The boy is not backing down, even after I scared him straight. OrthoughtI did. But admiration’s a luxury I can’t afford. Whether I like it or not, Miles is a threat, and I need to neutralize that threat, one way or another.
I dry off, pulling on jeans and a black t-shirt, my mind racing.
Killing the boy would be clean, final, but the thought sours my stomach. He’s not a cartel thug or a corrupt warlord—he’s a boy with a cause, even if it’s misguided. In theory it’s possible that he’s knowingly acting like a Good Samaritan lawyer to cover up his law firm’s true mission, but that doesn’t wash with me. Or maybe I’m just deluded. Who the fuck knows. The truth is that I need to find out for myself and then make the call.
But that Little spark in him… it’s got me twisted up.
I need a smarter play, something to get inside his head, make him talk, maybe even flip the boy. If I can figure out what heknows about Knox & Rain’s shadier clients, I might turn this around without bloodshed—and it could lead to the kind of intel that Mr. G would lap up with open arms.
I grab my phone and dial Mr. G. He picks up on the second ring, his voice clipped, like always. “Travis. Report.”
“He’s still digging,” I say, pacing the locker room. “Accessed our servers last night, poking at Obsidian Ventures. He’s not stopping.”
A pause, heavy with judgment. “You let him walk. I trust you had a reason.”
“I did,” I say, keeping my tone steady. “He’s not a typical target. Force won’t break him—it’ll make him dig harder. I want to try something unorthodox. Get him to talk, reveal what he knows about his firm. Knox & Rain’s got ties we need to understand. There’s something here, something valuable to the Guard. I feel it. If I can get Miles to open up, we might get more than just his silence.”
Another pause. Mr. G’s not one for rash decisions, but he’s also not patient. “Unorthodoxhow?”
“Play his game,” I say. “Get close, gain his trust. He’s a Little—there’s leverage there. I can work him, make him think he’s choosing to back off.” I hesitate, then add, “But I need time.”
Mr. G grunts, unimpressed. “You’ve got a week. After that, definitive action. No loose ends, Travis. You know what’s at stake.”
“I know,” I say, my jaw tight. “I’ll handle it.”
“You’d better.” The line goes dead.
I shove the phone in my pocket, my mind already shifting to the plan.
Miles is not just stubborn—he’s smart. If I come at him with threats again, he’ll double down.
But if I can get under his skin, make him question his crusade, maybe I can turn this around. The thought of his flushed cheeks, that spark in his eyes, sends a jolt through me.
I curse under my breath.
I was hard as hell in the shower thinking about him, and I can’t let that cloud my judgment.
He’s a job,nothingmore.
It’s late when I pull up outside Miles’ apartment building, the city quiet but alive in that magical way big cities can conjure. I sit in my car for a moment, composing myself. My pulse is steady, but there’s a buzz under my skin, the same one I felt watching Miles last night. I picture him in that meeting room, all fire and defiance, and my resolve hardens.
I’m not here to play Daddy—I’m here to protect the Guard.
“Okay, go time,” I say, my voice cold and calm, ready to do whatever needs to be done to protect my organization and fulfill my obligations.
I climb the stairs to his fifth-floor apartment, my boots heavy on the creaky steps. The hallway’s quiet, the air thick with the smell of someone’s cooking.
I knock on his door, sharp and deliberate, and wait.
When it swings open, Miles is standing there, his eyes wide with shock that quickly turns to suspicion.
The boy is in a soft pink sweater and jeans, his hair glistening under the light, and for a second, I’m thrown by how small he looks.
Then I see the mess behind him, and my blood runs cold.
What the fuck.
This ain’t Mr. G’s work.
