Chapter 11
Luke
I’m curled up on the safehouse couch, my knees tucked under me, Swift clutched tight against my chest. The worn fabric scratches my legs, but it keeps me in the moment, like a reminder I’m still here, still safe, even after everything.
My cheeks are still warm, not just from the spanking but from the way Connor’s hands felt afterward, gentle and steady, rubbing that cooling cream into my skin.
His touch was careful, like he was handling something precious, and it’s got my Little side all soft and fluttery, even if my journalist side is screaming to stay sharp.
Speaking of Connor…
He’s sitting across from me in a rickety chair, his elbows on his knees, his dark eyes locked on me with that Daddy intensity that makes my stomach flip and twist. The safehouse is quiet, the faint buzz of West Quay’s ever-busy traffic filtering through the shuttered windows.
I shift, Swift’s orange beak poking my chin, and try to focus.
The spanking left me raw, vulnerable in a way I didn’t expect.
It wasn’t just the sting—it was the way Connor held me after, his voice low and reassuring, calling me a good boy like it was the most natural thing in the world.
My Little side soaked it up, craving more of that safety, that care, but my journalist side is still on guard, clutching the secret of the flash drive like a lifeline.
I can’t let it go, not yet, not even after… that.
Connor’s watching me, patient but firm, like he’s waiting for me to spill everything.
I take a deep breath, my fingers tightening on Swift, and start talking…
“Okay,” I say, my voice smaller than I’d like.
“You want to know about Haynes? I’ve been digging for months.
It started with a tip from a source at my old network, someone who saw Haynes’s name on a sketchy donor list. I followed it, found whispers of offshore accounts, the shell companies, the kind of stuff that doesn’t show up in campaign filings.
Then Mike, the guy from the bar, got in touch and hinted at cartel money.
Carla’s list confirmed it—those companies are tied to the Caymans, and I’m pretty sure they’re funneling cash from some seriously bad people. ”
“Okay,” Connor says, not giving much away.
Connor nods, his jaw tight, but he doesn’t interrupt.
His eyes are steady, and I can tell he’s listening, really listening, not just waiting for his turn to lecture me.
It makes my chest ache, that unspoken connection from three years ago sparking again, despite everything. I swallow, pushing forward...
“I’ve got more sources lined up,” I say, my voice gaining strength.
“A guy who worked in Haynes’s finance office, another who claims he’s seen Haynes with some shady types at a private club here in West Quay.
They’re ready to talk, off the record, but I need to meet them in person.
That’s why I was sneaking out this morning.
I wasn’t trying to be reckless, Connor. I just…
I need this story. It’s bigger than me. It’s not that I care about all the journalist awards and that kind of ego crap.
I just… want to help people. And if that means being near to some of the worst people, then I can live with that. ”
Connor leans back, his t-shirt stretching across his chest, and I try not to stare at the way his muscles shift.
“I get it,” Connor says, his voice low, gruff.
“You’re chasing the truth, and you’re damn good at it.
I meant what I said, Luke—I admire that.
But you’re on a hit list now. Cartel hit list. You can’t keep playing lone wolf.
You tell me about these meets, every detail, and we do it my way.
I’ll keep saying it until I’m sure you truly agree. ”
I nod, my fingers tracing Swift’s soft feathers, but my heart’s racing.
The flash drive’s back in my backpack, hidden under the bed, and I’m not ready to tell him about it. Not yet. It’s got everything—encrypted emails, bank records, maybe even names that could tie Haynes to the cartel.
The flash drive is my leverage, my proof, the key to breaking this story wide open. If I give it to Connor, he might take it, lock it away, or worse, hand it over to his bosses and pull me off this entirely.
I can’t risk that, not when I’m so close.
“I’m not telling you everything,” I say, my voice steady despite the flutter in my chest. “I’ve got more evidence, but I’m keeping it to myself for now. The story’s too important, Connor. I can’t jeopardize it.”
Connor’s eyes narrow, but there’s no anger there, just a flicker of something softer—understanding, maybe.
“The flash drive,” Connor says, not a question. “You’re holding onto more than you’re saying, aren’t you? Even now I’m not getting the full story…”
I bite my lip, clutching Swift tighter, and nod.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “It’s mine, and I’m not ready to share it. Not yet. Not until I know it’s safe. Please don’t take it personally.”
Connor leans forward, his hands clasped, and I can feel the weight of his gaze, all Daddy protectiveness and focus.
“Luke, I’m not here to take your story,” Connor says.
“I’m here to keep you alive so you can tell it.
That spanking? It wasn’t just about you sneaking out.
It was about showing you I’m serious, that you can trust me to have your back.
I’m willing to earn that trust, Little Scoop. I hope I’ve started.”
My cheeks flush, the memory of his hand, his voice, his care flooding back.
My Little side wants to melt, to crawl into his lap and let him make everything okay, but I hold back, my journalist side keeping me grounded.
“The spanking… it helped,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper but excitement running all over me as I talk.
“I do trust you more, Connor. You saved my life in that lobby, and the way you… took care of me after, it means something. But I’ve been burned before.
Contacts who promised the world and then tricked me.
Daddies who said they’d stick around and then bailed when things got tough.
I can’t just hand over everything. Not yet. ”
His eyes soften, and for a second, I see something raw in them, like my words hit deeper than I meant.
“I’m not like them,” Connor says, his voice low but firm, like a vow. “I’m not those other men, Luke. Not those so-called Daddies. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere until you’re safe. You believe that?”
I swallow hard, my heart thudding.
There’s a moment, a beat of silence, where the air between us feels charged, like it did three years ago before I ran from our kiss like a kitten being chased by a big dog.
I see it in Connor’s eyes, that same spark, that same promise, and it scares me as much as it draws me in.
“I’m starting to,” I say, my voice soft, almost shy. “I can see you’re different, Connor. I just… I need time.”
Connor nods, his lips twitching into a faint smile, and the tension in the room shifts, not gone but softer, like we’ve crossed some invisible line.
I hug Swift closer, my Little side basking in his warmth, his steadiness, but my journalist side is still on guard, still clutching the flash drive’s secret.
There’s a connection here, unspoken but real, humming between us like a live wire.
I want to lean into it, to let him in, but I’m not ready—not when Haynes’s cartel ties are looming, not when my story’s on the line.
I break the silence, forcing a smile to lighten the mood.
“Wanna hear my plan for the next phase?” I say, my voice brighter, teasing. “You know, since you’re so keen on being my bossy bodyguard and all.”
His smile widens, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
“Right, I’m the Bossyguard, huh?” Connor chuckles. “Lay it on me, Little Scoop. But don’t think this gets you out of following my rules.”
I giggle, the sound slipping out before I can stop it, and it’s like a weight lifts, just for a second.
“Okay, okay,” I say, shifting to sit cross-legged, Swift in my lap.
“So, the guy from Haynes’s finance office—he’s nervous, but he’s got details on the money trail.
I’ve been texting him, setting up a meet at a diner a few blocks from here.
He says he’s got receipts, literal receipts, that could tie Haynes’s campaign to those shell companies.
And the other guy, the club guy? He’s trickier.
He wants to meet at night, some sketchy place called The Black Anchor.
I know it’s risky, but he’s seen Haynes with cartel types, maybe even the bosses.
If I can get him to talk, it’s game over for Haynes. Or it could be at least…”
Connor’s eyes narrow, but he’s listening, his head tilted like he’s weighing every word.
“The diner’s doable,” Connor says. “We can scope it out, make sure it’s secure. The Black Anchor? That’s a hard no unless I’ve got backup and a clear plan. You’re not walking into a cartel hangout without me glued to your side.”
I pout, my Little side itching to argue, but I know he’s right.
The Black Anchor sounds like a death trap, and after the lobby shooting, I’m not stupid enough to push my luck.
“Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes for effect. “But you stay out of sight at the diner. I need this guy to talk, not bolt like Carla did.”
“Deal,” Connor says, leaning back, his arms crossing over his chest. “But you tell me every detail—time, place, what he looks like. And if I say pull the plug, you pull it. No arguments.”
I nod, my fingers tracing Swift’s beak, and for the first time, I feel like we’re on the same team, even if I’m still holding back the flash drive.
“Okay, Bossyguard,” I say, a teasing lilt in my voice. “I’ll play nice. For now.”
Connor chuckles, a low rumble that makes my heart skip, and that connection sparks again, warm and dangerous.
“Good boy,” Connor says, and my cheeks flush, my Little side practically purring. I want to hate how much I love that, but I can’t. Not when he’s looking at me like that, like he sees all of me—the journalist, the Little, the scared boy trying to be brave.
I shift, tucking Swift closer, and think of my backpack. The flash drive’s safe, for now, but I know I can’t keep it from Connor forever. He’s earning my trust, one gruff word, one gentle touch at a time, but I’ve been burned too many times to let go completely.
Still, sitting here with Connor, Swift in my arms, the weight of the spanking and his care still lingering, I feel safer than I have in days. Maybe even ever…
“So,” I say, breaking the quiet again, “You gonna make me breakfast or what? A big bad Daddy like you must know how to whip up some pancakes.”
Connor’s laugh is louder this time, warm and real, and it lights something up inside me. “Pancakes, huh?” Connor chuckles. “Keep being a good boy, and maybe I’ll surprise you.”
I giggle, hugging Swift, and for a moment, the cartel, the hit list, the flash drive—they all fade. It’s just me, Connor, and this fragile, growing trust between us.
I’m still scared, still determined to break this story, but with him sitting there, ready to protect me, I think maybe, just maybe, I can do this. As long as I keep one hand on Swift—and one eye on my secrets…