7. Bodie
Bodie
“ W-w-w-was I sleeping?” I mumble, barely aware of where I am. “Oh, right. Yeah.”
The hum of Shred’s engine pulls me out of a fuzzy nap, the van’s vibrations seeping into my bones, soothing in a way I didn’t expect.
It’s different sitting in the passenger side rather than driving.
This is my van, and I like to be the one behind the wheel.
But after all the drama, not to mention the spanking, I guess I was always going to crash out at some point—and it’s probably best I wasn’t behind the wheel when that happened!
I’m curled in the passenger seat, Poot tucked against my chest, his worn tusks soft under my fingers.
The seat’s cracked vinyl is warm from my body, and the coastal road stretches dark outside, the ocean a distant murmur through the half-open window.
My butt’s still tender and I shift, wincing as the memory hits me full force…
Those firm swats, his voice counting, the way I kicked and yelped despite myself. I’m irritated—pissed, even—that he made me feel so small, so out of control.
But there’s something else, too, a secret I don’t want to admit: a surge of excitement, sharp and electric, that hummed through me with every sting.
It’s messed up, and I hate that part of me liked it, that my Little side craved Henry’s rules, his strength.
Argh.
Why me?
Why is any of this happening to me?
I glance at Henry, his profile sharp in the dashboard’s glow, eyes fixed on the road like he’s scanning for threats. His big hands grip the wheel, steady, and that calm authority from earlier—the kind that pinned me in place without a word—still lingers.
He’s a Daddy, no question about that, and it’s screwing with my head.
I’ve spent years running from control, most recently from guys like Vince who wanted to cage me, and here I am, stuck with another man who thinks he can tell me what to do.
Except Henry’s different.
He’s not mocking my Little side, not twisting it like Vince did. That doesn’t mean I trust him. No way. He might have spanked my ass, but he’s not my Daddy. And that means that nothing’s changed as far as I’m concerned…
I’m getting out of this mess myself , just like always.
My mind drifts to the waves, to the life I had before Vince’s shadow swallowed it. Surfing was my escape, my freedom. I close my eyes, picturing a morning last summer, before things went to hell.
I was at a break in Santa Flossa, the sun barely up, the water glassy and cold. My board sliced through a six-footer, the spray sharp on my face, and for those few seconds, I was untouchable .
No rules, no fear, just me and the ocean, moving like we were one.
I’d paddle back out, laughing with other drifters, my Little side happy with Poot waiting in Shred, a juice box in my bag.
I sigh, but keep my face turned away from Henry.
That’s what I need now… to hit the waves, let the water wash away Vince’s threats, Henry’s rules, this whole damn night. But Shred’s low on gas, and I’m stuck with a guy who spanks first and asks questions later.
“You awake?” Henry’s voice cuts through my thoughts, low and gravelly, pulling me back to the van. His eyes flick to me, then back to the road, but there’s a softness there, like he’s checking on more than just my consciousness. “Bodie?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, hugging Poot tighter, my thumb brushing his tusk. “It’s not like I can sleep forever.”
My tone’s sharp, a reflex, because I’m still mad about the spanking, about how he made me feel—in more ways than one. But my voice wobbles, betraying the calm I’m trying to fake.
Henry doesn’t react to my attitude, just nods, his jaw tight.
“Good,” Henry says, his voice calm and with that annoying air of authority. “We’re headed to a safe place, but I need to know more about what’s chasing you. That Vince guy you mentioned…what’s his deal? You said he’s a smuggler. How deep’s he in, and why is he after you?”
I bristle, my walls snapping up like a fortress.
“Why do you care?” I snap, turning to glare at him. “You’re not my babysitter. I didn’t ask for this.”
My heart races, not just from his questions but from the truth I’m dodging.
Vince’s not just a smuggler—he’s a monster, and I’m scared to say it out loud, like naming him will summon him through the window.
Henry’s eyes stay on the road, but his voice softens, steady, like he’s talking me off a ledge.
“I care because someone tried to kill you tonight, Bodie,” Henry says. “Twice. Either one of those bullets could have put you down. You’re tough, but you’re not bulletproof. I can’t keep you safe if I don’t know what I’m up against. So talk. What’s Vince got on you?”
Henry’s gentle but firm insistence chips at me, like waves wearing down a cliff.
I want to keep fighting, to tell him to shove it, but there’s something in his tone—not pity, not judgment, but a quiet promise that he’s not running.
It makes my Little side ache, wanting to spill everything, to let someone else carry the weight. But I’ve trusted before, and it burned me. Vince’s charm was a trap, and Henry’s Daddy energy could be one too, no matter how safe it feels right now.
“I… um…” I say, intentionally letting my voice trail off, hoping that Henry will take the hint and drop the inquisition.
I turn away, staring out the window, and fish my phone from my bag to avoid his gaze. The screen lights up, and I scroll, not really looking, just needing a distraction.
Then a news alert catches my eye, and my breath hitches. It’s a local report, timestamped an hour ago:
Crime Syndicate Busted in Major Drug Raid. Leader Vince Gray Still at Large.
My stomach drops. The article mentions cartel ties, millions in cocaine, and a string of murders linked to Vince’s crew.
There’s a blurry photo of him, smirking on a beach, the same cocky grin that sucked me in months ago.
My fingers tremble, and I lock the screen, shoving the phone under my thigh so Henry doesn’t see.
Henry doesn’t know about this, and I’m not telling him. Not yet.
If Vince is on the run, he’s desperate, and that makes him even more dangerous. But spilling to Henry means admitting how deep I’m in, how I let Vince use Shred, how I ignored the red flags.
For all I know, Henry is an agent undercover, using me to get to Vince. And when he’s done? I could be facing jail, or worse. No, I need to use my brains and think.
But aside from that, I can’t handle the shame, or the way Henry might look at me—like I’m some dumb kid who walked into a trap.
I’m not that boy.
I’m Bodie, the surfer who rides ten-footers, who ditched college to chase waves. I’ve got this. I’ll figure out a way to slip Vince’s net, gas up Shred, and vanish to some nowhere town where no one knows my name.
“Bodie,” Henry says, his voice firmer now, pulling me back. “I’m not the enemy. You don’t have to tell me everything, but give me something. Why’s Vince after you? What’d you do to piss him off?”
I clench my jaw, my nails digging into Poot’s fur.
“I left him,” I say finally, the words bitter. “He didn’t like that. Okay ?”
It’s half the truth, but it’s all I can manage. My Little side wants to blurt the rest—about the ledger, the smuggling, how Vince mocked my romper when I tried to run—but I bite it back. Henry’s already too close, too in my space, and I need to keep some walls up.
Henry nods, like he’s piecing it together, but his eyes flick to me again, searching.
“Left him and he sends shooters? There’s more to it,” Henry says, his voice a low growl. “You don’t have to trust me, but you’re stuck with me until this is over. Might as well make it easier on both of us.”
“Easier?” I scoff, but it’s weak, my fight draining out of me.
The news report burns in my mind, Vince’s face a ghost I can’t shake. I want to argue, to tell Henry I don’t need his safehouse or his rules, but the ache in my butt reminds me how fast he takes control.
And that stupid, secret part of me—the part that sparked during the spanking—wonders what it’d be like to let him. To have a Daddy who’s not a snake, who sets boundaries because he cares, not because he wants to own me. I shove the thought down, hard.
No men.
No Daddies.
Just me, Shred, and Poot.
I turn back to the window, the ocean a dark blur, and hug Poot tighter.
“I’ll tell you what you need to know when I’m ready,” I mutter, my voice barely audible. “Just drive.”
Henry doesn’t push, just lets the silence settle, the van’s hum filling the space.
I stare at the horizon, picturing waves, freedom, a life where Vince’s just a bad dream.
I’m in deep, deeper than I ever wanted, but I’ve climbed out of holes before. I’ll do it again.
I just have to.
Because if I don’t get myself out of this mess, I’m not sure anyone can. Not even Henry with his big spanking hands, Daddy promises, and Mr. Big Hero Attitude to match…