Page 17 of Daddy Defender
My Daddy side stirs, wanting to pull over, wrap him up, and tell him he’s safe.
But I can’t do that. Saying that it’s safe’s a lie until I know who’s after him andwhy.
The tinny wail of nursery rhymes blares from his cassette player, some cheery tune about stars that’s like nails on a chalkboard in this moment.
I grit my teeth, trying to think through the noise.
We need a plan—somewhere to hole up, a way to track this shooter, maybe call in Cole or Raze for backup.
But the music’s drowning out my thoughts, making it impossible to focus.
“Bodie,” I say, keeping my voice low, controlled, “Turn that down. Now.”
Bodie doesn’t move, just hugs his stuffy Poot tighter, his eyes fixed on the van’s floor. The music keeps going, loud and relentless.
I get it—he’s scared, clinging to his Little side for comfort. But we’re not out of danger, and I need him to listen.
“Bodie,” I say again, sharper, “I’m not asking. Turn it down, or we’re gonna have a problem.”
His head snaps up, and there’s that defiance, flaring like a match.
“It’s my van,” Bodie mutters, his voice shaky but stubborn. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
And then, because he’s apparently decided to test me, he cranks the volumeup, the nursery rhymes blasting so loud they rattle my skull.
Worse, Bodie scoots forward, holding the damn cassette player right by my ear, the cheery melody mocking me.
“Bodie!” I bellow.
My temper snaps. I’ve been patient—too patient—dealing with his attitude, his accusations, his refusal to see I’m trying to keep him alive.
I spot a gravelly side-track branching off the coastal road, shrouded by pines, and I yank the wheel, pulling Shred over with a jolt.
The van skids to a stop, dust clouding around us, and I kill the engine.
The sudden silence is deafening, broken only by the fading hum of that stupid tape. I turn in the seat, fixing Bodie with a look that’s all Daddy, no bullshit.
“You’re out of chances, boy,” I say, voice low, edged with steel. “You’re gonna be disciplined. Right now.”
Bodie’s eyes widen, a mix of shock and something else—fear, maybe, or curiosity. He clutches Poot, his pout returning, but there’s no backing down now.
He pushed too far, and I’m done letting him run wild when his life’s on the line.
I step out, round to the side door, and slide it open.
“Out,” I say, pointing to the gravel. “We’re settling this. There have to be ground rules and consequences. That’s how I work. And in a situation like this, it could be the difference between life and death. Trust me, I know all about that.”
“Oh just shut up!” Bodie replies, stomping his foot on the ground. “I don’t do rules. I don’t do consequences. I live my life free of all that bullshit!”
“Well you leave me little choice,” I growl, taking Bodie by his hand. “Safeword. Now. And don’t pretend like you don’t know what a safeword is either, boy.”
Suddenly, I can see from the look in Bodie’s eyes that he knows this is real. There’s a brief moment of hesitation before Bodie dips his head and utters his safeword.
“Rodeo,” Bodie says. “My safeword isrodeo.”
“Good,” I reply. “And you can trust me when I say that I will respect it. But now the time for talking is over. Turn around, place your hands on the side of the van. Do it.”
“Make me!” Bodie spits, evidently not totally done with being a brat.
