Fugitive Daddy: Villain Daddies, #12

By Celia Crown

Ian hasn't been a good man, not for a while now.

 

He's not deprived of empathy or the ability to sympathize, but it's hardly there when blood is drying on his hands.

 

His control is so deeply ingrained in Naomi's mind that she looks past his flaws and loves a man of immorality.

 

Anyone who thought he was going to idly sit and go through this trial must be absolutely stupid.

 

His pretty darling is waiting for him.

 

Prison is not an option, neither is humoring the criminal justice system.

 

Ian distinctively recalls his darling wanting a road trip.

 

Now would be the perfect time to do so.

 

"You are useful, darling."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Celia Crown
• Release date: Apr 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223121848

Book preview

FUGITIVE DADDY

VILLAIN DADDIES SERIES - BOOK 12

____________________

CELIA CROWN

Copyright © 2020 by Celia Crown.

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction.

The book or any portion of the book may not be reproduced or used under any circumstances, except with the written permission from the author. Public names, movies, televisions, locations, or any references are used for atmospheric purposes. Any similarities and resemblances to alive or dead people, events, brands, and locales are all complete coincidences.

Contents

Fugitive Daddy

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

Afterword

More Books

Fugitive Daddy

By Celia Crown

Ian hasn’t been a good man, not for a while now.

He’s not deprived of empathy or the ability to sympathize, but it’s hardly there when blood is drying on his hands.

His control is so deeply ingrained in Naomi’s mind that she looks past his flaws and loves a man of immorality.

Anyone who thought he was going to idly sit and go through this trial must be absolutely stupid.

His pretty darling is waiting for him.

Prison is not an option, neither is humoring the criminal justice system.

Ian distinctively recalls his darling wanting a road trip.

Now would be the perfect time to do so.

You are useful, darling.

Chapter One

___________

Naomi

I’m getting ready for bed when the knock on my bedroom door echoes in the uninviting space.

There’s nothing here that shows my personality. It’s not surprising since I’m not going to be here for long.

It’s a safe house. I shouldn’t expect anything better than a motel. At least this is an apartment the FBI put me in, along with its two best agents.

I’m not sure if they are the best, but they are very capable.

Come in, I shout to the door.

It opens with a man in his late fifties. His age doesn’t show on his body, but that could be the suit fooling me. The other agent is younger, intuitively restless, with a keen eye for any shift in the air.

Is everything alright? I ask as I stand up from the bed.

I’m an awkward person in general, so speaking to a powerful older man wrapped in a heavy sheet of life experience makes me nervous.

Agent Seeger reeks of the type of power that unsettles my stomach.

I don’t know exactly what it is about him that makes me want to run towards the window and jump from the second-story home.

Broken ankle be damned, I have this anxious desire to put as much space between us as possible.

Take a seat. You look like you’re about to faint. Agent Seeger motions to the bed.

I forcibly swallow the lump in my throat and ease my butt onto the edge, but not fully sitting on it. I can’t get comfortable around Agent Seeger despite living under the same roof with him for the last month or so.

That’s how long the trial has been going on, and who knows how long it’ll take to finish it.

Agent Seeger is here to protect me, but I can’t bring myself to get past this wall of resistance and trust him.

If I do, that means that I would be trusting him with my life.

We will be relocating tomorrow morning, he states in his gruff voice.

What? I sputter out in shock. Why? What happened—

He sighs and leans against the doorframe, the wrinkles by his eyes deepening in a thoughtful squint.

There’s been an incident at the courthouse.

Crippling fear wreaks havoc in my blood, flooding my body with adrenaline. My flight response triggers a jerk of my legs as I jump up from the bed.

What incident? I cough out through the dryness of shortened breaths.

An underground pipe ruptured and created a massive cave-in of the building. The exact damage is unknown at this point, Agent Seeger says, clearheaded and unfazed.

This doesn’t make any sense.

If they thought I needed a security detail to protect me, the FBI should be worried the defendant could be out of his sturdy cell at the county jail now.

What’s going to happen next? I ask shakily.

My knees are minutes from buckling, my body hitting the floor with a painful greeting. I need answers, and it’s not going to happen if I don’t stay level-headed.

I have two skillful FBI agents with me. I should be fine.

My tummy twists angrily. A sickening curl of anxiety settles in the back of my throat. The numbness in my fingers spreads up to my wrists as they tremble. A spark drives up my spine and breathes on the nape of my neck.

He’s not going to find you in such a short amount of time, Agent Seeger explains in an attempt to calm me.

We’ll be gone in the morning, he finishes.

I shudder pitifully. He’s going to find me.

He always does.

This isn’t fear scorching my skin. The itch is from maddening anticipation. I shouldn’t be happy he’s coming to find me. The FBI had just gotten me out of his clutches and told me the damage he had done to my psyche, so I should be utterly terrified at the news.

I’m not.

He’s not going to find you, Agent Seeger insists sternly. Ian, or whatever his name is, will have to go through me to get to you.

You don’t know him, I whisper, arms coiling around my body as I shake my head.

Agent Seeger doesn’t know the extent of Daddy’s crazed tendencies. No one knows, and they wouldn’t understand even if they did. It’s what got him into trouble with the law in the first place.

He’s on trial for murder, but the government needs my testimony against him to win. They don’t have a body to support the charges, but somehow, they know he killed a man named Raymond Wentworth.

Wentworth took offense at my rejection of his offer to have a relationship. He only held onto my arm a bit too tight, a bit too long, and a bit too aggressively. It was enough for Daddy to bend his neck in a way that isn’t meant for a human.

This kind of behavior, as the FBI profiler said, was not a sudden thing. It was well- practiced, almost a pattern Daddy had developed over the years.

They believe Raymond Wentworth was not the only victim of Daddy’s crime in his thirty-eight years on this earth.

I wouldn’t know. Daddy never told me about the violence in his life; the only episode I ever saw was when he killed Wentworth in front of me in broad daylight.

It was as if he hadn't cared.

I’m certain he did, especially when there was a bystander who called the cops.

Nothing about it made sense. Daddy is a very calculating man; he makes backup plans for his backup plan and never lets anyone see the side of him he shows me in private.

Get some shut-eye, and I will see you in the morning, Agent Seeger says as he closes the door behind him.

There is too much adrenaline coursing through my body at the moment. I don’t know how I’m going to sleep, but I want to forget what I just heard.

I climb under the blanket and throw it over my head, eyes squeezed tight with cold shivers as my companion.

Time is slow when it ticks by. My eyes are still wide open under the blanket. Incoherent thoughts scatter my concentration as I stare at the roughly frayed top layer of the blanket and count the threads.

A creak startles me; it’s a protective reflex at a sound too close to my exposed back. An involuntary flinch locks my body in place at the presence of something grazing the blanket on my arm.

The bedroom door slams open, and I jerk up from the bed, my heart rattling against my ribs as I hold my breath.

Agent Seeger barges in, eyes scanning the shadowy walls while his black gun aim at the floor. He puts his hand to his chest and gestures to stay where I am.

I watch him check every part of the bedroom in silence. His steps are like those of a stealthy panther.

He stops his inquisitive search when he puts his gun into the holster by his waist. Then he turns to me with a look of incomprehensible emotion, face shrouded by the silhouette of the small shelf hanging on the wall.

He’s one of the escapees.

My heart pounds heavily as I curl my fingers on the blanket. O-oh.

His eyes narrow as if he’s trying to