Travis leads the way out, his hand hovering near my back, not touching but close enough to make me hyper-aware of him.
As we step into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind us, I feel a surge of adrenaline.
I’m walking into the lion’s den, but I’m not defenseless.
I’m Miles Nadal, and I’m going to use this to bring down the Night Ops Guard.
But as we descend the stairs, Travis’s steady presence beside me, I can’t shake the fear—or the thrill—that I’ve opened up a whole new layer of danger.
I sit in the front seat of Travis’s sleek black car, my heart thumping so loud I’m sure he can hear it. The leather seat is cool against my jeans, but my palms are sweaty, clutching my backpack with Bean inside.
Travis slides into the driver’s seat, his presence filling the small space, all muscle and quiet intensity. Without a word, he leans over, his arm brushing mine as he reaches for my seatbelt. His fingers click it into place, the gesture so simple yet so intimate it steals my breath.
“Safety first, Little,” Travis says, his voice low, that Daddy edge making my skin tingle. He pulls back, his eyes flicking to mine, and I swear there’s a spark there—something that makes my stomach flip.
I swallow hard, my cheeks burning.
I think back to all the dates I’ve been on—Daddies, regular guys too, the ones who’d lean over in cars like this, trying for a kiss or a grope, making me feel cheap, like a prize to be won.
Travis’s different.
His touch wasn’t a move; it was care, pure and simple, and it sends an erotic charge through me I haven’t felt in forever. My body hums, traitorously alive, and I hate how much I like it.
Yes, he’s a Night Ops Guard, a dangerous mercenary, yet there’s something so real about him, so grounded. It’s disorienting and I’m worried that I might begin to like it way too much.
“Time to move,” Travis says, turning the key in the ignition.
The engine rumbles to life, and Travis pulls onto the city street, the lights blurring past. I steal a glance at him, his strong jaw set, hands steady on the wheel.
He’s not what I expected from the Guard—ruthless killers, untouchable vigilantes. Travis let me walk last night, and now he’s protecting me, cleaning my apartment, buckling my seatbelt.
Is it possible I’ve got them all wrong?
The thought gnaws at me, stirring doubt.
I’ve built my case on their lawlessness, their body count, but what if there’s more?
What if Travis’s not the monster I thought?
I shift in my seat, Bean’s button eyes and furry little ears peeking from my bag, grounding me. I’m not here to fall for him—I’m here to get answers.
Going to Travis’s place is a risk, but it’s also a chance to dig deeper, to find the evidence I need to expose the Guard.
A wry smile tugs at my lips. “
Well, Bean,” I murmur under my breath, “I’m about to find out.”
Travis glances over, his eyebrow raised.
“Talking to your stuffy, Little?” Travis asks.
My face flames, but I lift my chin.
“Maybe. Got a problem with that?” I ask. “And what makes you think you can call me Little?”
Travis chuckles, the sound warm, almost fond.
“Oh nothing, I just like to keep things light,” Travis chuckles. “But you keep that fire of yours burning. You might just need it…”
