“He’s in so damn deep, Cole,” I say. “That death threat, the trashed apartment—it’s all tied to this. I trust him, but if Knox suspects he’s onto him…” I trail off, the image of him with Knox yesterday—his smarmy grin, his forced smile—twisting my gut. Not jealousy this time, just fear. He’s mine to protect, and I can’t lose him.
“Focus, man,” Cole says, his tone firm but not unkind. “We’ve got your back. Max’s tailing Rodrygo today, and I’m running down those offshore accounts. You keep eyes on Miles, keep him safe. We’ll get the proof we need.”
I nod, the coffee cup warm in my hands, but Mr. G’s warning lingers.
Failure’s not an option—not for the mission, not for the Guard, not for him.
I lift the binoculars again, scanning the office, willing Miles to stay sharp, to stay safe.
Miles is my Little, my partner in this mess, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone take him from me.
Chapter 17
Miles
The hum of the Knox & Rain office wraps around me like a familiar blanket, but today it feels threadbare, full of holes.
I’m at my desk, my fingers tapping restlessly on the keyboard, my eyes darting to the glass walls of Kyle Knox’s corner office. The screenshots on my phone—those shady Obsidian Ventures transactions—are burning a hole in my pocket, and Travis’s words from this morning echo:Keep your eyes open.
The tracker in my waistband presses against my skin, a constant reminder of my Daddy’s watchful presence, and the memory of our steamy, filthy, downright wild moment in the parking lot—so hot, desperate, all-consuming—makes my cheeks flush even now. I’m trying to focus, to act normal, but my nerves are electric, buzzing with the weight of what I’m uncovering.
Sarah, a junior associate, leans over the cubicle divider, her coffee mug steaming.
“Hey, good news—Knox is out all day,” Sarah says. “Some client meeting across town. You won’t have to deal with his creepy charm for once.”
Relief floods me, loosening the knot in my chest.
“Really?” I ask, forcing a casual smile. “That’s a break.”
No Knox means I can’t pry intel from him directly, but it also means I can dig without his sleazy eyes on me. The thought of his hand on my arm yesterday, his too-close smile, makes my skin crawl.
But it also means I’ve got a window—a chance to snoop where I shouldn’t. My heart races at the thought, part fear, part thrill. If Knox is tied to this cartel mess, like Travis suspects, his office is where the answers are.
I wait, biding my time, pretending to work on a case file while watching the office.
By mid-afternoon, the place is quieter—lunch breaks, meetings, the usual lull. I grab a stack of papers as a prop, stand, and head toward the copy room, my path taking me past Knox’s office.
The door’s ajar, the room dark, and no one’s nearby. My pulse spikes, but I slip inside, closing the door softly behind me.
The air’s heavy with the scent of leather and expensive cologne, and as my eyes adjust, I’m hit by the sheer opulence of the space. It’s grand, all polished mahogany and floor-to-ceiling windows, a stark contrast to the open-plan chaos outside…
“So, Knox…” I mutter under my breath, casting my eyes around the room.
Knox’s desk dominates the room, a sleek slab of wood with a leather chair that probably costs more than my rent.
The walls are a gallery of his ego—photos of him on a luxury yacht, grinning with a champagne flute; him leaning against a cherry-red sports car; him shaking hands with suited men I don’t recognize, all smug confidence.
My stomach twists as I take it in.
This is therealKyle Knox—flashy, greedy, a man who loves the trappings of wealth. It’s like looking at the owners of Horizon Agro, the agribusiness that bullied my grandfather off his ranch, tearing apart his community for profit.
How did I miss this?
I’ve worked here for years, believed in Knox & Rain’s mission, but standing in this office, I see it clear as day: Knox is motivated by money, not justice. Just like the men who broke my grandfather’s heart.
I shake off the anger and get to work, my hands trembling as I rifle through his desk drawers.
Papers, pens, a monogrammed lighter—nothing useful at first.
