Page 58 of My Big Fat Daddy Issues

“What about high school? She’s not even graduated.”

“I’m giving her all the lessons she needs.”

Mina chirps a giggle next to me, then finishes. “Max says I’m an A plus student. I’ll graduate at the end of the month ahead of schedule. I already took all my test exams and aced them all.”

Karen huffs as I take the pen from my front pocket and hold it out between us. “Sign it. Let’s all get on with our lives.”

“You’re as asshole.” She snarls but takes the pen and scratches her signature on the marked spaces, the throws it back at me, hitting me in the chest.

Mina’s eyes light up, and she stands, stepping over and leaning in to hug her mother. It’s hard for a child to understand their parent is flawed but I think Mina does and she loves her anyway.

Pride fills my chest.

“I’m happy, Mom and out of your way. It’s for the best.” Mina bumps the table as her mother stares at her.

Karen seems taken aback for a moment. Then she wraps her arms around her daughter’s shoulders.

“Bye, Mom.”

She pats Mina’s back getting in one last dig which is directed more at me than her daughter. “You’ll be back.”

Mina sits back down, and slides her hand into mine. Karen pretends not to notice, and that’s fine. I’m not going to make her life any more difficult than it has to be.

Because everything I want is right here. And it’s already mine. And I can’t wait to make her my fucking wife.

Chapter 7

The club door swings open with a hiss of black velvet, and Mina’s eyes widen as she takes in the flicker of neon, the low groan of bodies tangled on leather couches.

It’s been a month since the restaurant. Karen is still pouting but Mina and I are happier than pigs in shit. I proposed to her on a knee, put a three-carat pink diamond on her finger then married her a week later in a ceremony with just us at a town along a route through the mountains of North Carolina.

Now, back home, I wanted to give my daughter-wife a new adventure I know she will love.

I pause, squeezing her hand just inside the door as the security wall of two men in black stare us down.

“You’re late,” one of them says as Mina leans into me, her eyes darting to the movement and sounds of sex and pain threading themselves through the low thrum of wordless music.

“Five minutes. We’re here. I mean, look what I brought.” I nod to my daughter, dressed in the clothes I bought for her. Blatantly intending to make her look young, as if being eighteen isn’t young enough, but we’re here to put on a show.

Only I haven’t shared any of those details with her yet.

Both men in black nod and blink. One of them points toward the area near the center of the club, cordoned off by floor-to-ceiling black curtains.

I don’t need a map to know where to go. I’ve been here before with old friends, the occasional night when I needed to get the fuck away from Karen and remember there’s another world outside of stifling suburbia and Pottery Barn furniture.

Not that I’ve brought anyone here before. I’ve been purely a spectator in the past, but it all felt empty. The company was good, and the idea appealed, but I needed another piece of the puzzle.

I know now what that missing piece was. And she’s right here beside me.

“What is this? You said we were going to a show.” Mina’s hands grab my forearm as I walk us forward. She stumbles a step in the new heels, making her look inexperienced and out of her element, which only fuels the perverted fantasies of the men who eye us as we walk forward.

“It is a show, baby. Just trust me. Always trust Daddy.”

The air is thick with sweat, cologne, and money. A bassline throbs underfoot, vibrating through my boots as I grip her wrist tighter. Her skin’s already warm against mine, a fragile porcelain thing beneath my palm.

“Daddy,” she whispers, playing innocent when I’m sure she’s putting together the pieces of what’s ahead for her tonight.

A dozen men lean against the walls, their stares already tracking her like prey. One whistles low when I nudge her forward by the ass, my thumb digging into the curve of flesh there to remind them this prize is claimed. She stumbles a step, then straightens, chin up, pretending not to notice the way their eyes devour her, lingering on her collarbone, and that faint scar just beneath her shoulder blade from where she fell off her bike when she was ten.