Chapter 4 Travis
Travis
I circle Miles slowly, my boots thudding softly on the meeting room’s worn carpet.
The air’s thick with tension, the kind that hums like a live wire. I’ve got the boy right where I need him, and whether he likes it or not, he’s going to dance to my tune from here on out.
Miles is sitting in the chair I pointed him to, his chin lifted defiantly, those big eyes glaring up at me like he’s daring me to make a move. It’s almost cute, this bravado, but there’s steel beneath it.
This boy’s no pushover, and that’s a problem.
A big one.
I know that I have permission to do whatever is required. I know that should I feel I have no other option, I could kill the boy here and now. But that’s not how I work, not when I don’t know for absolute certain that it’s the right thing to do.
This is my op, my call.
Miles Nadal, investigative lawyer with a nose for trouble, has been poking into the Guard’s business for weeks, maybe months, and now he’s here, caught in our trap.
The leaked meeting details were bait, and he bit—hard.
Part of me admires his guts, but that’s a dangerous thought I shove aside.
I stop pacing, leaning against the table, arms crossed, letting the silence stretch.
“So,” I say, letting my voice hang in the air, seeing if I can prompt any panicked pleas from the boy.
Miles’ fake delivery uniform is rumpled, the cap knocked askew when I dragged him in. His backpack’s by the door, and I’m betting that cow stuffy he was hiding amongst his paperwork in the diner last night is in there.
Miles has got that Little vibe—soft, playful, but with a stubborn streak that’s going to make this tricky. I need to shut him down, make him back off, without crossing a line I can’t uncross.
Killing him would be easy—too easy—but that’s not the play.
Not yet.
“Miles,” I say, my voice low, deliberate.
“You’ve been a busy boy. Hacking our systems, chasing leads, playing spy in your cute little disguise.
” I nod at his uniform, and his cheeks flush, but he doesn’t look away.
“You think you’re clever, don’t you? Digging into the Guard like we’re just another easy lawsuit or cover for your firm’s less than positive true purpose. ”
His lips part, and I can see the retort forming, but I hold up a hand, cutting him off.
“Don’t. You’re in deep,” I growl. “Deeper than you can imagine. The Guard doesn’t take kindly to nosy lawyers—or reporters, or whatever you are—who think they can expose us.”
“I’m not scared of you,” Miles snaps, his voice steady despite the slight tremble in his hands. “You’re the ones breaking the law. Killing people, operating like you’re untouchable. Someone’s gotta hold you accountable.”
I laugh, a short, sharp bark that makes the boy flinch.
“Accountable? You think you’re the hero here? You’ve got no idea what we do, what we stop,” I bark. “The Guard keeps people safe—people like you, safe in your cozy apartment with your stuffies and coloring books. The world ain’t all rainbows and laughter, boy.”
His eyes widen, and I know I’ve hit a nerve.
Good.
I need him off balance.
I step closer, looming over him, letting my size and presence do the talking. “You’re playing with fire, Miles,” I continue. “The kind that doesn’t just burn—it obliterates. You keep digging, and you won’t just lose your story. You’ll lose everything.”
His jaw tightens, but there’s a flicker of fear in his eyes now.
He’s smart enough to know I’m not bluffing, but stubborn enough to push back.
“You can’t stop me,” Miles says, quieter now, but no less defiant. “The truth always comes out.”
I straighten, running a hand through my hair, fighting the urge to admire his fire. He’s not wrong—the truth does come out, but not the way he thinks.
The Guard’s truth is blood and shadows, not headlines.
I need him to walk away. I need him to believe he’s choosing it himself. If I can plant enough doubt, make him question his crusade, he might back off without me having to escalate.
Force won’t work with this boy; he’s too stubborn.
But persuasion? That’s my game.
“Listen closely, young man,” I say, my voice dropping to a growl, all Daddy, all control.
“This is your one chance. Walk away. Delete your files, forget the Guard, and go back to your life. But… keep pushing, and the consequences won’t just be severe—they’ll be permanent.
You won’t see us coming, and you won’t get a second warning. ”
The boy’s breath hitches, and for a moment, I think I’ve got him.
But then he leans forward, eyes blazing.
“You think you can scare me into giving up? I’ve faced worse than you.”
I hold his gaze, letting him see the truth in mine. “No, you haven’t. But you will if you don’t stop.” I step back, giving him space, and gesture to the door. “Go. Now. Before I change my mind.”
Miles blinks, caught off guard. I can see the wheels turning—he expected cuffs, a fight, maybe worse.
Not this.
Not freedom.
I open the door, the hallway beyond dark and empty.
“Don’t make me regret this, Miles,” I warn.
The boy hesitates, then grabs his backpack, clutching it like a lifeline. His eyes dart to me, searching for the catch, but I just nod toward the hall.
Miles stands, his movements jerky, and walks out, his sneakers silent on the carpet. The door clicks shut behind him, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Then, stepping out from behind the door at the rear of the room, Henry reveals himself.
“Soft move, Travis,” Henry mutters, breaking the silence. “You sure about this?”
I shrug, keeping my expression neutral. “He’s not a cartel thug. Killing him would’ve been messy, and we don’t need that heat. If he’s smart, he’ll back off.”
Henry snorts. “He didn’t look like the backing-off type.”
My old Guard associate is right, and it gnaws at me.
I could’ve ended it here—neutralized the threat permanently.
But something stopped me.
Maybe it’s the way he stood his ground, or the glimpse of that Little side that makes my chest tighten.
And as much as I know that he could be in on his law firm’s double-dealing, a big enough part of me thinks that he’s innocently doing what he thinks is right—even if he’s got it all wrong when it comes to the Guard.
Either way, I’ve rolled the dice, and now I’m wondering if I’ve made a mistake.
The drive back to the city is long, the highway stretching out under a starless sky. I crank the radio, trying to drown out the doubts circling my mind.
Miles’ face keeps flashing in my head—those defiant eyes, that stubborn tilt to his chin. He’s trouble, and not just because of his hacking. He’s under my skin, and that’s a liability I can’t afford.
The more I think on it, the more I feel like I should have ended it all on the spot.
Back in the city, I head straight to the gym, needing to burn off the tension. Max’s already there, racking weights, his shirt soaked with sweat.
“You look like hell,” Max says, grinning as he spots me.
“Thanks,” I mutter, grabbing a barbell. “Rough day.”
Max raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push—we’re both Guards with enough experience to know that sometimes there simply is no point in talking things through. That can, maybe, come later. Right now, I need something else.
We lift in silence for a while, the clank of metal and my grunts filling the space.
My muscles burn, but it’s not enough to shake the image of Miles walking out that door, free when he should’ve been stopped.
Did I let him go because I believe he’ll quit, or because I didn’t want to hurt him?
“Spill it,” Max says finally, wiping his face with a towel. “You’re nowhere near hitting any PB’s and that’s putting me off my damn game too. What’s got you wound so tight?”
I hesitate, then give him the short version—Miles, the trap, letting him walk.
Max whistles low and long, a knowing look in his eyes.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, man,” Max says. “He’s not just a target. He’s a wildcard. And whatever he is, he isn’t some innocent who’s been caught up in a situation like my boy Kaite.”
“Tell me about it,” I say, racking the barbell. “But I’ve got eyes on him. He makes one wrong move, I’ll handle it.”
Max shakes his head, but there’s a glint of respect in his eyes.
“Just don’t let the kid get in your head,” Max says, patting me on the shoulder. “Or your heart either.”
I scoff, but his words hit too close.
I’m not that guy—not the one who falls for a target.
But Miles is different, and that’s what scares me.
It’s past midnight when I park across from Miles’ apartment building, the city quiet except for the occasional hum of a passing car. His fifth-floor window is dark, but I can picture him up there, curled up with that damn cow stuffy, plotting his next move.
I settle into my seat, sipping a lukewarm coffee from a thermos, my eyes locked on his building.
I’m not sure what I’m waiting for—a light to flick on, a sign he’s still digging, or maybe just a glimpse of him to settle the churn in my gut.
Letting him go was a calculated risk, but it’s left me uneasy.
Miles is not just a threat to the Guard, he’s a puzzle I can’t stop trying to solve. His defiance, his fire, that Little spark—it’s a dangerous combination, and I’m caught in its pull.
My phone buzzes, a text from Cole…
COLE: Status? Talk to me. This is a friendly word of advice. You need to resolve this, and quickly. Mr. G won’t take kindly to any sign of weakness. We know this.
I type back:
TRAVIS: On him. No movement yet. And, yeah, I know you’re right. I’m going to wrap this up very quickly.
But as I hit send, a shadow moves in his window, and my heart kicks up a notch. He’s awake. And if I know Miles anywhere near as my gut instinct is telling me I do, he’s not done fighting.
I lean back, my jaw tight.
I gave him a chance, but if he keeps pushing, I won’t hesitate.
The Guard comes first. Always.
But as I watch his window, I can’t shake the feeling that this Little’s going to make me break all my rules—and that could end up costing me way more than my position as a Guard…