was as if he, or she, was trying to eliminate all the women on the planet who fit that profile. The most unnerving piece of this puzzle was that I fit into the physical profile. It was at the first murder scene that my coworker, a homicide detective, pointed out the similarities between the victim and me, laughing nervously at his discovery.
After the third murder, the FBI Agent assigned to the case, taking a look at the photos of the victims lining his board, looked at me and made me promise to keep a gun on me at all times. At the time, I laughed at his statement, but now, despite the fact that I had been well-trained in martial arts, I was starting to get a little nervous. I work out regularly, box for fun and study Krav Maga. I could defend myself better without a weapon. I was authorized to carry one and on crime scene days, I did. Days like today, when I would be at the lab, I disobeyed orders and relaxed my guard.
I wasn’t in a hurry to get back to the lab, and I knew the results would take a while. Pulling my phone from my purse, I opened my reading app, and started reading a chapter from my 2:00 a.m. Amazon impulse buy.
Ambien and I really need to have a talk about our relationship; he wasn’t holding up his end of the bargain.
My favorite authors had a new release and I couldn’t wait to dig deep into the story line. Alpha males and feisty females butting heads. My favorite kind of read. He would put her over his knee for a spanking and then they would have mind-blowing, orgasm-inducing sex. I found myself wishing for the hundredth time that the men in these books were real. But, alas, they were nothing but fictional characters, made up by women like me. A woman who longed for a dominant man to sweep her off her feet, take her in hand for her naughtiness, and spoil her rotten.
My phone ringing pulled me, begrudgingly, from the story. “You plan on coming back to work today?” Monica asked. I glanced down at my watch; my thirty-minute break had turned into two hours!
“Shit!”
“Is it a good book, at least?” Monica laughed. It wasn’t the first time I had gotten distracted by reading and lost track of time lusting after sexy, dominant Daddy-type book boyfriends. I needed to make a new rule for myself: no reading during work hours.
“That it is. I’ll be right back.” Hanging up the phone, I tucked it into my back pocket and sighed. I wished I could sit on the bench for the rest of the afternoon, it would sure beat being stuck in the lab. Standing to head back to the lab, a loud thudding sound caught my attention. Turning toward the loud noise, I noticed three very odd, very large people standing in a semi-circle looking at me.
“So much for being stealthy,” a woman with purple streaks in her black hair, the shortest of the three, announced. I looked at them a bit closer. The man had to be seven feet tall, at minimum. Part of my training was to be extremely observant of everything around me. I took in their features, memorizing them, just in case I needed to give a description later. The man reminded me of the actor who played Thor, combined with the height of a professional basketball player and the build of a professional weight lifter. To his immediate left, was the shorter of the women, the one who had just spoken. On his other side was a woman who bore such a striking resemblance to me that we could be sisters. That was alarming enough in and of itself, but to add to the unease, the group began walking quickly in my direction.
Damnit!
Why had I decided to wear a sundress today? I had neither my badge nor my gun on my waist.
Taking calming breaths, I reminded myself of my self-defense skills.
I’m a trained level-six Krav Maga black belt.
Besides, they might not be threatening. Just because they are giants doesn’t mean they are dangerous.
That might have been easier to believe if the women walking toward me weren’t covered in leather armor. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the lone man in the center. He reminded me of a Viking. A very large Viking. His muscles were rippling under his clothing.
Maybe they are actors filming a movie or a TV show. That has to be it. There must be a movie being filmed in the city. Why else would they be dressed like that?
“Are you Morrigan?” The Thor-vikingesq man spoke in a deep, rumbly voice, interrupting my inner dialogue.
God, he even sounds like Thor.
Wait. What? Dude, Morrigan, he just said your name. He knows who you are. Why does he know who you are?
I looked from him to the two large, armored women standing in front of me. My gut told me to run.
I turned and took off.
Because I ran every morning, I was fast and had incredible endurance. Sure, they were bigger than me, but I didn’t have armor weighing me down. The odds were in my favor.
Sprinting through the park, I realized that the lone bench away from everyone hadn’t been the best decision.
Oomph.
The wind was knocked right out of me. Strong arms wrapped around my waist and without any effort at all, tossed me over a very broad shoulder. I stared at the ground from seven feet above it as we strolled toward the waiting women.
What the actual…
The audacity of this man!
I paused momentarily to note how easy it had been for him to swing me up and over like a sack of potatoes. At just under six foot tall and athletic, I was far from a lightweight. I looked down at his back and my gaze wandered even lower.
Oh my God. His ass was perfect. My panties dampened.
Morrigan, you are being kidnapped. Maybe you should stop drooling over your assailant and, I don’t know, fight for your life?
My inner voice finally snapped through the haze of lust that had overcome my other senses. No matter how good looking this man was, he wasn’t taking me anywhere.
“Put me down,
right now!” I yelled, summoning my most authoritative voice. “I am a law enforcement officer. This is assault! Put me down!”
“No.”
Well, he wasn’t a man of many words. I started slamming my fists into his back. It felt like I was punching a brick wall. “That’s cute,” he growled. “I’m still not putting you down.” The words spurred me on, and I renewed my struggles. I pounded his chest with my feet, while reaching behind to strike his neck with my closed fist. I caught the outside of his jaw hard. He stopped walking.
“I haven’t assaulted you, not yet anyway. If you keep hitting me, my hand is going to descend on your upturned behind.”
What? What did he just say? I stilled, needing clarification. “Did you just threaten to hit me?”
“No. I threatened to spank you, Morrigan.”
“You can’t spank me!” I protested, even though the threat did funny things to my insides. My body was a traitor. “I’m an adult.”
“While that is true, you are not acting like one. You are kicking and hitting me, throwing a fit like a child. If you want to act like a child, I’ll show you how much of a deterrence a well-placed swat on an upturned bottom can be.”
I considered what he was saying for a second too long. With only a couple of quick strides from his long legs and ginormous feet we were back by the bench, where the giant women waited.
“I will put you down now, but you can’t run,” he said. “We need to talk.”
The anxiety that phrase always brought sent frost through my veins. Every man I had ever dated had started a conversation with those four words before breaking up with me.
At least I knew this man wasn’t going to break up with me.
He slid me over the front of his body and the hair on my arms stood up. God damn this man was sexy. I felt my nipples tighten under my bra, and I hoped they weren’t visible.