And then? It doesn’t even bear thinking about…
Chapter 24
Travis
Fuck. This could be it.
Or it could be even better than that.
It could be the highlight of all highlight reels…
The rooftop air is sharp, cutting through my jacket as I crouch behind the bar counter, my Glock in one hand, the cold steel of a small, lethal knife pulled from my boot in the other.
Miles is beside me, his breath ragged, his eyes wide with fear but burning with that fire I love. The cartel men are hammering at the rooftop door, the pipe I jammed under the handle bending, ready to give.
My arm’s tense, the tracker app useless now—he’s right here, trembling but holding it together. Cole and Max are a while out, too far to help, and the odds are stacked against us—four, maybe five armed enforcers, all Los Lobos muscle, out for blood.
The knife’s no match for their firepower, but it’s enough to buy time, to keep them at bay until my brothers arrive. My heart’s pounding, not just from the fight coming but from him, my Little, my everything.
I turn to Miles, my voice low, raw with emotion I’ve held back too long.
“My darling boy, I love you,” I say. “More than I ever thought I could love anyone. I’ll look after youforever, even if I’m not around to do it.”
The words spill out, heavy with truth, and I’m overcome, my chest tight with the weight of it. His eyes glisten, his lips parting to reply, but the door groans, splintering, and there’s no time.
I stand, gripping the knife and Glock, my decision made.
“Stay down,” I hiss, and charge the door, using it as a choke point to minimize their numbers.
Close quarters, my kind of fight.
Miles shrieks, a terrified sound that rips at me, but I can’t look back.
The door bursts open, and the first cartel thug stumbles through, scar-faced and snarling. I drive the knife into his chest, a clean strike, and he collapses, blood pooling on the gravel.
The second man’s right behind, gun raised, but I’m faster, my Glock barking a single shot to his face. The man drops, lifeless, his weapon clattering.
I pivot, adrenaline surging, and clamber onto a raised HVAC ledge, using the height to my advantage. The third goon charges in, and I leap, tackling him to the ground, my hands finding his neck.
A sharp twist, a sickening snap, and another thug isgone.
Three down, but more are coming—I hear their shouts, boots pounding up the stairs. I’m back on my feet, scanning, when a shot grazes my arm, fire searing through my muscle.
I grunt, stumbling back, pain clouding my focus.
Five men spill onto the rooftop, guns trained on me, their faces hard, eyes cold. I’m exposed, my Glock low on rounds, the knife useless now.
Then I see him—Kyle Knox, stepping out from behind them, his suit pristine, his smile smug.
“Well played, Travis,” Knox sneers, his voice dripping with arrogance. “But my plan worked perfectly. The media’s going to love this—evil Night Ops Guard vigilantes trying to assassinate me, the humanitarian lawyer. You’redone. And so is your pain in the ass organization too.”
Miles breaks cover, his scream tearing through the air.
“You liar!” Miles shouts, his voice raw with anger. “You’re a fraud, a cartel puppet!”
Knox laughs, a cold, mocking sound. “Cute, Miles. But you’re out of your depth. And once I’m done with your asshole man, your ass is up next.”
One of the cartel men, his face twisted with hate, steps forward. “Let us kill him, Knox. For what the Guard did to Los Lobos.”
