He looks incredible—focused, fierce, every bit the lawyer he is, but with that Little spark I can’t stop thinking about. T
he memory of our kiss minutes ago—his lips soft and hungry, his body pressed against mine—still burns, and it takes everything to keep my head in the game. And of course there is the not so little matter of what followed…
I know he might have to flirt with Kyle Knox today, play his sleazy game to get answers, and the thought stings like hell.
But I trust him now.
After last night, his anger, his honesty about Knox, how what just happened between us sealed us as a team—I know he’s on my side.
I watch as Miles stands, grabbing a file, and disappears into a side room, out of sight.
I lower the binoculars, my jaw tight, and check the tracker app on my phone. His dot’s steady, still in the building.
Good.
I’m about to refocus when my phone buzzes, a secure message from Mr. G popping up. My gut clenches as I read…
MR. G: Travis, I respect your skills as a Guard, but going off-script with Cole and Max unsanctioned is a gamble. If this goes south, there will be consequences. Severe ones. I won’t ask if you understand, because I know full well that you do. Or at least I hope you do.
I stare at the screen, the words like a cold blade. Mr. G’s the shadow behind the Night Ops Guard, the one who calls the shots, and his trust is hard-earned, easily lost.
I type back, keeping it short:
TRAVIS: Understood. I’ll deliver.
But inwardly, my stomach churns.
If this mission—keeping Miles safe, unraveling Knox & Rain’s cartel ties—crashes, it’s not just my ass on the line. It’s my whole future with the Guard, potentially Cole and Max facing consequences too.
I think back to the missions that shaped me, the men who fought beside me. Symon, his laugh echoing in the jungle before Los Lobos cut him down. Kent, too eager, too young, gone in a spray of bullets.
The Guard’s a legacy, a brotherhood built on blood and loyalty, and the last thing I want is to stain that, to be the one kicked out for fucking up. The weight of it presses on my chest, stress creeping in like a fog.
A sharp tap on the window snaps me out of it.
I glance over, my hand instinctively moving to the Glock under my jacket, but it’s just Cole, holding two steaming coffee cups, his strong frame relaxed but his eyes sharp.
I unlock the door, and he slides into the passenger seat, handing me a cup.
“Black, no sugar,” Cole says, his voice low. “Figured you’d need it, sitting up here playing spy.”
I grunt, taking the coffee, the bitter warmth grounding me.
“Got anything new?” I ask, setting the binoculars on the dash.
Cole nods, pulling out his phone. “Rodrygo’s meeting Knox again tonight, some upscale bar downtown. Got a lead on their money trail. Obsidian Ventures is funneling cash through a network of shell companies, straight to a cartel front in Panama. Los Lobos reborn, no question. And Miles’ screenshots? They’re gold. Dates, names, transfers—it’s enough to start building a case, but we need more to nail Knox.”
I sip the coffee, my eyes flicking back to the office windows.
Miles is still out of sight, probably digging deeper into those files.
“He’s risking a lot,” I say, my voice quieter. “Knox is onto him, I can feel it. That sleaze yesterday, leaning in, touching his arm… he’s testing the boy, trying to keep him close. I wouldn’t put anything past that lowlife. Miles is in at the deep end.”
Cole raises an eyebrow, studying me.
“You’re getting protective,” Cole says. “More than usual.”
I scowl, but he’s not wrong.
