Chapter 11
Miles
The morning sun spills through Travis’s floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the sparse apartment in soft golds. He might not have the kind of décor that a Little like me would appreciate, but there’s no denying that it’s a strong, comforting vibe here right now.
I’m up early, my body wired despite the late night of pizza and Lilo & Stitch. The memory of Travis’s hand hovering near my back as we walked to the gelato shop, his promise to keep me safe, lingers like a warm current.
I know I shouldn’t be having these feelings.
But… what can I do about it? And can I use it to my advantage?
I’m in his oversized t-shirt again, my jeans swapped for leggings, and I’m padding around his kitchen, trying to shake the restless energy. Bean is perched on the counter, his little eyes watching as I fumble with the coffee maker, the rich aroma starting to fill the air.
I’m about to grab mugs when movement catches my eye.
The bathroom door’s ajar, just a crack, and through it, I see Travis stepping out of the shower.
Naked. Water glistens on his broad shoulders, trailing down his chiseled back, his muscles flexing as he reaches for a towel.
My cheeks burn, and I freeze, my heart thumping so loud I’m sure he’ll hear it.
He’s all power and grace, and for a second, I can’t look away—until I realize I’m staring like some kind of creep.
Yikes.
Look away.
Look away, Miles!
I tiptoe back to the kitchen, my face flaming, and focus on the coffee, my hands shaking as I pour two cups. I need to get a grip. And fast.
My mind flashes to last night, the pizza, the way we laughed over crusts, the moment we almost kissed. Travis’s face was so close, his breath warm, those piercing eyes locked on mine.
I wanted it—God, I wanted it—and part of me still does.
It would’ve complicated everything, made this mess of a situation even messier, but Travis pulling back… it felt like restraint, not rejection. Like he cared enough to stop.
Could that mean he’s not the monster I thought?
A good guy caught in the Night Ops Guard’s web?
The idea’s dangerous, but it’s taking root, and I hate how much I want it to be true.
Footsteps snap me out of it, and Travis appears, now dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, his hair damp and tousled. His eyes flick to me, and for a split second, I swear there’s a hint of embarrassment in them—like he knows I saw something I shouldn’t have.
I can’t resist.
“Enjoy your shower?” I ask, my voice teasing, a smirk tugging at my lips as I slide a coffee cup toward him.
He pauses, then chuckles, the sound low and warm.
“Careful, Little. Don’t start something you can’t finish,” Travis growls. His gaze holds mine, playful but edged with that Daddy authority that makes my stomach flutter. “Anyway. Moving swiftly on.”
We sit at the kitchen table, the city’s hum a soft backdrop through the open balcony door. The coffee’s strong, just how I like it, and for a moment, we’re just two people, not a lawyer and a mercenary.
But Travis’s all business now, his jaw set as he leans forward.
“We need to talk about that threat,” Travis says, his voice steady. “The note, your apartment. I’ve got a lead, but I need your help to confirm it.”
I raise an eyebrow, sipping my coffee. “My help? What’s the plan?”
“I want you to go to your office at Knox & Rain,” Travis says, his eyes locked on mine.
“Act normal, do your job, but keep your eyes open. You’ve never questioned your firm before, so you might see something now—something that was hiding in plain sight.
Files, conversations, anything off about your bosses or clients. ”
My stomach twists, and I set my cup down harder than I mean to.
“You’re still on this?” I ask, a little defensive. “You think Knox & Rain’s the problem? They’re the good guys, Travis. They fight for people like my grandfather, not against them.”
Travis leans back, his expression unreadable.
“Maybe. But I’ve seen enough to know things aren’t always what they seem. You’re smart, Miles, but you’re loyal. That can blind you. Just look, that’s all I’m asking.”
I bristle, my fingers tightening around my mug. “And if I don’t find anything? You’ll keep accusing my firm?”
“I’ll keep digging until I know the truth,” Travis answers, his voice firm but not unkind. “And you should too. Someone wants you dead, and it’s not just about the Guard.”
I want to argue, to tell him he’s wrong, but the memory of that note—Next time, you’re dead—stops me. Marcus Vane’s face flashes in my mind, his vow of revenge, but Travis’s insistence on Knox & Rain gnaws at me.
What if he’s right?
I hate the doubt creeping in, but I nod, reluctant.
“Fine. I’ll go,” I say. “But I’m not spying on my own people.”
“Good enough,” Travis says, then reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small, sleek device, no bigger than a button. “One more thing. You’re wearing this.” He holds it up—a tracker. “No funny business, Little. I need to know where you are.”
I scoff, crossing my arms. “A tracker? Seriously? What am I, your prisoner?”
Travis smirks, but there’s a glint in his eyes.
“Be thankful it’s not my internal tracker,” Travis laughs. “You know, the one I have to insert myself.”
I freeze, my face burning as my mind goes straight to the dirtiest place—imagining Travis, his hands on me, slipping something inside me. My thighs clench, and I pray he doesn’t notice.
“You’re joking, right?” I manage, my voice shaky.
Travis’s grin widens, wicked and knowing.
“Am I?” He tosses the tracker onto the table, and I grab it, my cheeks still hot. “Put it in your pocket or inside your waistband, wherever works. It’s just a precaution. You wander off, I’ll know.”
I roll my eyes, pocketing the tracker, but my heart’s racing, and not just from embarrassment. His teasing, that Daddy edge—it’s doing things to me I don’t want to admit.
“Fine,” I mutter. “But you’re ridiculous.”
Travis chuckles, sipping his coffee.
“Get used to it.,” Travis says, a wry smile on his face. “Now, go prep for work. Do a good job today, gather some intel, and you might just get a reward tonight. Like a good boy.”
My breath catches, and I blush so hard I’m sure my face is glowing. The way he says “good boy,” all low and commanding, sends a shiver through me, my body humming with excitement and arousal.
I’m under the thumb of a vigilante Daddy, and God help me, I’m not hating it as much as I should.
I nod, submissive despite myself, and stand, heading to the guest room to change.
My mind’s a mess—part of me wants to fight him, part of me wants to please him, and all of me knows I’m in deeper than ever.
The tracker’s a small, cold weight tucked inside the waistband of my smart chino pants, hidden beneath my blouse as I step into the open-plan office of Knox & Rain Law. The buzz of the workplace hits me—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, the hum of colleagues chatting over morning coffee.
It’s familiar, comforting, but today it feels like I’m walking into a lion’s den with a secret strapped to me. I giggle under my breath, the absurd image of Travis, all stern and Daddy-like, slipping that tracker somewhere way more invasive—like my butt—flashing through my mind.
My cheeks flush, and I shake my head, muttering, “Get it together, Miles.”
The thought’s ridiculous, but it sends a tingle through me, that mix of embarrassment and thrill Travis seems to spark without trying.
I wave at Sarah and Mike, two junior associates, tossing them a cheery “Good morning!” as I head to my desk. They smile back, oblivious to the storm in my head.
My desk’s a mess of case files and Post-its, a stark contrast to Travis’s sterile apartment, and I settle in, my heart pounding. I’m here to do my job, act normal, but Travis’s words from this morning echo: Look for something hiding in plain sight.
I’ve never doubted Knox & Rain before—they’re the good guys, the ones who fight for people like my grandfather. But that note—Next time, you’re dead—and Travis’s insistence that my firm’s dirty have planted a seed of doubt I can’t shake.
“Okay, let’s get to this,” I say, my mind whirring and in full work-mode.
I boot up my computer, sipping the coffee I grabbed from the office kitchen, and dive into the firm’s internal records…
It’s routine stuff at first—client lists, billing records, case logs. I’ve accessed these before, but today I’m looking with new eyes, searching for anything off.
The coffee’s bitter, not as good as Travis’s, and I’m on my second cup when something catches my attention. A client file labeled “Obsidian Ventures”—the same shell company I flagged in my Night Ops Guard research.
It’s buried in a subfolder, marked as inactive, but the payment records are recent, large sums wired to offshore accounts. My stomach twists. This isn’t the kind of case Knox & Rain usually takes—no small-town plaintiffs, no underdog fights. Just money, and lots of it.
I dig deeper, my pulse racing.
Another file links Obsidian Ventures to a shipping company I recognize from a case three years ago, one tied to a cartel I helped expose. The numbers don’t add up—consulting fees for services never rendered, invoices with vague descriptions.
It’s the kind of thing I’d have glossed over before, assuming it was just sloppy bookkeeping.
But Travis’s right—my eyes are open now, and this looks wrong.
Really wrong.
I glance around, making sure no one’s watching, and snap screenshots on my phone, my fingers trembling. I don’t dare save anything to my computer—what if IT flags it? What if Kyle or the senior partners are watching?
The thought makes my skin crawl.
I’ve trusted this firm with my career, my purpose, but what if Travis’s suspicions are true?
By late afternoon, my head’s spinning, and the office is emptying out.
I’ve got a dozen screenshots, each one a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit the Knox & Rain I know.
I lean back, rubbing my temples, the tracker a constant reminder of Travis’s control.
He told me to come straight back to his place, to report what I found, but the weight of the day—those irregularities, the doubt about my firm—has me craving something normal, something safe.
Jack’s café pops into my mind, his giggles and warm hugs a balm for my frayed nerves.
Travis said to act normal, right? What’s more normal than grabbing a hot chocolate with my best friend?
I pack up my bag, Bean safely tucked inside, and slip out of the office, my heart lighter at the thought of Jack’s café.
Bossy Travis can wait.
This is my time now.
I need a moment to breathe, to feel like myself again, not some spy caught between a vigilante Daddy and a possible conspiracy.
I pull my jacket tighter as I step onto the city street, the early evening air cool and sharp. The tracker presses against my waist, a nagging reminder, but I push it down. I’m not running from Travis—I’m just taking a detour.
A little fun won’t hurt, and besides, I deserve it after today.
The walk across town is brisk, the city alive with rush-hour chaos—cars honking, pedestrians weaving, neon signs flickering to life.
Jack’s café, The Sugar Spoon, glows like a beacon, its pink and yellow sign a familiar comfort.
I push open the door, the bell jingling, and spot Jack behind the counter, his apron dusted with flour, his smile bright as he waves me over.
“Miles! You’re alive!” Jack teases, pulling me into a hug. “Where’ve you been? I was about to send a search party.”
I laugh, the sound easing the knot in my chest.
“Just… work stuff,” I say, dodging the truth. I can’t tell him about Travis, the tracker, or the mess my life’s become. Not yet. “Can you make me a hot chocolate? Extra marshmallows?”
“Always,” Jack says, winking, and heads to the machine.
I settle at a corner table, Bean in my lap, and let the café’s warmth wrap around me. The screenshots burn a hole in my phone, but for now, I push them aside.
Travis’s waiting, and I know he won’t be happy about this detour, but I need this—need Jack’s laughter, the sugary comfort of marshmallows, a moment to pretend I’m not caught in a dangerous game.
I’ll face Travis soon enough, and when I do, I’ll have questions of my own—about the Guard, about Knox & Rain, and about a whole lot more on top of that too…