Chapter 6 Travis
Travis
“Damn, this feels good,” I mutter, my voice drowned out by the shower’s powerful spray.
The hot water pounds my shoulders, steam curling around me in the gym’s locker room shower.
My muscles already ache from the brutal workout I just put them through—deadlifts, pull-ups, a punishing set of burpees to burn off the tension that’s been coiling in me since I got involved with this mission.
The water’s scalding, but it feels good, washing away the sweat and the doubts that have been bubbling up inside me.
This isn’t my usual kind of mission. Nowhere near enough action.
All observation, guesswork, trying to outsmart a damn boy.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m up for the challenge—I guess I just never imagined that it would be this challenging so quickly.
I close my eyes, letting the heat sink into my skin, but his face is there, uninvited.
Miles.
Those defiant eyes, that stubborn tilt to his chin, the way he glared at me in that meeting room, all fire and no quit. I shake my head, water sluicing down my face.
“Get out of my head, boy,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand over my jaw.
But he’s stubborn even in my thoughts. I picture him in that ridiculous delivery uniform, the cap slipping over his eyes. But all the while I know he had a damn stuffy too.
He’s a puzzle—part fierce investigator, part vulnerable Little—and it’s messing with me.
My body reacts before I can stop it, a low heat stirring as I imagine him looking up at me, all sass and spark, calling me out even as I towered over the him.
My cock hardens in double quick time, straining upward, thick and stiff as I mentally undress Miles, his naked body appearing in my mind, each and every inch of his slender but toned body appealing to my most basic of instincts.
If Miles were here at the gym, I would pull him into the locker room, take him into the shower with me right now, and do the things to him that I know would shake him to his very core.
The boy would submit to my desires, take everything I could give him, and beg for more. I’d pull on his nipples, lead him around the room at my command. I’d slap his hard cock from side to side and watch with delight as he submitted himself to me. Fuck, it would be hot.
And that ass… that peachy, round, perfectly spankable ass…
“Damn it, get a grip,” I growl.
I groan, slamming a fist against the tiled wall.
This isn’t me.
I don’t get distracted, especially not by a target.
But Miles is not just a target, and that’s the problem.
I twist the knob to cold, the shock snapping me back to reality. Focus, Travis. He’s a threat to the Guard, to everything we’ve built.
I let Miles walk last night, gave him a chance to back off, but I know his type.
He’s not stopping. And if I don’t handle this, Mr. G will, and his methods won’t be as gentle as mine—he’s older, wiser, and moves with a clinical lack of emotion when the time is right.
Miles’ looks and sassy Little side won’t mean a damn thing to Mr. G if he feels he needs to be removed from the picture.
And I don’t want that, not if it can be helped.
I step out of the shower, water dripping off me as I grab a towel and wrap it around my waist. The gym is a lot nicer than the kinds I used to work out in during my twenties.
Now in my forties, I actually enjoy the fact that I can train in places that have somewhat more luxurious changing facilities.
Hell, I might even be going soft in my old age but I even like the luxury skin moisturizer dispensers they have here.
The locker room’s empty, the faint hum of the gym’s air conditioning the only sound. I sit on the bench, letting the cool air dry my skin, and grab my phone from my bag. A notification from our tech team waits, and my gut tightens as I read it:
TECH: Miles Nadal accessed encrypted Guard servers, multiple occasions, continued breaches. Several queries on Obsidian Ventures. Recommend immediate action.
“Damn it, Miles,” I growl, tossing the phone onto the bench.
He didn’t listen.
I told him to walk away, warned him what would happen if he kept digging, but he’s at it again, poking into our shell company like a dog with a bone.
Part of me—stupidly—admires his guts.
The boy is not backing down, even after I scared him straight. Or thought I did. But admiration’s a luxury I can’t afford. Whether I like it or not, Miles is a threat, and I need to neutralize that threat, one way or another.
I dry off, pulling on jeans and a black t-shirt, my mind racing.
Killing the boy would be clean, final, but the thought sours my stomach.
He’s not a cartel thug or a corrupt warlord—he’s a boy with a cause, even if it’s misguided.
In theory it’s possible that he’s knowingly acting like a Good Samaritan lawyer to cover up his law firm’s true mission, but that doesn’t wash with me.
Or maybe I’m just deluded. Who the fuck knows.
The truth is that I need to find out for myself and then make the call.
But that Little spark in him… it’s got me twisted up.
I need a smarter play, something to get inside his head, make him talk, maybe even flip the boy. If I can figure out what he knows about Knox & Rain’s shadier clients, I might turn this around without bloodshed—and it could lead to the kind of intel that Mr. G would lap up with open arms.
I grab my phone and dial Mr. G. He picks up on the second ring, his voice clipped, like always. “Travis. Report.”
“He’s still digging,” I say, pacing the locker room. “Accessed our servers last night, poking at Obsidian Ventures. He’s not stopping.”
A pause, heavy with judgment. “You let him walk. I trust you had a reason.”
“I did,” I say, keeping my tone steady. “He’s not a typical target.
Force won’t break him—it’ll make him dig harder.
I want to try something unorthodox. Get him to talk, reveal what he knows about his firm.
Knox & Rain’s got ties we need to understand.
There’s something here, something valuable to the Guard.
I feel it. If I can get Miles to open up, we might get more than just his silence. ”
Another pause. Mr. G’s not one for rash decisions, but he’s also not patient. “Unorthodox how?”
“Play his game,” I say. “Get close, gain his trust. He’s a Little—there’s leverage there. I can work him, make him think he’s choosing to back off.” I hesitate, then add, “But I need time.”
Mr. G grunts, unimpressed. “You’ve got a week. After that, definitive action. No loose ends, Travis. You know what’s at stake.”
“I know,” I say, my jaw tight. “I’ll handle it.”
“You’d better.” The line goes dead.
I shove the phone in my pocket, my mind already shifting to the plan.
Miles is not just stubborn—he’s smart. If I come at him with threats again, he’ll double down.
But if I can get under his skin, make him question his crusade, maybe I can turn this around. The thought of his flushed cheeks, that spark in his eyes, sends a jolt through me.
I curse under my breath.
I was hard as hell in the shower thinking about him, and I can’t let that cloud my judgment.
He’s a job, nothing more.
It’s late when I pull up outside Miles’ apartment building, the city quiet but alive in that magical way big cities can conjure.
I sit in my car for a moment, composing myself.
My pulse is steady, but there’s a buzz under my skin, the same one I felt watching Miles last night.
I picture him in that meeting room, all fire and defiance, and my resolve hardens.
I’m not here to play Daddy—I’m here to protect the Guard.
“Okay, go time,” I say, my voice cold and calm, ready to do whatever needs to be done to protect my organization and fulfill my obligations.
I climb the stairs to his fifth-floor apartment, my boots heavy on the creaky steps. The hallway’s quiet, the air thick with the smell of someone’s cooking.
I knock on his door, sharp and deliberate, and wait.
When it swings open, Miles is standing there, his eyes wide with shock that quickly turns to suspicion.
The boy is in a soft pink sweater and jeans, his hair glistening under the light, and for a second, I’m thrown by how small he looks.
Then I see the mess behind him, and my blood runs cold.
What the fuck.
This ain’t Mr. G’s work.
This isn’t how the Guard moves…
His apartment’s trashed—bookshelves toppled, papers scattered, cushions slashed. A broken picture frame glints on the floor, and a triumvirate of Disney posters are shredded.
My gaze snaps to his face, and I see the fear there, mixed with anger.
He’s clutching that damn cow stuffy, his knuckles white.
“Travis,” Miles says, his voice sharp but shaky. “You did this, didn’t you?”
The accusation hits like a slap.
“No,” I say, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation and shutting the door behind me. The damage is worse up close—methodical, meant to scare. “This wasn’t me. Or the Guard. This isn’t what we’re about. Not even close. And I think you know that too, deep down.”
Miles scoffs, backing up, Bean pressed to his chest.
“Right. I’m supposed to believe you?” Miles spits. “After your little trap last night? Your threats?”
I take a deep breath, my eyes scanning the wreckage. A knife stuck in the fridge, pinning a note. I don’t need to read it to know it’s a threat.
My gut twists—this wasn’t us, but it’s connected.
Someone’s sending a message, and I’m betting it’s not just about the Guard.
“Miles, listen,” I say, keeping my voice low, steady. “I warned you to back off, yeah, but this? Like I said, this isn’t how we operate. You’ve pissed off someone else, haven’t you?”
Miles’ eyes narrow, but there’s a flicker of doubt.
“You expect me to buy that?” Miles asks. “You’re here, right after this happens. Convenient.”
I step closer, and he stiffens, but doesn’t back down.
“I’m here because you didn’t listen,” I say, my tone firm, Daddy-sharp. “You’re still digging, hitting our servers, chasing leads. You think I don’t know? But this—” I gesture at the mess. “This is someone else’s work. And I’m guessing you’ve got a list of enemies who’d love to see you scared.”
The boy swallows, his grip on the stuffy tightening.
“Maybe,” Miles says. “But you’re not off the hook, Travis. You’re one of them. You don’t give a crap about the law.”
I nod, not denying it.
“Fair. But I’m not letting you off the hook either, Little,” I say.
“You’re in danger, and not just from me.
Someone’s coming for you, and I’m betting it’s tied to your firm’s shady clients and whatever the fuck it is they really do behind all the surface level PR bullshit.
You want to stay alive? You’re gonna work with me. ”
His laugh is bitter. “Work with you? You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” I say, stepping closer, my voice dropping. “But right now, you don’t have a choice. I’ve got a plan to keep you safe and get answers. You can fight me, but it won’t change the fact that someone wants you dead. So, what’s it gonna be?”
Miles stares at me, his eyes searching mine, fear and defiance warring.
I can see the wheels turning—he’s scared, but he’s not broken. Not yet. And damn if that doesn’t make me want to protect the boy as much as I need to stop him.
One way or another, I’m going to solve that puzzle that is Miles Nadal…