Chapter 7 Miles
Miles
I don’t know what to think.
And I don’t know what he wants from me.
I stand frozen in the wreckage of my apartment, clutching Bean so tightly his fuzzy fur presses into my palms.
Travis’s here, uninvited, filling my space with his broad shoulders and that infuriatingly calm presence. The trashed room feels like a violation, but Travis’s insistence that he didn’t do it throws me. His eyes, sharp and steady, hold mine, and I hate how they make my heart stutter.
Travis’s the enemy, a Night Ops Guard, yet he’s standing here offering to protect me.
And now he’s… tidying up?
“Start with the books,” Travis says, his voice a low command as he grabs a toppled shelf and rights it with a grunt. “We’re not leaving this place a mess.”
I blink, disbelief rooting me to the spot.
“You’re serious?” I gasp. “You’re cleaning my apartment?”
He glances over, one eyebrow raised, that Daddy vibe rolling off him in waves.
“You want to live in a pigsty?” Travis barks. “Move, Little. Now.”
My cheeks burn, a flush creeping up my neck. I want to snap back, tell him to get out, but something in his tone—stern, unyielding—makes my body move before my brain catches up.
I set Bean on the couch and start gathering scattered books, my hands shaking with a mix of anger and something else, something I refuse to name.
Travis’s energy, all gruff control and quiet authority, is driving me wild, and I hate him for it.
I hate how my stomach flips when he calls me “Little,” how my fingers fumble as I stack books, hyper-aware of his gaze.
“You’re not my boss,” I mutter, shoving a battered copy of The Lion King onto the shelf. “I don’t have to listen to you.”
Travis chuckles, a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine.
He’s picking up torn papers, his movements precise, like he’s done this a hundred times.
“Keep telling yourself that, Miles,” Travis growls. “But you’re doing exactly what I say.”
I glare at him, my face hot.
He’s right, and it infuriates me.
I’m a lawyer, an investigator, not some obedient kid.
But there’s a pull in his voice, a strength that makes me want to please him, and it’s messing with my head.
I focus on the books, trying to ignore the way his t-shirt stretches across his shoulders as he hauls a chair upright. He’s too big, too present, and every time he moves closer, my pulse kicks up a notch.
We work in silence for a while, the only sounds the rustle of papers and the clink of glass as I sweep up a broken frame.
My apartment’s a war zone, and each piece I pick up feels like a piece of my safety crumbling.
The note—Next time, you’re dead—burns in my mind.
Was it Marcus Vane, the corrupt official I exposed?
Or the Night Ops Guard, despite Travis’s denial?
I hate not knowing, the doubt in my mind making my stomach flip.
I steal a glance at him, his jaw tight as Travis sorts through my scattered case files. He’s too calm for someone who just broke in here, but that doesn’t mean he’s innocent.
“You’re not staying here,” Travis says suddenly, breaking the silence.
He’s standing by the fridge now, the knife in his hand as he pulls the note free and reads it.
His eyes darken, and when he looks at me, there’s something new in them—concern, maybe, but it’s hard to tell with him.
“This place isn’t safe. You’re coming with me. ”
I freeze, a half-torn coloring book in my hands. “What?”
“You heard me,” Travis says, folding the note and tucking it into his pocket. “My place. We’ve got a lot to talk about, and I’m not letting you out of my sight until we figure out who did this. You’re not staying here, or anywhere else I can’t keep an eye on you.”
Travis’s tone leaves no room for argument, and my stomach twists with a mix of fear and defiance.
“You can’t just order me around,” I say, but my voice wavers. “What if I say no?”
Travis steps closer, towering over me, his eyes locking onto mine. “You don’t want to know.” His voice is low, dangerous, and it sends a chill through me. “This isn’t a game, Miles. Someone wants you dead, and I’m your best shot at staying alive.”
I swallow hard, my heart pounding.
I know what the Night Ops Guard’s capable of—ruthless, precise, untouchable. Travis’s not messing around, and the weight of his words sinks in. If I refuse, he could force me, or worse.
But there’s another thought, one that sparks despite the fear.
If I go with him, I’ll be in his world, close to the Guard. He’s bound to slip up, give me something—evidence, names, anything I can use to expose them.
It’s a risk, a huge one, but my drive to be the best lawyer, to bring justice, overrides the panic clawing at my chest.
I can do this.
I have to.
“Fine,” I say, lifting my chin. “I’ll come with you. But don’t think this means I trust you.”
Travis’s lips twitch, almost a smile.
“Good choice, Little,” Travis says. “Now move faster. We tidy, then we roll out.”
I blush again, hating how his words make my insides flutter. He’s the enemy, damn it, not some Daddy I’m crushing on.
And the way he keeps calling me Little… he’s out of line.
I turn back to the mess, stacking books with more force than necessary. We work for another half hour, the apartment slowly coming back together, though it’ll never feel the same.
My safe haven has been breached, and Travis’s presence only makes it feel more surreal. He’s methodical, folding torn posters, sweeping glass, like he’s done this before. Maybe he has—maybe he’s used to clearing up apartments after he’s been and wreaked havoc. The thought sends a shiver through me.
As I pick up a shredded coloring page—a bright elephant I’d spent hours on—I glance at Bean, still on the couch. Travis follows my gaze, and his expression softens, just for a second.
“Your stuffy’s coming too,” Travis says, his voice gruff but not unkind. “I wouldn’t let you leave him behind.”
My face flames, and I duck my head, mortified.
He knows about Bean, knows what he means to me. It’s one thing for him to see my Little side, another for him to acknowledge it so casually. I feel small, a little embarrassed—but I also feel so seen.
“Thanks,” I mumble, grabbing Bean and tucking him into my bag.
My heart’s racing, a pulse of excitement mixing with the fear. Going with Travis is dangerous, but it’s also a chance—a chance to get closer to the truth, to turn the tables on him and the Guard.
Travis finishes straightening a shelf and steps back, surveying the room. It’s not perfect, but it’s better—less like a crime scene, more like a home again.
“Good enough,” Travis says, grabbing his jacket. “Pack a bag. Essentials only. We’re leaving in ten.”
I nod, my throat tight.
I grab a duffel, stuffing in clothes, my laptop, a charger, and a few toiletries. Bean is already back in my backpack, his little cow ears peeking out.
I glance around, the weight of leaving my home hitting hard. This place was my sanctuary, my Little space, and now it’s tainted.
But I’m not broken.
Not yet.
Travis watches me, his arms crossed, that Daddy energy radiating.
“You ready, Miles?” Travis asks, but I can tell it’s more of a statement of intent.
I bristle but nod, slinging my bags over my shoulder.
“Let’s go,” I say, trying my best to sound brave and fearless.
Travis leads the way out, his hand hovering near my back, not touching but close enough to make me hyper-aware of him.
As we step into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind us, I feel a surge of adrenaline.
I’m walking into the lion’s den, but I’m not defenseless.
I’m Miles Nadal, and I’m going to use this to bring down the Night Ops Guard.
But as we descend the stairs, Travis’s steady presence beside me, I can’t shake the fear—or the thrill—that I’ve opened up a whole new layer of danger.
I sit in the front seat of Travis’s sleek black car, my heart thumping so loud I’m sure he can hear it. The leather seat is cool against my jeans, but my palms are sweaty, clutching my backpack with Bean inside.
Travis slides into the driver’s seat, his presence filling the small space, all muscle and quiet intensity. Without a word, he leans over, his arm brushing mine as he reaches for my seatbelt. His fingers click it into place, the gesture so simple yet so intimate it steals my breath.
“Safety first, Little,” Travis says, his voice low, that Daddy edge making my skin tingle. He pulls back, his eyes flicking to mine, and I swear there’s a spark there—something that makes my stomach flip.
I swallow hard, my cheeks burning.
I think back to all the dates I’ve been on—Daddies, regular guys too, the ones who’d lean over in cars like this, trying for a kiss or a grope, making me feel cheap, like a prize to be won.
Travis’s different.
His touch wasn’t a move; it was care, pure and simple, and it sends an erotic charge through me I haven’t felt in forever. My body hums, traitorously alive, and I hate how much I like it.
Yes, he’s a Night Ops Guard, a dangerous mercenary, yet there’s something so real about him, so grounded. It’s disorienting and I’m worried that I might begin to like it way too much.
“Time to move,” Travis says, turning the key in the ignition.
The engine rumbles to life, and Travis pulls onto the city street, the lights blurring past. I steal a glance at him, his strong jaw set, hands steady on the wheel.
He’s not what I expected from the Guard—ruthless killers, untouchable vigilantes. Travis let me walk last night, and now he’s protecting me, cleaning my apartment, buckling my seatbelt.
Is it possible I’ve got them all wrong?
The thought gnaws at me, stirring doubt.
I’ve built my case on their lawlessness, their body count, but what if there’s more?
What if Travis’s not the monster I thought?
I shift in my seat, Bean’s button eyes and furry little ears peeking from my bag, grounding me. I’m not here to fall for him—I’m here to get answers.
Going to Travis’s place is a risk, but it’s also a chance to dig deeper, to find the evidence I need to expose the Guard.
A wry smile tugs at my lips. “
Well, Bean,” I murmur under my breath, “I’m about to find out.”
Travis glances over, his eyebrow raised.
“Talking to your stuffy, Little?” Travis asks.
My face flames, but I lift my chin.
“Maybe. Got a problem with that?” I ask. “And what makes you think you can call me Little?”
Travis chuckles, the sound warm, almost fond.
“Oh nothing, I just like to keep things light,” Travis chuckles. “But you keep that fire of yours burning. You might just need it…”