by Austin Bates
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Red Hot Daddy
Austin Bates
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
"What can I do for you, hot stuff?"
"Hey, sweetheart," Damien leaned over the bar and ran his eyes over the bartender's tight jeans. The little omega wasn't usually behind the bar on the weekend. "Can I get a beer, and a round of shots for my friends?"
The bartender smiled and put his hands on his hips. "Whatever you want, sugar."
Damien propped his elbows on the dark wood of the counter and watched Sam pour his drink. He was cute, with blond hair and cheerful hazel eyes. He'd flirted with the guy before, but from the way the slender omega looked at the bouncer, Damien knew damned well it wasn't serious.
Jerry's was hopping for a Sunday, but the crew of Engine #15 was still the biggest group. The guys were at their usual table in the corner, Mica and Rafe still arguing about the foul from the game that ended half an hour ago. Only two blocks from the station, the bar was crawling with firefighters and cops most nights. On the weekends, the occasional civilian wandered in, but Jerry went out of his way to keep prices reasonable for his bread and butter customers.
"Here you go, handsome," the bartender said, setting a tray of drinks in front of Damien and cheerfully pocketing the $50 that he passed over.
"Keep the change." Winding his way through the tables, Damien raised the tray. "Drinks on me, boys."
The crew cheered, raising their glasses at him and pulling him back into the circle. Kieran passed out the shots, putting his back without a flinch, and Damien shook his head at the Irish man's antics.
"You need to find yourself a wealthy omega, Irish. You'll drink us all out of house and home one of these days." Damien took a sip of his beer, his eyes drifting back to the bar. Blond hair glinted in the neon of the bar's signs, and he looked away.
"Shut it, lad," Kieran said, nudging Damien with his shoulder. "I can afford to pay my own way."
"Keep telling yourself that, Irish," Mica said, already slouched bonelessly in his chair from just two drinks.
"Listen here, you Italian bastard..."
The door swung open, and Damien let his eyes drift that way, tuning out Kieran's heavy brogue. He was hoping that Jeremy would convince Lucas to come and hang out for once. Out of all of them, their uptight Lieutenant needed a break the most.
It wasn't Lucas. Three heavy-set alphas in grease streaked coveralls stomped in and parked themselves at the bar. All three were older, their hair thinning on the back of their sunburned heads, and they took in the facilities with their noses in the air.
Damien flexed his fingers against the cold glass of his beer and set it down on the table. "Be right back," he said over his shoulder, ignoring the way the table went quiet.
"Son of a bitch," Mica muttered into the silence. "Damien, man..."
"Don't bother," Rafe said, the sound of glass clinking as he downed his shot trailing after Damien. "You know he's not going to listen."
"Lucas is going to kill us."
Damien ignored them all, heading over to lean up against the bar. Sam shot him a nervous look as he poured whiskey into glasses. Damien winked at him.
"Fuckin' faggot," one of the guys said, his eyes raking over Sam. "Shouldn't be allowed around the rest of us." The other guys nodded, licking their lips as they watched the bartender.
"Hey, baby," Damien said, raising his voice so that his words carried. "Can I get a beer?"
"Don't do this, hot stuff," Sam said, his face tight.
"I'm not doing anything but ordering a beer, sweetheart," Damien flashed a winning smile, and Sam rolled his eyes, "and having a little conversation with the sexiest omega this side of Denver."
"Look at these two fags." There was the sound of fabric on wood as the trio moved down the bar, arranging themselves around Damien. "You get off on freaks, buddy?"
Damien flexed his fist against the sticky wood of the bar and didn't turn around. "What time you get off, Sam?" He winked, continuing, "I thought maybe we could go get a cup of coffee."
Sam set the drinks down on the bar, including Damien's beer and crossed his arms. "I'm busy."
"Don't be like that, baby. You know you love me." Damien smirked as one of the guys slammed his hand down on the bar. Sam stepped back, hitting the inconspicuous button that would bring Robbie, the bouncer and Jerry's son, down from the office.
"You listening to me, freak? You don't even have the balls to talk to a real man?"
Damien pushed off the bar and picked up his beer. "Thanks, sweetheart. Same time next week?"
"If the fires don't get you first, you idiot." Sam pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, but he couldn't hide how his lips were twitching.
Turning to head back to the table, Damien could see the guys headed his way just as the meaty hand closed around his shoulder.
"I'm talking to you, bitch." The guy was the tallest of the three, the patch on his coveralls reading Simon. He was practically foaming at the mouth, getting up in Damien's face.
"Can I help you... gentlemen?" Damien asked, raising his eyes as he gave them a quick once over. No weapons, and while they might outweigh him, he had solid muscle on his side.
"Listen, you freak fucking piece of shit. We don't need your kind polluting this city."
"Yeah," the younger one of the three said, his fists already balled at his sides. His patch was starting to unravel, but it was possible to still read the faded name, Forester.
Damien smiled, running his tongue along his teeth. "What kind is that exactly? Firefighters?"
"You omega-fuckers. Every last one of you should be put to death, along with those freaks. The Bible says only women can create man."
Reaching up with one middle finger, Damien wiped spit off his cheek and sniffed. "Sorry you feel that way, boys." Behind them, he could see Robbie, all six and a half feet of him, come wading out the staff door. Jerry was behind him, belly stretched taut over a surprise late life pregnancy. Robbie had already started knitting baby blankets for his new brother or sister. "You have a good night."
Damien turned to walk away, doing a terrible job of hiding his smirk as he heard the men behind him start to sputter. When the thick hand wrapped around his arm that time, he was ready. He didn't try to block the first punch, let it glance off his cheek in a dull burn.
"Well, fuck," Mica said in the sudden silence of the bar.
Damien grinned at Simon. The man reared back in surprise, and Damien dropped him with a quick kick to one knee. Forester roared as the old man crumpled, lunging forward. Damien stepped aside, letting the guy plow straight into one of the sturdy tables. Simon was struggling to his feet, and Damien dodged a hazy swipe as he stumbled.
"Pete, hold him still," Simon said, getting his feet underneath him.
Pete, the last of the three with his coveralls so stained w
ith grease that there was no name visible, cracked his knuckles melodramatically. Damien sighed and shook his head as the guy grabbed at his shoulders. Instead of retreating, he stepped closer, tucking his shoulder into Pete's chest. Before he knew what hit him, Damien had flipped him up and over, laying him out flat on the floor.
Simon stared at him, his eyes tracking over his shoulder where Damien could smell the too-strong waft of Rafe's cologne. Turning tail, the guy made a run for it and slammed square into Robbie's chest.
"What the hell is going on here?" the bouncer asked, his deep voice echoing through the room. Simon wilted like old lettuce, not struggling as Robbie gripped his collar. Nobody messed with Robbie, not since the alpha had hit his growth spurt at 16.
"We don't want no trouble, man," Simon said.
"You threw the first punch," Damien pointed out.
"Shut the fuck up, freak fucker," Forester said, climbing off the floor with one hand pressed to the cut across his forehead.
Someone laughed, the sound slightly hysterical. Everyone in the bar, Robbie included, looked at Jerry.
"What the fuck did you just say?" Jerry had been a cop, back when being an omega cop was a death sentence. He had been shot, stabbed, gassed, and he'd spent twenty hours of his first labor working on a gang task force because he was too damned stubborn to go to the hospital. All three men were staring in horror at Jerry's hugely swollen belly. "Get these assholes out of my bar," Jerry snapped.
"Yes, Papa," Robbie said, lifting Simon off the ground like a bag of groceries.
Damien grinned until Jerry swung on him.
"And you," Jerry said, one swollen finger inches from Damien's nose. "You get out, too. I'm sick and tired of you starting fights in here. Two weeks, I don't want to see your damned face."
"Jerry," Damien whined.
"Don't you Jerry me, boy. I got no time for your shit with this kid on the way. I need this place calm and quiet, or my doctor is going to make Sullivan put me on bed rest. You raise my damned blood pressure." Waddling away, Jerry didn't give him a chance to talk his way out of it. "Sam, you heard me, no drinks for that one. Two weeks."
"I got it, Jerry," Sam said, blinking innocently when Damien glared at him.
"Son of a bitch." Damien glowered at the floor as Robbie escorted the three men out, his thick fists curled in their clothes. They practically fell all over each other trying to get away from the bar. "This sucks."
"I'm just glad the rest of us didn't get banned, too," Mica said, ducking behind Rafe when Damien swung his sour glare that way. Rafe just raised his glass in a toast and tipped it back.
Flexing his hands, Damien watched the dark skin stretch over bone and tendon. He hadn't even bruised his knuckles. "I'm going to head home."
"You need company?" Kieran clapped him on the shoulder, still steady as a rock despite three shots and two pints since they'd arrived two hours ago.
"Nah. You guys enjoy your evening. I'm gonna go crash. Maybe I'll sleep in tomorrow." He grinned wryly when they all looked shocked. "I know, I know. Blasphemy."
"We start night shift next week, so don't forget to shift your schedule around," Mica said, sipping at his electric blue Cosmo.
Damien groaned. "Don't remind me. See you guys on Wednesday."
They shouted their goodbyes as he headed out. It was chilly out, the crisp air of fall just starting to fade into winter.
"Hey, Damien," Robbie called as he turned toward his apartment. "Thanks for standing up for Sam." The kid blushed, ducking his head as he scuffed the ground with one massive boot. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Robbie was nearly a decade younger than all of them but Mica.
"No worries, man. Just make sure he gets home safe tonight, okay?"
"I will," Robbie said, smiling a pleased little smile to himself as he headed back inside.
Damien smirked. Maybe Jerry would let him back in early if he got those two to stop dragging their feet.
***
"Lucas wants to see you," Mica said as soon as Damien walked into the firehouse on Wednesday. "He sounded irritated."
"Lucas always sounds irritated," Damien said, ruffling the Italian omega's hair. Even though Mica stood head and shoulders over most of them, he was bean pole thin, perfect for tight spaces and uncertain floors.
"King! Get in here." Lucas Brown propped one shoulder against the door of his office and glared across the echoing concrete space of the garage. The station held six vehicles, including three engines, two ladder trucks, and a fully staffed ambulance. One of the engines was on a community outreach program, but the other vehicles were out on alarms. It was a busy day, apparently.
"Lieutenant," Damien said, dropping his duffel just outside the door. There was no room in the clutter of Lucas' office for anything else.
Lucas didn't bother closing the door; the firehouse was old, and only the Captain's office was at all soundproof. "What the hell happened this weekend?"
"Could you be more specific, sir?" Damien settled into the uncomfortable chair opposite the desk piled high with reports and requisitions.
"Don't bullshit me, King. I thought you were going to give the fighting a rest." Lucas didn't sit down, leaning against the overstuffed filing cabinet and staring at the picture frame on top of it.
"I didn't start it, sir. I never even threw a punch." Damien crossed his arms and followed his gaze, smiling. "How are Jeremy and Nick doing?"
"Don't change the subject. I've got the brass breathing down my neck about this. I know," he said, holding up his hand as Damien tried to protest. "You didn't start it. You never start it. But it still looks bad. You have to know that."
"What am I supposed to do, boss? Let some asshole insult omegas and pound me into the bar?"
Lucas sighed. "Look. You know that if it were up to me, I'd just send you to another seminar and be done with it."
"Yeah," Damien ran his fingers over the buttons on his polo, then clenched his hand into a fist and pressed it against the arm of the chair until the knuckles went white. "What is it this time? Community service?"
"One week suspension. Unpaid." Lucas delivered the news in a flat tone, his lips tight with resignation.
Unable to help himself, Damien threw back his head and laughed. "A vacation? They're giving me a vacation as punishment?"
"It is unpaid," Lucas said wryly.
"Boss." Damien cocked his head to one side.
"I know, but my objections were overruled. Apparently, trust fund babies don't usually become firefighters."
Snorting, Damien shook his head. "Alright, so I'll see you guys in a week. Do you want me to turn in a report on how I promise not to get punched by any more sexist old mechanics?"
"Get out of my office." Lucas couldn't hide his smile as he dragged Damien to his feet and clapped him on the shoulder. "Just try to stay out of trouble, okay?"
"You got it, boss. Maybe I'll head over to Aspen and hit the slopes for a couple days, let you guys do the heavy lifting." Damien scooped up his bag and headed across the garage. "Have a great week, guys. I'll send you a postcard from Hawaii."
Mica whined in the back of his throat, staring at Lucas in total betrayal.
"Start more fights, baby boy," Damien said, pointing his fingers at the omega.
"Please don't," Lucas said. "Oh, and Damien," he added, just as Damien was about to head out. "The announcement was in the paper today. Sid Laurence's funeral is next Tuesday."
Damien paused, his hand fisted at his side. Something cold and ugly swirled in his gut, making his jaw clench against the twisting sensation. "I'll raise a piña colada to the old bastard." He slammed out the door before Mica could try to persuade him to go.
The road out of town was long and winding, cutting through forests and around the feet of the Rockies. Just past the old junkyard, Golden Creek meandered its way along the edge of the State Park. It was pretty country, with a turn out every few miles for tourists to take pictures. At mile 79, Damien parked on narrow gravel and climbed
down the slight ditch toward the creek.
His truck was packed with camping gear, and if he was lucky, he could hit the campground with enough time to pitch his tent. He had one thing to do first.
It took longer than he remembered to reach the curve where the creek doubled back on itself, the narrow island in the center constantly in danger of being washed away. There were signs that people had been there recently, bottles and cans strewn across the ground. The area was a popular spot with high schoolers who wanted to hide their ill-gotten booze and transient homeless on their way to Denver.
The venerable old oak tree was getting overgrown again, and Damien had to take a moment to cut away a few strangling vines from the trunk. The boards nailed every few feet to the trunk were rotting, but they held enough for him to make it to the platform high overhead. The structure creaked grumpily as he swept the trash and shredded tarps over the edge. It had been a while since he'd been there, and he made a note to bring back a couple of boards to replace ones that were getting too weak to hold. He ran a finger across the faint traces of ink on one of the boards, more memory than anything after so many years.
Settling himself at the edge of the platform, he stared across the water. On the other side, the Park spread for miles, and deer were a common sight in the area. Nothing stirred today, and eventually, he climbed down.
Standing at the bottom of the ladder, he stroked his fingers across the chain around his neck and shook his head. There was no point in missing what he'd never had. He headed for the truck, refusing to look back as the tree house disappeared behind a bend. Camping was just what he needed. Getting out of town would do him good.
Chapter Two
"What do you think?" Tommy put down his tattoo gun and pulled off his gloves, stretching the kinks out of his back. His spine straightened with two solid cracks, and goose bumps popped out on his arms.
The slight alpha got up from the chair and twisted around to look at the fresh ink and blood spread all over his left shoulder. "That is awesome, man," he said, his voice awed. "It looks even better than I imagined."