Chapter 10
Travis
I lean against the balcony railing, the city’s nighttime pulse humming below—car horns, distant sirens, the faint glow of neon signs.
There’s something about this position, high above, anonymous, able to keep a watching brief. I love it. I feel powerful, yet distant. Nothing can touch me. Well I guess a sniper in the building opposite could take my head clean off, but… fuck it.
I chuckle quietly to myself, pleased as ever that even in the calmest moments I can conjure some dark humor to keep me locked in to the real world.
The cool air bites at my skin, grounding me, but my mind’s elsewhere soon enough.
Inside, Miles is curled up on my couch, fast asleep by the end of the first episode of Lilo & Stitch.
His head’s tilted back, mouth slightly open, Bean tucked under his arm.
The sight of him—so small, so vulnerable—stirs something deep in my chest, and I hate how it pulls at me.
He’s a target, still potentially a threat to the Guard, but after that spanking, he’s something else too.
My body hums as I think back to the kitchen, the way he bent over the table, his jeans pooled at his ankles, briefs tugged down just enough to bare that peachy, round ass.
He deserved what he got, no question—slamming my laptop like that, pushing me with his defiance. The wooden spoon cracked against his skin, each swat making his cheeks wobble and redden, his gasps and whimpers filling the air.
Damn, it was hot.
I chuckle to myself, the memory sparking a heat I can’t ignore. He took it like a champ, his body trembling but his spirit unbroken.
That mix of fire and submission—it’s got me twisted up, my cock stirring at the thought. I shift, adjusting my jeans, trying to shove the image down.
He’s a job, Travis.
Focus.
First and foremost, you’re a Guard.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, snapping me out of it. I pull it out, the screen glowing with a message from Cole. My gut tightens as I read:
COLE: Got intel on Knox & Rain. They’re neck-deep with a new cartel, a crazy organization risen from the ashes of Los Lobos. Shady as hell—money laundering, arms deals, murder by the bucketful. Miles is a target, bigger than we thought. Watch him close. Digging now, will update.
Los Lobos. The name hits like a punch, dragging me back five years to a mission that still haunts me. I grip the railing, the city blurring as the memory takes hold…
Five Years Ago
The jungle air’s thick, humid, clinging to my skin as we move through the underbrush, silent as ghosts.
Los Lobos’ compound is a fortress—concrete walls, razor wire, armed guards patrolling with AKs.
We’re deep in Central America, tasked with taking down their leadership, wiping the whole murderous gang out.
They’re a cartel with a body count longer than my arm—drugs, trafficking, executions—and the Guard’s been hired to cut the head off the snake.
Me, Cole, Max, and two others—Symon and Kent—are crouched in the shadows, our black tactical gear blending with the night.
The plan’s simple: infiltrate, neutralize the boss, extract. But nothing’s ever simple.
“Eyes on the east gate,” Cole whispers through the comms, his scope trained from a ridge. “Two guards, sloppy. We move in five.”
I nod, checking my automatic, the suppressor screwed tight. Kent’s next to me, his jaw set, eyes sharp. Symon is on my other side, younger, eager, but steady. We’ve done this dance before, but Los Lobos is different.
They’re ruthless, and they know we’re coming.
Intel leaked—someone on the client’s side fucked us.
“Go,” Cole says, and we move, shadows slipping through the jungle.
Max breaches the gate with a silenced shot, dropping one guard, while I take the other, my bullet clean through his temple.
We’re inside, moving fast, the compound a maze of concrete and steel. The boss, Carlos “El Cuervo” Vargas, is in the main building, third floor. We reach it, stacking up by the door, when it goes to hell.
An explosion rips through the courtyard—RPG, from the west. The blast throws me against the wall, my ears ringing.
“Ambush!” Max shouts, and gunfire erupts, automatic rounds chewing up the concrete.
Kent is on his feet, returning fire, but a burst catches him in the chest. He drops, blood pooling, his eyes wide and unseeing. I curse, dragging Symon behind cover, my heart hammering. “Cole, sitrep!” I bark into the comms.
“Pinned down,” Cole growls. “They’ve got snipers. Move to the target, now!”
Symon and I sprint for the building, Max covering us with suppressive fire.
Inside, it’s chaos—guards everywhere, shouting in Spanish, bullets flying.
I take out two with quick shots, my training kicking in, but Symon is too eager, breaking cover to flank.
A guard pops up, an AK blazing, and Symon goes down, a red mist where his face was.
I choke back a yell, my vision narrowing.
No time to mourn.
I reach the third floor, kicking in Vargas’ door. He’s there, a wiry bastard with cold eyes, reaching for a pistol. I don’t hesitate—two shots, chest and head, and he’s done.
But the compound’s a deathtrap now, guards swarming. Max and Cole link up with me, and we fight our way out, dragging Symon’s body, leaving Kent behind. We had no choice. There was no other way.
The jungle swallows us as we escape, the cartel’s screams fading.
Two Guards lost, a dozen enemies dead, and Vargas gone.
Victory, but it tastes like ash…
Back in the present day, I blink, the memory fading, the city’s glow snapping me back to the present.
My knuckles are white on the railing, my whisky forgotten on the table beside me.
Kent and Symon—good men, brothers—died because of bad intel, and now Los Lobos is back, or some version of it, tied to Knox & Rain.
Miles’ firm is in bed with a resurrected version of the cartel we bled to stop, and he’s caught in the crossfire. He doesn’t know, or if he does, he’s a better liar than I thought.
I glance back at him, asleep on the couch, Bean clutched tight.
He’s a puzzle—defiant, passionate, with that Little spark that makes my blood run hot.
The spanking proved he’s got steel, taking those swats with whimpers but no surrender. But Cole’s message changes everything. If Knox & Rain are dirty, Miles is either a pawn or a player, and I need to find out which.
The boy is staying with me, no question—not just to protect the Guard, but to keep him alive until I’ve got all the pieces.
I pull out my phone and reply to Cole:
TRAVIS: Keep digging. Names, dates, transactions. I want everything on Knox & Rain and this new cartel. Miles is with me. I’ll handle him.
I set the phone down, my jaw tight. Miles is not just a threat anymore—he’s a key. If I can get him to talk, to trust me, I might unravel this mess without bloodshed.
But as I watch him sleep, his face soft and unguarded, I know it won’t be easy. He’s got me questioning my own rules, and that’s a dangerous place to be.
The pizza box sits open on the coffee table, steam curling from the pepperoni and extra cheese, the scent filling my apartment with a warmth that feels almost foreign.
Miles is cross-legged on the couch, a slice in his hand, Bean propped beside him like a dinner guest.
He’s in one of my old t-shirts—too big for him, slipping off one shoulder—and his hair’s a soft, floppy mess from his nap.
The sight of Miles, relaxed for once, does something to me, loosening the knot in my chest. I take a bite of my slice, the crust crunching, and lean back, the city’s nighttime glow filtering through the windows.
For a moment, it’s just us, the pizza, and a rare kind of calm…
“Never pegged you for a pizza guy,” Miles says, licking sauce off his thumb, his eyes flicking to mine with a hint of that sass I’m starting to crave. “Thought you’d be all kale smoothies and protein shakes.”
I chuckle, wiping my hands on a napkin.
“I’m full of surprises, Little,” I say. “Besides, even mercenaries need a cheat day.” I pause, the mood light enough to let my guard down, just a fraction.
“Truth is, I don’t get much time for… normal stuff.
Dinners, dates, all that. My work’s my life, and I’m good with it.
Doesn’t leave much room for anything else. ”
Miles’ eyes soften, and for once, there’s no bite in his response.
“That sounds kinda lonely,” he says, his voice quieter than usual. “I mean, I get it—work’s everything for me too. But don’t you ever want… more?”
I shrug, taking a sip of water to dodge the weight of his question.
“Used to think about it. A relationship, someone to come home to,” I say.
“But the Guard’s not exactly conducive to a love life.
Missions, secrets, the kind of enemies who’d use anyone close to me as leverage.
I accepted a long time ago that this…” I gesture at the sparse apartment, the pizza, the life I’ve built “…is what I get. And it’s enough. ”
Miles tilts his head, studying me like I’m one of his case files.
“I’m curious, you know,” Miles says, setting his slice down. “About the real Night Ops Guard. Not the rumors, not the files I’ve dug up. Who you guys actually are. What drives you.”
His words catch me off guard, and I lean forward, elbows on my knees.
“Careful, young man,” I warn. “That’s dangerous territory. I’ve gotta be real selective about what I share, and you know why. Hopefully, you respect that.”
Miles nods, his expression serious, no trace of his usual defiance.
“I do. And I’ll earn your trust, Travis,” he says. “I’m not just here to fight you. I want to understand.”
I laugh, a low rumble, and point at his plate, where he’s left the crusts untouched.
“You wanna talk trust? Start by eating those crusts,” I say with a wink. “No trust without a clean plate.”
The boy pouts, but there’s a spark in his eyes as he grabs a crust and takes a dramatic bite, chewing with exaggerated enthusiasm.
“Happy now, Daddy?” Miles teases, and the word hits me like a shot, heat pooling low in my gut.
Our eyes lock, and the air shifts, charged with something neither of us is naming.
He’s close, too close, his bare shoulder inches from mine, his lips parted, sauce smudged at the corner of his mouth. I want to wipe it away, pull the boy in, taste the pizza and his defiance all at once.
My hand twitches, and I lean in, our faces inches apart, his breath hitching.
But I pull back, my heart pounding. Not like this. Not now.
“How about dessert?” I say, my voice gruffer than I mean it to be. “There’s a spot a few blocks away—best gelato in the city. Or better yet, we walk it off, pick it up ourselves.”
Miles’ eyes widen, a flicker of worry crossing his face.
“Walk? Out there? After…” he trails off, and I know he’s thinking of his trashed apartment, that note—Next time, you’re dead.
“Don’t worry,” I say, standing and grabbing my jacket. “I know how to move in the shadows. You stick with me, do exactly what I say, and you’ll be safe. Promise.”
He hesitates, clutching Bean, but nods, his jaw set.
“Okay. But if we get jumped, I’m blaming you,” Miles says with a smirk. “Or I might just need to pull out my black belt karate skills!”
I grin, tossing him a hoodie from the coat rack.
“Deal,” I laugh. “Now move, Little. Gelato waits for no one, even for black belts.”
We step out into the night, the city’s pulse wrapping around us.
I keep him close, my hand hovering near his back, my senses sharp for any sign of trouble.
Cole’s message about Knox & Rain and the new cartel lingers, but for now, it’s just me, Miles, and the promise of something sweet. And maybe, just maybe, a chance to figure out what the hell we’re doing with each other…