He nods, his smile unwavering. “Ready, Daddy. I’ve got this. Sneak in, plant the drive, play dumb. Easy.”
I study him, pride swelling despite the tension.
“You’re tougher than you look, baby boy,” I reply. “But if you feel nerves later, don’t fight them. Embrace them. They’ll keep you sharp.”
Miles tilts his head, his eyes softening.
“Got it. Thanks for the pep talk,” Miles says and reaches for my hand, his fingers brushing mine.
The air between us hums with that unspoken love we both feel but haven’t named. He’s brilliant—brave, smart, his Little side balancing his steel—and I’m falling harder every second.
We finish breakfast and head out, my sedan parked in the same top-floor spot in the lot across from Knox & Rain.
Miles walks to the office, his backpack bouncing, and I settle in with my binoculars, my phone open to the tracker app. His dot moves steadily into the building, and I scan the glass walls, catching him at his desk, typing like it’s any other day.
So far, so good.
The street below is quiet—office workers, delivery vans, nothing out of place. I check the software feed on my phone; it’s all set, all we need is for Miles to do his side of the plan and we’ll have everything we need.
Hours pass, the sun climbing higher, and I’m wired, my eyes never leaving the office. Miles is playing his part perfectly, moving between his desk and the copy room, no sign of Knox.
I’m starting to think we’ll pull this off clean when two black SUVs roll up to the curb, their tinted windows screamingtrouble. My gut clenches as four men step out—hard faces, tailored suits, the kind of swagger that reeks of cartel muscle.
One man has a thin moustache, a hint of a tattoo lurking under his shirt collar. Another packing a bulge under his jacket that’sdefinitelya piece, a probably a semi automatic too. The other two men look dangerous, out of place in the city district.
This isn’t good. Not even close.
They head into the Knox & Rain lobby, and my heart slams against my ribs. Miles is still inside, his dot steady on my phone, oblivious to the wolves walking in.
Every instinct screams to charge in, yank him out, damn the mission. If these are Los Lobos enforcers, if they’re here for him, I can’t sit and watch.
That note—Next time, you’re dead—flashes in my mind, and I see his trashed apartment, his fear when I first took him to my place. My hands grip the binoculars, knuckles white, and I’m halfway to opening the car door when Cole’s voice crackles through my earpiece…
“Travis, hold. We don’t know their play yet. Stick to the plan.”
“He’s in there,” I growl, my voice low, raw. “If they touch him?—”
“We’ve got eyes on the exits,” Max cuts in, his tone calm but firm. “Give him time to plant the drive. He’s smart. He’ll handle it.”
I curse under my breath, my pulse pounding. It’s the biggest dilemma I’ve faced in years: act now, storm in, and risk blowing the mission—months of work, the Guard’s trust, my career—or wait, trust Miles’ nerve, and risk his life.
The cartel is no joke. Symon and Kent’s faces flash in my mind, their bodies crumpled in that jungle ambush. I can’t lose Miles, not like that. Not on a mission.
But he’s my partner, not just my Little, and he’s counting on me to hold the line. Miles would be furious if I jeopardized the mission for his safety.
I force a breath, my eyes locked on the office windows.
Miles’ dot hasn’t moved—he’s still at his desk.
The SUVs are still parked, no movement. I text Miles…
TRAVIS: Stay sharp. Unknown players in the building. Get out if it feels off.
My thumb hovers over the send button, hesitating. If he panics, it could tip them off. I hit send anyway, my heart in my throat, and wait, praying he’s as brilliant as I know he is…
My phone vibrates in my hand, the screen glowing with Miles’ reply…
MILES: Haven’t returned the flash drive yet. Not leaving until it’s done.
