Daddy's Adorable Assassin (Daddy's Little Deviants)

He grabbed a sticky bun, bouncing his legs.

“Sugar is bad.” He grinned at me, then bit a huge chunk of the bun. He couldn’t get the food in his mouth fast enough, and he barely chewed before swallowing. It was almost as if he wasn’t used to eating anything sugary and was trying to get as much into him as possible.

“Your Daddy never let you have sugar?”

He shook his head and took another bite. “Daddy says he can’t keep up with me when I’ve eaten sugar. And sugar will ruin my figure.”

I frowned. “A little sugar isn’t a bad thing.”

“Very, very bad thing. I have to weigh less than a hundred pounds, or Daddy puts me on a diet. And then I’m always hungry.”

Jesus. What kind of sick monster had he been living with? The more he talked, the more I believed the man who he called Daddy had brainwashed him.

“What else does Daddy say?”

He scrunched up his face. “TV is bad. Very bad, so we don’t have one. And I love chocolate, but Daddy says I can’t have them until after I’ve…”

“Until after you’ve what? You can talk to me.”

“Until I’ve done what he tells me to. There’s more.”

“What more?”

He leaned over and whispered, “I was being bad in the shower. Sex is the most wrongest of all the things. Daddy says so, but Daddy isn’t here.” He glanced around. “He can’t hurt me anymore.”

“That’s right. You’re in here, and he’s out there. If you tell us where we can find Daddy, we can stop him from ever hurting you again.”

He frowned hard as he chewed on the last sugary bite. He shook his head.

“I promise you won’t get into trouble,” I said.

“You’ll protect me?” He stared right into my eyes, looking hopeful.

Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Nate’s voice rang out in my head.

“I’ll protect you.”

“You pinky promise?”

I looked at the small pinky finger he extended toward me. I hooked mine into his. A pinky promise shouldn’t feel like a contract signed in blood.

“Pinky promise.”

“You can’t break your promise. Ever.”

The way he said the last word forcefully prompted me to frown. “I’ll give you my word, but you have to help us, Cosmo. We need to know where your Daddy is.”

“He’s at the farmhouse.”

I sucked in a deep breath. This was it.

“Does the farmhouse have an address?”

He nodded, and I dipped inside my coat for the little notepad and pen I kept there. “Can you write that down for me?”

He held the pen awkwardly and scribbled on the paper. His chicken scratch was hard to read, but when he handed the pad back, I could make out the address.

“Daddy’s a very bad man,” he said. “No one goes on his property, or he’ll shoot you. He has a right to protect me. I’m his property.”