I ease the door open, slipping into Knox’s office. It’s as gaudy as Miles described—yacht photos, sports car models, a shrine to greed. He’s at the desk, his back to me, sliding the flash drive into a drawer.
“Miles,” I hiss, my voice low but urgent.
He spins, his eyes wide…
“Daddy? What are you?—”
“No time,” I cut him off, grabbing his arm. “Cartel’s here. We’re leaving.Now.”
Miles’ face pales, but he nods. We’re halfway to the door when it swings open, and the first cartel man enters, his glare on us.
My Glock’s out in a heartbeat, aimed at his chest.
“Back off,” I growl, my voice deadly calm. “You don’t want this.”
The man freezes, hands up, but his smirk says trouble’s coming our way.
Miles is trembling beside me, but his chin’s high, his fire still burning.
Whatever happens next, we’re in it together—but we need to do something, and do it fast…
Chapter 23
Miles
My heart’s hammering so hard it feels like it’s going to burst through my chest as I stand in Kyle Knox’s gaudy office, the flash drive just planted in the computer and ready to upload a full spyware software onto Kyle’s entire network.
Travis’s gripping my arm, his Glock aimed at the cartel enforcer in the doorway, a scarred man with a smirk that chills my blood.
His hands are raised, but that smug look says he’s not alone, and the heavy footsteps I hear echoing from the hallway confirm it. The air’s thick with tension, the yacht photos and sports car models on Knox’s walls mocking me with their greed.
I’m trembling, my legs shaky under my jeans, the fluffy diaper beneath a faint comfort against the panic clawing at me.
Travis’s voice is steady, his Daddy calm holding me together, but I know we’re seconds from disaster. The death threat flashes in my mind, and I realize this is it, the “next time” I’ve been dreading.
Stay calm.
Use the fear.
Just like Daddy said…
Then it hits me—a memory from months ago, a late night at the office when I overheard Knox bragging about his “private exit.” There’s a secret door at the rear of his office, hidden behind a bookcase, a way out he used for shady meetings.
My eyes dart to the shelf, and I act before I think, grabbing a small gold statue of a sailboat from the desk—a tacky, heavy thing—and hurling it at the cartel man’s head.
“Follow me!” I shout, my voice sharp as I lunge for the bookcase.
“Holy shit, boy,” Travis roars, his voice a mixture of shock and appreciation. “Good fucking shot.”
The statue clips the man’s temple, and he stumbles, cursing in Spanish as blood trickles down his face.
Travis doesn’t hesitate, his grip on me tightening as we sprint to the shelf.
I yank a lever disguised as a book, and the bookcase swings open, revealing a narrow, dim passage.
We burst through, the door clicking shut behind us, muffling the cartel man’s shouts and the pounding footsteps of his crew.
My pulse is a roar in my ears, but I keep moving, Travis right behind me, his Glock still drawn.
