Exposed Exposed (Dom Nation #1) - E. Davies Page 0,101

and that. No doubt it was humiliating, finding himself subordinate to me in front of Slate. I wanted to ask how that felt for the apex predator, but I had bigger concerns than gloating.

“Slate?” I questioned, frowning his way. I wanted to urge him to get back inside, afraid that Isaac would break loose from me—get to Slate and the knife he held, and hurt him.

But Slate was looking at me like he wanted permission, eyes wide and sorrowful. “Daddy?” His voice was a whisper. “Can I come over there?”

Oh, God. It’s not over between us.

Relief hit me, hot and hard and all at once. “Yes,” I murmured. “Tell him what you need to say.”

Isaac’s body was stiff as a board and trembling with adrenaline, but he stopped fighting. He looked up from the sidewalk. “What? Come to rub my face in it? Get your revenge?”

Slate shook his head, his gaze fixed on me instead of Isaac. “I saw—heard—all of that. I have nothing to say to him.” He could have sneered it, the way a Dom would when looking at a squirming sub underfoot. But he didn’t. It was pure and simple and sweet. “I wanted to tell you that I love you.” Only I could hear the waver in his voice—the way he gazed at me, reaching out for support. “That you’re my Daddy, no matter what. And I’m going to trust you and report Isaac to Brighton.”

Oh, my God. He loves me, too.

We’d danced around the word. In aftercare, it was one thing. He needed to know that I was there for him, to protect him and cherish him. But neither of us had said it like this—boldly, out of the blue, seeking something quite different.

“I love you, too, my boy,” I murmured at last, beaming at him over Isaac’s bowed head of black hair. Slate’s shoulders sank, and a smile crossed his face. He pinched the bridge of his nose, like he was barely holding it together.

Isaac twisted away and finally broke my hold. I stepped back quickly, but he was slow to get up.

“Hear that?” I said as he stumbled to his feet and backed away from me, his chest heaving. “There’s nowhere you can run. Word will get out to other clubs in other cities. Your reign of terror is over. Go crawl home and be grateful I’m not leaving bruises. I save those for boys who deserve it.”

I swapped a grin with Slate, who stepped closer and opened the front gate.

“Fine.” Isaac’s face was twisted in a jealous rage. “Fine,” he repeated. “Doesn’t matter. You’re nothing to me,” he spat at Slate. “Nothing to anyone.”

Like he couldn’t hear him, Slate still watched me. He tilted his head, so I nodded, hoping to give him confidence to do whatever he needed to do now.

“One more thing…” Slate stepped barefoot onto the sidewalk to grab the bullwhip that lay on the ground.

Isaac gasped sharply. “Don’t you dare—”

Too late. He’d cleanly sliced the whip from the handle. Slate’s grin only grew wider as he hauled the rest of the length of leather in, coiled it around, and drew the knife along the coils to slice it into a handful of pieces.

“Fuck you!” Isaac spat. “Do you know how much that cost?”

I didn’t even need to tell Slate to ignore him. My boy just dropped the pieces again and looked up at me with a smile, like he was asking if he’d done well.

“Head inside,” I instructed him, still aware that this knife was the most dangerous object in the situation, and Isaac was off his leash. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Slate’s smile—less wavering than a few moments ago, now certain and trusting—made my whole world steady again. I wasn’t sure I deserved his faith, but by God, I was going to cling to it tonight.

When he was inside the house, I looked back at Isaac, who was ranting. I cut him off with an outstretched hand. He stopped talking and then cringed, no doubt realizing that he’d given up the power to me.

“You broke the man I love just for sport,” I told him, my hands curling into fists. I wasn’t used to the rage inside me bubbling over its careful containment. It flowed through me now, tinged every breath with pain. “And I’m putting him back together, so don’t count it as a victory. He’s stronger than you’ll ever be. But if I ever get the slightest wind you’re hurting him, or stalking