Chapter 5 Miles
Miles
“Oh Bean, what have I got myself into?” I ask, more out of desperation than anything else. “I can’t back down though. And I won’t.”
I cuddle Bean and bring his warm body closer to me.
The glow of my TV casts flickering shadows across my apartment, The Little Mermaid playing softly in the background.
Ariel’s singing about wanting to be part of that world, and I’m curled up on the couch, Bean tucked under my arm, a bowl of popcorn balanced on my lap.
The buttery scent fills the air, but the kernels taste like cardboard tonight.
My usual comforts—Disney, Bean, snacks—aren’t working.
My mind’s a storm, and Travis’s at the center of it.
It’s late, and the city outside my fifth-floor window is quiet, save for the occasional hum of a car. I pull the fuzzy blanket tighter around me, trying to focus on Ariel’s adventure, but my thoughts keep circling back to that meeting room…
Travis’s piercing eyes, his smug smirk, the way he called me boy and Little like he saw right through me. My cheeks burn at the memory.
He knows I’m a Little—how?
Was it the way I held myself, or did he dig into my life beyond the clues he spotted as he spied on me in the diner that night?
The thought makes my skin crawl, but there’s something else too, something I hate admitting: a flicker of intrigue.
Why did he let me go?
If the Night Ops Guard’s as ruthless as I think—killing at the drop of a hat, operating above the law—he could’ve ended me right there in that beige office block. A quick snap, a silenced shot, and no more Miles Nadal poking into their secrets.
But he didn’t.
Travis opened the door, let me walk out, his warning ringing in my ears: The consequences will be permanent. It was hardly a friendly note of caution but it was so much better than what he could have done. But why?
I shiver, hugging Bean closer, his microwaved warmth seeping into my chest.
“What’s his deal, Bean?” I murmur, booping his nose. “Is he playing me? Is this all some wicked game to him?”
Part of me wants to believe Travis’s not all bad. His demeanor—stern, commanding, with that low growl—screams Daddy. I’ve seen enough Daddies with Jack and his friends to recognize the vibe.
The way Travis loomed over me, all control and menace, stirred something deep, something I pushed down hard in that moment. But now, alone with my thoughts, it’s harder to ignore.
Could he be a Daddy?
And if he is, does that mean there’s a heart beneath that gruff exterior?
I shake my head, annoyed at myself.
“Stop it, Miles,” I say. “He’s the enemy.”
I grab a handful of popcorn, crunching it aggressively. Travis’s not my friend, not my Daddy, not anything but a threat.
He thinks he can scare me into dropping my investigation?
He’s got another thing coming. The Night Ops Guard’s secrets—global operations, military tactics, high-end clients—are too big to ignore.
They’re breaking laws, and I’m going to prove it.
It’s cases like this that motivated me to join Knox & Rain in the first place instead of some corporate legal firm where the sole objective is to get rich people off the hook every day.
I set the popcorn bowl on the coffee table and grab my laptop, Bean watching from his perch on the couch.
I open my encrypted email and draft a message to Kyle Knox, my senior boss…
MILES: Kyle, I’m deep into the Night Ops Guard case. Got a lead, but it’s bigger than I thought. Need more time and resources to nail this. They’re dangerous, but I’m not backing down.
I hit send, my heart pounding with resolve. Less than a minute later, my phone pings with his reply:
KYLE: Miles, if it means taking down those bastards, you’ve got whatever you need. Stay sharp, stay safe. But most of all… take those assholes down.
I smile grimly. Kyle’s always had my back, and his trust fuels my fire.
I dive back into my research, pulling up the files I’ve compiled on the Guard. Encrypted emails, dark web chatter, a blurry photo of a man in tactical gear who might be one of them.
The leaked meeting details from last night are still my biggest clue, but now I’m wondering if they were too easy to get.
Was it a trap, like Travis’s smug face suggested?
I cross-reference the Redwood Lodge address with property records, digging for any ties to known Guard associates. Nothing concrete, but a shell company name keeps popping up: Obsidian Ventures. I jot it down, my pen scratching furiously.
My eyes burn from the screen’s glare, but I keep going, chasing the thread. A forum post mentions a “Joker” in connection to the Guard—same term I saw in the leaked file.
Is “Joker” Travis’s codename? It fits his cocky attitude.
I’m about to dive deeper when Ariel’s voice fades into the credits, snapping me back to the room.
The popcorn’s cold and my heart’s racing like I’ve run a marathon. I lean back, rubbing my temples.
“I’m not letting him win, Bean,” I mutter. “No way.”
But as I close my laptop, doubt creeps in.
Travis’s warning wasn’t just words—it was a promise. And that look in his eyes, like he could see every piece of me, makes me feel exposed in a way I’m not used to.
I hug Bean tight, wishing I could shake the feeling that this time I’m swimming too deep and won’t be able to get myself back to shore…
The next day, I’m still rattled as I step out of the elevator into my apartment building’s hallway.
Lunch with Jack at his café was a nice distraction—his giggles and tales of a special funishment spanking from his Daddy were certainly entertaining—but now I’m back, ready to dig into Obsidian Ventures.
I fumble with my keys, my bag slung over my shoulder, Bean peeking out of the zipper.
“Home sweet home,” I mutter, pushing the door open.
The sight stops me cold.
My apartment’s a wreck.
Bookshelves toppled, papers strewn across the floor, couch cushions slashed. My heart lurches into my throat, and I drop my bag, Bean tumbling out.
“No, no, no,” I whisper, stepping inside, my sneakers crunching on broken glass from a shattered picture frame.
My Disney posters are torn, my coloring books shredded. I
t’s like a tornado hit, but this was no accident.
I scan the room, my pulse hammering, and spot a note pinned to the fridge with a kitchen knife. My hands shake as I pull it free, the paper crinkling.
Scrawled in sharp, black ink… Next time, you’re dead.
The words hit like a punch, stealing my breath.
I stumble back, clutching the note, my mind racing. Who did this? Travis? The Night Ops Guard?
They knew I was here last night, knew I was digging.
But why warn me again instead of… finishing it?
Or is it someone else? My work at Knox & Rain has put plenty of bad people behind bars—corrupt CEOs, drug lords, even a crooked senator. Any one of them could want revenge.
My stomach churns as I think of Marcus Vane, the official I exposed three years ago for embezzling millions. He swore he’d make me pay, and he’s got the connections to pull this off. But the Guard’s a more immediate threat. Travis’s face flashes in my mind—his smirk, his warning.
Did he do this to scare me straight?
Panic claws at me, and I sink onto the couch, glass crunching under me. I grab Bean, hugging him tight, his warmth a small comfort.
My eyes sting, but I refuse to cry.
I’m Miles Nadal, damn it. I don’t break.
But right now, I’m scared—scared in a way I haven’t been since I started this job. I fumble for my phone, debating whether to call Kyle or the police.
But what can they do?
If the police could do anything about The Guard then I wouldn’t need to investigate them in the first place. As far as the police go, they’re untouchable. And if it’s Vane, he’s too smart to leave evidence.
I stand, pacing the wreckage of my home, the note crumpled in my fist.
Travis’s voice echoes: You won’t see us coming. Is this what he meant? Or is he watching, waiting for me to crack?
I glance at the window, half-expecting to see his shadow across the street.
Nothing but city lights stare back.
I set Bean on the couch, my resolve hardening. If Travis or Vane or whoever thinks this will stop me, they’re wrong.
I grab my laptop from my bag—thankfully untouched—and open it, my fingers flying over the keys.
I’m not backing down.
I’ll find out who did this, and then I’ll expose the Night Ops Guard, no matter what it takes.
But as I type, my heart pounds, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched…