Chapter 23
Miles
My heart’s hammering so hard it feels like it’s going to burst through my chest as I stand in Kyle Knox’s gaudy office, the flash drive just planted in the computer and ready to upload a full spyware software onto Kyle’s entire network.
Travis’s gripping my arm, his Glock aimed at the cartel enforcer in the doorway, a scarred man with a smirk that chills my blood.
His hands are raised, but that smug look says he’s not alone, and the heavy footsteps I hear echoing from the hallway confirm it. The air’s thick with tension, the yacht photos and sports car models on Knox’s walls mocking me with their greed.
I’m trembling, my legs shaky under my jeans, the fluffy diaper beneath a faint comfort against the panic clawing at me.
Travis’s voice is steady, his Daddy calm holding me together, but I know we’re seconds from disaster. The death threat flashes in my mind, and I realize this is it, the “next time” I’ve been dreading.
Stay calm.
Use the fear.
Just like Daddy said…
Then it hits me—a memory from months ago, a late night at the office when I overheard Knox bragging about his “private exit.” There’s a secret door at the rear of his office, hidden behind a bookcase, a way out he used for shady meetings.
My eyes dart to the shelf, and I act before I think, grabbing a small gold statue of a sailboat from the desk—a tacky, heavy thing—and hurling it at the cartel man’s head.
“Follow me!” I shout, my voice sharp as I lunge for the bookcase.
“Holy shit, boy,” Travis roars, his voice a mixture of shock and appreciation. “Good fucking shot.”
The statue clips the man’s temple, and he stumbles, cursing in Spanish as blood trickles down his face.
Travis doesn’t hesitate, his grip on me tightening as we sprint to the shelf.
I yank a lever disguised as a book, and the bookcase swings open, revealing a narrow, dim passage.
We burst through, the door clicking shut behind us, muffling the cartel man’s shouts and the pounding footsteps of his crew.
My pulse is a roar in my ears, but I keep moving, Travis right behind me, his Glock still drawn.
We’re in the unused rear side of the building now, a dusty maze of abandoned offices and storage rooms, the air stale, the lights flickering. It’s a ghost town, all cracked plaster and cobwebs, but it’s our only shot…
“This way,” I say, trying my best to mentally picture where we are in the overall picture of the building.
We weave through the clutter—old desks, stacked boxes, forgotten file cabinets—our footsteps echoing on the concrete floor. I hear the cartel men behind us, their voices sharp, doors slamming as they search.
“Stairwell,” Travis hisses, pointing to a rusted exit sign ahead.
We reach it, my breath ragged, but when I peer down the stairwell, my stomach drops.
Another cartel man is at the bottom, his silhouette broad and menacing, a gun glinting in his hand as he scans upward. He hasn’t seen us yet, but there’s no way down…
“Up,” Travis says, his voice low, urgent, pulling me toward the stairs leading to the rooftop.
We climb, my legs burning, but my adrenalin carrying me onward.
The stairwell’s narrow, the walls scuffed, and every step feels like it’s counting down to a trap. We hit the rooftop door, and Travis slams it shut behind us, jamming a nearby pipe under the handle to buy us time.
The city sprawls below, a sea of lights under a darkening early evening sky, the wind sharp and cold up here.
The rooftop’s a mix of gravel and concrete, with storage units and a small bar area for corporate events, its canopy flapping in the breeze.
Travis turns to me, his eyes fierce but steady, his hand cupping my face.
“We’re getting out of this alive, my Little Lawyer,” Travis says, his voice low and full of intent. “I promise you that.”
I nod, my throat tight, tears pricking my eyes.
“Even if this is my last day on earth, Daddy, I’m so glad I met you,” I say, my voice breaking.
The words spill out, raw and true, carrying all the love I’ve been too scared to name. He’s my rock, my protector, the man who saw me—lawyer, Little, all of it—and never flinched.
Travis pulls me close, his lips crashing into mine, a passionate, desperate kiss that steals my breath.
It’s brief, too brief, but it’s everything—his warmth, his strength, the unspoken vow that we’re in this together.
My body hums, my heart singing despite the fear, and for a moment, it’s just us, the city fading away.
We break apart, gasping, and Travis’s eyes scan the rooftop.
“There,” he says, nodding to the bar area, its wooden counter and canvas canopy offering a sliver of cover.
We rush over and crouch behind it, the gravel biting into my knees.
The wind carries the sound of the cartel men banging on the door, their muffled shouts growing louder.
My stomach twists—they’ll find us soon, and then it’s game over.
The tracker in my waistband feels useless now, a faint hope that Cole and Max might track us, but they’re still minutes out, and minutes are a luxury we don’t have.
Travis’s hand finds mine, his grip firm, grounding.
“Stay low,” Travis whispers, his Glock ready, his eyes scanning the door. “Cole and Max are coming. We just need to hold out.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Travis says, a look of mischief in his eye. “Unless it’s your naked butt over my lap.”
I smile and hold back a giggle. Even in a crazy moment like this, Travis is able to find the funny side—surely he was the Joker that my first research into the Guard spoke of.
My heart is pounding, but the fear’s creeping in, cold and heavy.
We don’t have long before they’re through the door.
And then? It doesn’t even bear thinking about…