Chapter 14
Travis
Miles is fast asleep in the guest room, his soft breaths barely audible through the cracked door, Bean tucked under his arm like a talisman.
The image of him—curled up, vulnerable, trusting me after that bath and story time—sits heavy in my chest. I shake it off, focusing on the task at hand as I open my apartment door…
Cole and Max step inside, their boots quiet on the hardwood, their faces grim but alert.
The city’s glow spills through the windows, casting long shadows across my sparse living area.
I nod at them, heading to the kitchen counter to grab the whisky bottle and three glasses.
The amber liquid glints as I pour, the burn of it already promising to ground me.
We settle on the couch and chairs, the glasses clinking softly as we sit.
Cole, strong and sharp-eyed, sips his whisky, his gaze flicking to the guest room door.
“He’s out cold, huh?” he says, his voice low. “Good. We need to talk.”
I nod, leaning back, my own glass cool against my palm.
“What’s the latest?”
Cole sets his drink down, his expression all business.
“Knox & Rain are deeper in this cartel mess than we thought. Victor Rodrygo, that guy you saw with Kyle Knox? He’s not just a consultant.
He’s a fixer for the new Los Lobos, handling their money, their deals.
And Knox & Rain’s books—offshore accounts, shell companies like Obsidian Ventures—are funneling cash for them.
It’s big, Travis. Bigger than we planned.
Max and I think we should come on board, full commitment. This isn’t a one-man job anymore.”
I swirl my whisky, my jaw tight.
“Mr. G didn’t sanction that,” I say. “He gave me a week to handle Miles, keep him close, get answers. Bringing you two in fully? That’s a risk.”
Max, broad and rougher around the edges, chuckles, his glass half-empty already.
“What Mr. G doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Max grins. “He wants results, not details. We’ve got your back, man. This cartel shit, plus Miles’ death threat—it’s too much for you to juggle alone.”
I hesitate, my eyes drifting to the guest room.
Miles is a wildcard, a threat to the Guard, but also a target in his own right.
Cole and Max are right—this is bigger than I expected, and I can’t cover all angles solo.
“Alright,” I say finally, my voice firm. “You’re in. But we keep it tight. No leaks, no slip-ups. Mr. G finds out we’re going off script, he’ll have our heads.”
Cole nods, a rare grin breaking through. “Done. We’ll dig deeper into Knox & Rain, track Rodrygo’s moves. You focus on Miles, figure out what he knows.”
The mention of his name shifts the air, and I take a long sip, the whisky burning down my throat.
“Speaking of Miles,” I say, my voice quieter, “I’m picking up some real feelings for him. It’s… complicating things.”
Cole raises an eyebrow, leaning forward.
“Well, damn, Travis. Congrats, I guess,” Cole says. “A Little like him? Can’t say I’m surprised—he’s got fire. But you gotta move careful. We don’t know his role in this yet. Is he a pawn, a player, or just clueless? Until we’re sure, you keep those feelings on a leash.”
I grunt, knowing he’s right but hating it.
“Yeah. He’s got me up, though,” I say, my voice low, loaded with caution. “That spark, his sassy attitude, the way he looks at me… it’s hard to stay sharp.”
Max laughs, clapping my shoulder. “Welcome to the Daddy trap, brother. Just don’t let it cloud your judgment. We’ve got a mission to run.”
I nod, the weight of it settling in.
Miles is not just a mission anymore—he’s under my skin, and that’s dangerous. But Cole’s right… until I know his true place in this mess, I can’t let my guard down.
The next morning, I stride into the Knox & Rain lobby, my fake ID clipped to my jacket, my cap pulled low but not enough to look suspicious.
The receptionist, a young woman with a tight bun and a bright smile, looks up as I approach. I flash a grin, channeling every ounce of charm I’ve got.
“Michael Scott, legal professor from upstate,” I say, my voice smooth, authoritative. “I’m here to meet with lawyers interested in guest lecturing for my program. No appointment, just hoping to catch someone free.”
Her smile widens, and she adjusts her glasses, clearly taken by the confidence I’m projecting.
“Oh, that sounds interesting!” she says. “Let me check with the office manager to see who’s available. Please, take a seat.”
“Thanks, appreciate it,” I say, nodding as she stands and heads toward a back office. The second her back’s turned, I move, slipping past the desk and through the double doors to the main office area.
The hum of the open-plan space hits me—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, lawyers hustling between desks piled with files.
It’s controlled chaos, and I whip my hat off and blend in, just another suit in a sea of them. My shoes are silent on the carpet, my eyes scanning for Miles’ desk as I weave through cubicles, keeping my head down but my senses sharp.
I spot Miles near the back, his head bobbing adorably as he types, his screen glowing with what looks like client records.
I’m about to head his way when movement catches my eye—Kyle Knox, stepping out of a glass-walled office, his tailored suit screaming money. He’s heading straight for Miles, his stride too purposeful for a casual chat.
My gut twists, and I duck behind a partition, pretending to study a bulletin board covered in case notes. I’m close enough to watch, far enough to stay unnoticed.
Kyle leans against Miles’ desk, his voice low, his smile too familiar.
He looks up, his expression guarded but not hostile, and they start talking, their heads close, the conversation private, intimate even.
Knox touches Miles’ arm, just a brush, and he doesn’t pull away. Miles giggles, flutters his eyelashes, and the conversation continues apace. A pang of jealousy hits me like a fist, sharp and hot, bordering on anger.
Is he playing me?
Feeding Kyle info about me, the Guard, our deal?
The thought burns, and I clench my fists, my nails biting into my palms. I picture him this morning, soft and trusting after story time, and now here he is, cozy with the guy I’m betting is neck-deep in cartel shit.
My heart’s pounding, and for a second, I want to storm over, yank him away, demand answers. I’m losing my cool, and it could be dangerous. I want to crash their little party and end this now.
But I don’t.
I’m better than that.
I take a slow breath, forcing the anger down, and slip back through the office, weaving past cubicles until I’m out the double doors again. The receptionist is still gone, and I’m in the elevator before anyone clocks me.
Outside, the city’s morning rush is in full swing—cars honking, pedestrians weaving—but I’m blind to it, my mind spinning. I lean against a streetlamp, pulling my cap lower, and curse under my breath.
“Get a grip, Travis,” I mutter.
That jealousy, that flash of rage—it’s not me. I’ve spent years keeping my emotions locked down, and one look at Miles with Kyle fucking Knox has me unraveling.
Mixing business with pleasure is a rookie mistake, and I’m no rookie.
I check the tracker—Miles is still at his desk, oblivious to my visit.
Good. I need space to think, to reset.
But the boy is back under suspicion, no question.
That conversation with Kyle looked too close for comfort, and until I know what he’s playing at, I can’t trust him.
Cole’s warning from last night echoes: We don’t know his role in this yet.
He’s right. Miles could be a pawn, a player, or just naive, but I can’t let my feelings cloud my judgment again.
I won’t. He’s a mission, a potential threat, and I need to treat him like one, not some Little I’m falling for.
I cross the street, settling back on the bench with a view of the Knox & Rain building.
My phone buzzes—a text from Cole:
COLE: Rodrygo’s meeting with Knox again tonight. Got a lead on their next move. More intel expected shortly.
I grit my teeth and curse myself for losing it in the office and allowing my feelings to dictate my movements. I should have watched for longer, seen what else I could have picked up.
Screw it, what’s done is done.
My only hope is that Miles isn’t who my worst nightmares are telling me he might be…