Sinful Delights & The Masters That Share

Prologue •Duke's POV•

Prologue
•Duke's POV•

While I was growing up I longed for just a few things. All simple things really. Like having fun each day, making some friends, and to feel loved. The same things any kids wants when they're young. Which, when you think about it, isn't a whole lot to ask for anyways.

Unless, like me, at 3 days old the kid is left outside an orphanage in rural Alabama. Wrapped in nothing but an old ratty blue flannel blanket. With a folded up piece of paper tucked beside it in the cardboard box. The note containing only two sentences written inside it. No name or clue where they came from, or any other clues how to find them. Only two lines made up of very simple words.

'This is my son Alexander Dukeon. Please find him the loving home I couldn't give him.'

While I was still young I learned fun wasn't something we had at the orphanage. Rules, a strict schedule, and extreme forms of discipline were the foundation the beginning of my life was molded to. As well as helping the workers take care of the kids younger than me.

That was my everyday life until I turned 10 years old. By then I'd become extremely angry and defiant with everyone. Making it damn near impossible for the workers at the orphanage to control me. So, they decided to send me away to become someone else's problem. Without saying a word about it to me.

From that day on I was moved into a new placement, group home, or orphanage. At the bare minimum of twice a year. Some years more than ten times in a single 12 month period. I stopped trying to make, or keep any friends. Easier when the time came for me to leave.

The more time passed of me continuously getting shuffled around, the more withdrawn I became. Pushing everyone away before they could even try to get close to me. Choosing to stay alone, to myself, in peace. Giving up entirely on the thought of ever finding love or a family one day.

A few months before my 17th birthday I ran away from the last foster home I was placed in. Taking my chances on the streets. Instead of spending another second under my dead beat foster parents roof.

The man of the house, if you could even call him that, was a raging alcoholic. With a very short, and quick temper. While the lady got so high she checked out of reality for days at a time.

For more than a year I did everything I could just to get by. Taking any odd job I could get no matter what it was. As long as they paid cash, and didn't ask any questions. Moving on at the drop of a dime if anyone started to get suspicious. Traveling all the way to the outskirts of Miami Beach before it all came crashing down.

To this day I don't know if I should call it fate, or pure dumb luck that put me in that gas station that night. I would usually keep my head down and to myself while I was in a place I knew had security cameras. Trying not to draw any attention, or suspicion to myself. It's the same tactic that kept me safe for months. Except that night.

As soon as I walked through the double sliding glass doors I knew deep in my gut something was wrong. I looked around the store discreetly. Only noticing two other people in the store. Both were behind the checkout counter, but the younger male was standing alarmingly close to the older woman's back.

Neither of them spoke as I entered the store. The woman sending me a wobbly welcoming smile instead. Sending another red flag up in my head. I dragged my feet taking my time making my selection. Waiting to see if the duo would move from their awkward stance, but nothing.