My heart lurches.
Coming with him?
Where?
My mind flashes to Bean, tucked in my backpack by the door. I need to get out of this, but Travis’s grip is back on my arm, steering me toward the table.
I’m scared, yeah, but there’s a spark of defiance burning brighter.
Travis thinks he’s got me figured out, but he’s about to learn I don’t go down easy.
“Sit,” Travis says, pointing to a chair. His tone’s all Daddy—stern, commanding, and way too familiar. My cheeks flush, and I hate how my body reacts, a traitorous tingle sparking at his words.
I sit, glaring up at him.
“This isn’t over,” I say, my voice steady despite the fear. “You can’t keep me here.”
Travis leans against the table, arms crossed, his smirk infuriatingly confident.
“Oh, you silly boy,” Travis says, his voice full of bad intentions. “You haveno ideawhat I can do.”
Chapter 4
Travis
I circle Miles slowly, my boots thudding softly on the meeting room’s worn carpet.
The air’s thick with tension, the kind that hums like a live wire. I’ve got the boy right where I need him, and whether he likes it or not, he’s going to dance to my tune from here on out.
Miles is sitting in the chair I pointed him to, his chin lifted defiantly, those big eyes glaring up at me like he’s daring me to make a move. It’s almost cute, this bravado, but there’s steel beneath it.
This boy’s no pushover, and that’s a problem.
A big one.
I know that I have permission to do whatever is required. I know that should I feel I have no other option, I could kill the boy here and now. But that’s not how I work, not when I don’t know for absolute certain that it’s the right thing to do.
This is my op, my call.
Miles Nadal, investigative lawyer with a nose for trouble, has been poking into the Guard’s business for weeks, maybe months, and now he’s here, caught in our trap.
The leaked meeting details were bait, and he bit—hard.
Part of me admires his guts, but that’s a dangerous thought I shove aside.
I stop pacing, leaning against the table, arms crossed, letting the silence stretch.
“So,” I say, letting my voice hang in the air, seeing if I can prompt any panicked pleas from the boy.
Miles’ fake delivery uniform is rumpled, the cap knocked askew when I dragged him in. His backpack’s by the door, and I’m betting that cow stuffy he was hiding amongst his paperwork in the diner last night is in there.
Miles has got that Little vibe—soft, playful, but with a stubborn streak that’s going to make this tricky. I need to shut him down, make him back off, without crossing a line I can’t uncross.
Killing him would be easy—too easy—but that’s not the play.
Not yet.
“Miles,” I say, my voice low, deliberate. “You’ve been a busy boy. Hacking our systems, chasing leads, playing spy in your cute little disguise.” I nod at his uniform, and his cheeks flush, but he doesn’t look away. “You think you’re clever, don’t you? Digging into the Guard like we’re just another easy lawsuit or cover for your firm’s less than positive true purpose.”
