Chapter 24
Travis
Fuck. This could be it.
Or it could be even better than that.
It could be the highlight of all highlight reels…
The rooftop air is sharp, cutting through my jacket as I crouch behind the bar counter, my Glock in one hand, the cold steel of a small, lethal knife pulled from my boot in the other.
Miles is beside me, his breath ragged, his eyes wide with fear but burning with that fire I love. The cartel men are hammering at the rooftop door, the pipe I jammed under the handle bending, ready to give.
My arm’s tense, the tracker app useless now—he’s right here, trembling but holding it together. Cole and Max are a while out, too far to help, and the odds are stacked against us—four, maybe five armed enforcers, all Los Lobos muscle, out for blood.
The knife’s no match for their firepower, but it’s enough to buy time, to keep them at bay until my brothers arrive. My heart’s pounding, not just from the fight coming but from him, my Little, my everything.
I turn to Miles, my voice low, raw with emotion I’ve held back too long.
“My darling boy, I love you,” I say. “More than I ever thought I could love anyone. I’ll look after you forever, even if I’m not around to do it.”
The words spill out, heavy with truth, and I’m overcome, my chest tight with the weight of it. His eyes glisten, his lips parting to reply, but the door groans, splintering, and there’s no time.
I stand, gripping the knife and Glock, my decision made.
“Stay down,” I hiss, and charge the door, using it as a choke point to minimize their numbers.
Close quarters, my kind of fight.
Miles shrieks, a terrified sound that rips at me, but I can’t look back.
The door bursts open, and the first cartel thug stumbles through, scar-faced and snarling. I drive the knife into his chest, a clean strike, and he collapses, blood pooling on the gravel.
The second man’s right behind, gun raised, but I’m faster, my Glock barking a single shot to his face. The man drops, lifeless, his weapon clattering.
I pivot, adrenaline surging, and clamber onto a raised HVAC ledge, using the height to my advantage. The third goon charges in, and I leap, tackling him to the ground, my hands finding his neck.
A sharp twist, a sickening snap, and another thug is gone.
Three down, but more are coming—I hear their shouts, boots pounding up the stairs. I’m back on my feet, scanning, when a shot grazes my arm, fire searing through my muscle.
I grunt, stumbling back, pain clouding my focus.
Five men spill onto the rooftop, guns trained on me, their faces hard, eyes cold. I’m exposed, my Glock low on rounds, the knife useless now.
Then I see him—Kyle Knox, stepping out from behind them, his suit pristine, his smile smug.
“Well played, Travis,” Knox sneers, his voice dripping with arrogance. “But my plan worked perfectly. The media’s going to love this—evil Night Ops Guard vigilantes trying to assassinate me, the humanitarian lawyer. You’re done. And so is your pain in the ass organization too.”
Miles breaks cover, his scream tearing through the air.
“You liar!” Miles shouts, his voice raw with anger. “You’re a fraud, a cartel puppet!”
Knox laughs, a cold, mocking sound. “Cute, Miles. But you’re out of your depth. And once I’m done with your asshole man, your ass is up next.”
One of the cartel men, his face twisted with hate, steps forward. “Let us kill him, Knox. For what the Guard did to Los Lobos.”
Knox shakes his head, pulling a sleek pistol from his jacket.
“No,” Knox smirks. “This one’s mine.”
My arm’s bleeding, pain throbbing, but I hold my ground, staring him down. Knox is lining up the shot, his finger on the trigger, when a crack splits the air—sniper fire, precise and deadly, dropping two of the cartel men in an instant.
Cole and Max, right on time, perched on the parking lot roof across the street.
Chaos erupts, the remaining goons scrambling for cover, firing wildly.
I seize the moment, my Glock roaring as I take out another, his body crumpling. The last one bolts, but another sniper shot catches him, and he’s down.
It’s just me and Knox now, face to face, the rooftop a graveyard.
“Surrender,” I growl, my gun trained on his chest. “It’s over.”
Knox sneers, firing, but I’m faster, my shot punching through his heart. Knox staggers, his pistol falling, and collapses, his eyes blank.
It’s done.
Miles runs to me, his arms wrapping around me, his voice breaking.
“I love you, Daddy,” Miles sobs with joy. “Forever.”
He’s trembling, tears streaking his face, but his fire’s still there, burning bright.
I pull Miles close, ignoring the pain in my arm, my lips finding hers in a fierce, desperate kiss.
“Forever, Little,” I whisper, my heart full despite the blood and chaos. I look toward the parking lot roof, where Cole and Max’s silhouettes are barely visible, and shout, my joker side kicking in to full effect, “What took you so long, you chumps?”
“You really are the joker, aren’t you?” Miles giggles as we hold each other, the city sprawling below, the mission over, our love sealed in blood and fire.
The bar’s warm glow wraps around us like a blanket, the low hum of upbeat jazz mingling with the clink of glasses and laughter.
It’s late, the kind of evening where the world feels softer, safer, even after the chaos of the day.
My arm’s bandaged, the graze from the cartel’s bullet stitched and patched by the Guard’s doctor, a grizzled vet who grumbled about my recklessness but got the job done. The pain’s a dull throb now, dulled further by the whisky in my hand and Miles’ warmth beside me.
We’re at a long oak table in the back of the bar, a regular haunt we’ve claimed as ours, all dark wood and neon signs, the air thick with cigar smoke and camaraderie.
Cole and Max are here, their boys—Richie and Billie—curled up beside them, sipping colorful cocktails from sippy cups, their eyes bright against the bar’s dim vibe. Henry and Connor are with us too, their Forever Loves—Bodie and Luke—giggling over a shared plate of nachos.
The spirits are high, the weight of the rooftop fight, Knox’s death, and the cartel’s defeat lifting like fog.
Miles is tucked against my side, his head resting on my shoulder, Bean perched on the table beside his empty milkshake glass. His star-patterned hoodie hides the tracker I insisted he keep for now, just in case Los Lobos has any lingering muscle.
The boy’s hand in mine, his fingers tracing circles on my palm, and every touch sends a spark through me. The flash drive’s intel—now fully decoded—nailed Knox’s operation, linking him to millions in cartel money through Obsidian Ventures.
With Knox gone, the Guard’s one step closer to dismantling the new Los Lobos, and Miles is safe, his death threat buried with Knox’s body.
But the cost was high—going rogue, defying Mr. G’s orders…
I lean back, sipping my whisky, letting loose to lighten the mood.
“Well, boys, guess I’ll be pulling latrine duty from now till the end of time,” I say, grinning. “Mr. G’s gonna have me on the worst missions for screwing with his plan.”
The table erupts in laughter, Cole’s sharp chuckle cutting through, Max’s deep rumble joining in.
“You’re damn lucky you’re still breathing, man,” Cole says, raising his glass. “Going all Rambo on that rooftop? Ballsy.”
“Ballsy is one word for it,” Henry adds, his massive frame dwarfing his chair, Bodie giggling beside him. “Stupid’s another.”
Before I can fire back, a shadow moves at the edge of the bar, and Mr. G steps into the light, his tailored coat pristine, his eyes glinting with that enigmatic edge.
The table goes quiet, the air shifting.
“Travis’s damn right,” Mr. G says, his voice dry, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’ll be scrubbing floors for a decade after that stunt. But you got results, so tonight, drinks are on me.”
A cheer goes up, glasses clinking, and I can’t help but grin, relief flooding me.
Mr. G’s not one for praise, but his tone says enough—he’s pissed, but we’re square. He leans in, his voice dropping.
“Expect a call next week,” Mr. G says, his tone serious. “Time to cut the head off this cartel snake for good.” He nods once, then vanishes into the night, the bar’s shadows swallowing him like he was never there.
The table explodes again, the Daddies whooping, the boys clapping.
“To Mr. G!” Max roars, and we all raise our drinks, the tension breaking into pure, raw joy.
Miles’ eyes sparkle, his smile wide, and I pull the boy closer, my arm around his shoulders.
“I love you, my brave Little Lawyer,” I say, my voice low, meant just for him. “And I’d love to live with you full time. You, me, Bean—our own place. What do you say?”
Miles’ breath catches, his eyes glistening as he looks up at me.
“Yes, Daddy,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’d love that too. Forever. A million Forevers, in fact!”
The table erupts in cheers again, the boys squealing, Cole and Max banging their glasses, Henry and Connor joining in with whistles.
I cup Miles’ face, my thumb brushing his cheek, and kiss him, deep and slow, the world fading away. His lips are soft, tasting of milkshake and promise, and it’s like the rooftop all over again—us against everything, our love sealed, our future set.
The kiss breaks, and he giggles, his cheeks flushed, as the others keep cheering, the bar alive with our family.
I lean back, my arm still around him, and take it all in—the Daddies, their boys, the bond we’ve built through blood and fire.
Miles is my home now, my Forever, and no mission, no cartel, no Mr. G can take that away.
We’re together, unbreakable, bonded for life—and that’s all there is to it.