The memory’s a scar—blood, gunfire, the jungle closing in.
If Knox & Rain are tied to their successors, Miles is not just a target; he’s a loose end. And I’m not letting anyone touch him, not Vane, not Knox, not some cartel thug. He’s mine to protect, whether he likes it or not.
My phone buzzes, a text from Cole…
COLE: Client ID: Victor Rodrygo, ex-PMC, now freelance consultant. Known ties to South American syndicates. Careful, Travis. This is serious.
I read the text, allow it to sink in. Time’s up, Little. Daddy’s coming to get you, and when I do, you’re gonna regret this little stunt…
My blood’s boiling as I stride through the city, the tracker app glowing on my phone, Miles’ dot pinned at The Sugar Spoon.
He disobeyed me, plain and simple, and it’s got me pissed for two reasons.
First, he’s putting himself in danger. That note wasn’t a joke, and with Knox & Rain tangled up with a cartel, every second he’s out here, unprotected, is a risk.
Second, he’s defying my orders, and that doesn’t sit right with the Daddy in me. I told him to go straight home, to follow my rules, and he’s off sipping hot chocolate like we’re not in the middle of a goddamn war.
My jaw clenches, and I pick up my pace, the city’s evening buzz fading into a low hum as I zero in on the café.
The Sugar Spoon’s pink and yellow sign glows ahead, its windows spilling warm light onto the sidewalk.
I pause outside, my breath steadying as I catch sight of Miles through the glass. He’s at a corner table, laughing with another boy, his face lit up, a smear of chocolate frosting on his cheek. They’re sharing a slice of cake, mugs of hot chocolate piled with marshmallows between them, and Bean is propped on the table like he’s part of the party.
The scene is pure Little—bright, cozy, all giggles and sweetness—and damn if it doesn’t hit me right in the chest. Miles looks so at ease, his eyes sparkling in a way I haven’t seen before. He’s adorable, no question, and for a second, I almost forget why I’m here.
But only for a second.
He broke my rules, and that’s not okay.
Cute or not, he’s getting a lesson tonight.
I push open the door, the bell jingling, and step inside. The café’s warm, smelling of sugar and coffee, with pastel decor and plush booths that scream Little-friendly. Miles’ laughter stops short as he spots me, his eyes widening, then narrowing into a defiant glare. He sets his mug down, crossing his arms, and I can practically see the sass rolling off him.
“Travis,” Miles says, his voice sharp but with a nervous edge. “What are you doing here?”
I step closer, my boots heavy on the hardwood floor.
“You knowexactlywhy I’m here, Little,” I say, keeping my tone low, Daddy-firm. “I told you to go straight home. You disobeyed me.”
The friend glances between us, his eyes curious but wary, and I notice the other patrons—mostly Littles and their Daddies—watching too. Before Miles can fire back, a broad guy in a flannel shirt steps forward from behind the counter. He’s got a beard, a calm but commanding presence, and the kind of stance that says he’s seen his share of trouble.
Definitely a Daddy.
“Hey,” he says, his voice steady. “I’m Logan, co-owner. If you two need to settle something, we’ve got a private playroom in the back.”
Miles’ cheeks flush, and he shoots me a look that’s half defiance, half panic.
I nod at Jack, appreciating the offer.
“Thanks,” I say, my eyes never leaving Miles. “We’ll take it.”
Miles opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off with a look, my hand hovering near his elbow.
“Move, Little. Now.”
“Yes, D-D-D-Daddy,” Miles replies, his cheeks red and a nervous energy practically making him vibrate.
His lips press into a thin line, but he grabs Bean and his backpack, standing with a huff. The friend gives Miles a sympathetic glance, but I don’t miss the way Jack nods at me, a silent understanding between Daddies.
