Daddy's Boy

Daddy’s Boy

Vicktor Alexander

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Cover Artist: Vicktor
Alexander

Broad-whey

Editor: Emme Adams

Barbara Toth

Amanda C. Stone

Executive Editor: Raevyn
McCann

Daddy’s Boy © 2015 Vicktor
Alexander

ISBN-13: xx-xxxxxxx

ISBN-10: xxxxxx

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work
may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,
including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or
in

part, without express written
permission of the publisher. All characters and events in this book
are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is
strictly coincidental. The Licensed Art Material is being used for
illustrative purposes only; any person depicted in the Licensed Art
Material is a model.

PUBLISHER: The Rooster and The Pig
Publishing, Inc.

My name is Tyler Simpston.
I was introduced to the darkness and sex at a very young age. Those
are two things I know quite well. They are my constant companions.
I’m used to the inky tar squeezing the life from my soul, the joy
from my spirit, and the light from my life, but I know I have no
one to blame but myself. It is all a result of my job as a paid…
“companion.” And no, I don’t need to be “redeemed” from my
profession. I like my job, love it actually. It’s my past I need to
be saved from. My past and a man named KuJoe who is hell-bent on
blackmailing me.

When my benefactor, Jack,
passed away, I had to find someone new. Someone who would take care
of me and keep me in the life to which I’d grown accustomed, so I
set my sights on Dodger Vanderbrook, the wealthiest and most
gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in my life. But there’s something
different about Dodger. Not only is he interested in more than just
my body, but he makes me long for something more, as well.
Something more than just trips to foreign lands, fancy clothes, and
checks with lots of zeroes written on them. It wasn’t long before
Dodger had me wanting to be with him without money even being a
part of our interactions. We weren’t having “appointments,” we were
having “dates,” and Dodger wasn’t a “client,” he was more like a…
“boyfriend.” But here’s the thing—I still have to take care of
KuJoe because not only is KuJoe threatening to reveal my deepest
darkest secret, he’s threatening to pull the most important person
in my life into the world of prostitution: my little girl, my
daughter, Stella.

I will do anything to
prevent that from happening, even turning my back on what could
possibly be the greatest love of my life, my only chance at
happiness, and returning to pay-by-the-hour prostitution. But in
the end will I just let Dodger go or will I finally fight back and
stop being a Daddy’s Boy?

Genre: M/M Romance, Contemporary, Rentboy,
Gay Fiction

Word Count: 62,604 words

Warning: This book contains references and
flashbacks to abuse, rape, drug abuse, and violence much of which
happened to a minor. Though there are no explicit descriptions of
any of the non-consensual, abuse, or rape scenes and none of it is
for titillation. If any of these subject matters are a trigger for
you, please stop reading now or read with caution. You have been
warned. This book is intended for audiences 18 years and older.

Dedication
:

This one is for my daughters: Chipmunk
and Vivianna. Stella is an amalgamation of the two of you or at
least what I believe Vivianna would have been and what you are now,
Chipmunk. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, no darkness I
wouldn’t fight to overcome, no dragon I wouldn’t slay, and no
criminal I wouldn’t take on. You two make Daddy so happy and so
proud. I love you.

And for Justin. Always. Because yeah.
Summer lovin’.

Chapter One

The sound of the multi-colored
Venetian vase colliding with my white tiled floor caused every
nerve in my body to jump. My heart leapt into my throat, and I
raced forward into my living room. I fell to my knees, my hands
reaching out desperately to grasp the sharp, jagged pieces of the
priceless item. I ignored the pain as the broken shards cut into my
skin because I cared only for saving the remnants of this souvenir
that reminded me so much of Jack.

Jack
. My breath caught in my throat, my eyes burned with unshed
tears, and I inhaled shakily. What the hell was I going to do
without Jack? I needed him. More than I needed my next breath. More
than I needed to sleep or eat or do anything, I needed Jack. I
lowered my head, forcing back the tears, biting down hard on the
inside of my cheek, the coppery taste of my own blood having no
effect on my current state of mind. I had to get up. I had to get
moving. I absolutely had to go to this party tonight. It wasn’t
optional for me. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a fucking
requirement. A need. It was a goddamn law, as far as I was
concerned. Jack had left me nothing. My life ended the day I found
out he wouldn’t return to me again. I had to go to this party and
keep my life moving. I had to keep my head above water somehow.
Jack wasn’t there to keep me lifted, so I had to lift my own damn
head above this raging tide of bullshit.

With a sigh of frustration, I sat back
on my heels before rising gracefully to my feet. I couldn’t even
take pleasure in the knowledge that my dance and stripper classes
had paid off so well. I couldn’t care less about those things. I
had to get ready. I had to make myself beautiful. I didn’t have
much time. I had to go, and I had to go now.

I turned toward my kitchen, passing by
all of the remaining knickknacks, treasures, and expensive pieces
of pure-white furniture that lay professionally and artistically
sprawled about my loft apartment. I cared not about the rare
paintings by Van Gogh or the priceless editions of works by
Shakespeare or Chaucer. These things were precious, yes. I was well
aware of their monetary value. I had catalogued each piece when
Jack was still with me, but now? Now they were only harsh memories
and glaring reminders of what I was no longer had in my possession.
They were priceless for a totally different reason now, and I had
to make sure they were well-cared for because if tonight didn’t go
well… I gave myself a firm mental shake. I wouldn’t even allow
myself to go there. Failure wasn’t an option for me. I would be
successful tonight. I didn’t have a choice.

Having thrown away and cleaned up the
broken pieces of the $2.5 million vase—the cost of that one item
punching me in the stomach like a hard fist, something I was
extremely familiar with—I made my way upstairs to my master
bathroom. My feet were silent as I walked across the soft, white
carpet. Usually I would be curling my toes into the thick carpet, a
huge grin of delight on my face and happiness filling my being as I
gloried in the sensation of the fiber beneath my feet, but there
was no smile this evening. Ice flowed through my veins. My hands
shook as I lifted my black eyeliner to the lid of my right eye and
attempted to draw a straight line.

I was nervous, and I hadn’t been
nervous in years. I was scared, and fear was an emotion I had long
since choked off and cast out of my entire existence. The presence
of these two emotions was daunting, unnerving, and made me even
more determined to make sure that tonight was a success. I
straightened my shoulders and exhaled, my eyes closing briefly as I
centered myself. Reigning in my runaway emotions and capturing
every fucking butterfly that flapped its disgusting wings in my
belly, I silently began chanting my mantra, as I finished putting
on my eyeliner and lip gloss, before returning to my bedroom to
change.

I am beauty. Beauty is me.
None can resist beauty, and none can truly afford it. But beauty
can be earned through persistence and courage and a nice, fat
wallet.
I chuckled silently as I
remembered Jack’s expression of shock and then amusement the first
time he’d heard me utter that mantra. He hadn’t asked me questions,
but I knew I had to utter those words to myself from then
on.

Jack
. There it was again. That same sickening feeling of dread
filling my stomach with butterflies and my throat with nausea,
causing my head to swim and my hands to shake. I had to stop
thinking of him, had to push Jack as far away from my mind as I
possibly could if I planned on making tonight a success. I had to
focus on the goal, the finish line, the reason I was going out five
days after Jack’s funeral. A funeral I wasn’t even allowed to
attend. This was a strategic move on my part. But then again,
everything had been a strategic move on my part since the day I
turned seventeen.

I put one hand against my front door
and put the other hand to my mouth, not recalling how I’d come to
be back downstairs, completely dressed in a black button-down
shirt, white suit, slim white tie, and black Italian loafers
trimmed in gold. Shoes Jack had bought me. The last thing he’d ever
bought me. I inhaled deeply and forced back the nausea that
threatened to overwhelm me and bring me to my knees. I blinked back
the unshed tears and reached for my trusty emotional guard. I would
need it this night.

With another deep inhale, I picked up
my wallet, apartment keys, car keys, gate access card, elevator
key, and most important, a few condoms. I had to make sure I was
prepared. Prepared for any scenario, any play, any eventuality. I
walked out of my apartment, making sure to lock the door behind me,
and stepped toward the elevator. I bit my lower lip anxiously as my
mind flashed with images of every possible occurrence, each one
filling me with fear, hope, excitement, and worst of all…
shame.

What the hell was that
about?

Stepping out of the elevator as soon
as the doors opened into the lobby, I walked slowly, seductively,
and purposefully toward the front entrance. I nodded at those who
said my name, hoping they didn’t notice the fluttering of the pulse
in my neck or the light sheen of sweat on my forehead. When no one
stopped me before I stepped out of the door, I knew then Jack had
been right about something else… again.

Jack had told me about faking
confidence in front of people, about having the right “face” on in
order to keep a force field up with different people. Some needed
the shield to keep them from prying in your life to gossip about
you. Some needed the shield to keep them from using the information
they gleaned against you. But it was the last group of people,
those horrible people who had so fully filled both me and Jack with
an inexplicable surge of fear. They were the people that you needed
to have not only a shield against, but a moat, a drawbridge, and a
fucking dragon, because they were the type of people who actually
cared about you and what happened to you.