Chapter 16
Connor
The cabin’s quiet this morning, save for the sharp crack! of pool balls colliding in the games room…
“Hmmm,” I grumble, somewhat put off by the noise but not overly bothered—the truth is that I’d actually quite enjoy a game of pool right now, but I have other things on my mind…
I’m hunched over my laptop at the kitchen table, the screen glowing with encrypted files Cole sent over last night—more dirt on Haynes’s cartel ties, shell companies, and a grainy photo of him shaking hands with Raul Mallen in Panama.
My fingers hover over the keys, ready to dig deeper, but my ears are tuned to Luke’s game. He’s good—damn good—each shot landing with a solid thunk! as balls drop into pockets.
I can picture the boy leaning over the table, his hair shimmering under the long table lamp, his eyes narrowed with that competitive glint I first saw back when we met those years ago. It’s distracting as hell, and I’m fighting a losing battle to keep my focus on the mission.
Focus, man.
You can play pool any time.
But… maybe not with Luke.
I shake my head, trying to shove the memories away, but they creep in anyway. Our first date, a sports bar in the city, him challenging me to a game of pool like he was born with a cue in his hand.
He’d been all sass and spark, his laugh lighting up the dim room as he sank shot after shot, taunting me with that Little grin. I’d been hooked, even before that kiss—our first, outside under a streetlight, his lips soft and electric, like a spark that could’ve burned us both down.
I’d seen the boy’s competitive edge then, too, the way he played to win, not just at pool but at life. It’s what makes the boy such a damn good journalist, and it’s why I’m sitting here now, trying to keep him alive while he chases a story that could get us both killed.
Another crack! from the games room pulls me back, followed by a triumphant giggle—Luke’s voice, pure Little joy. “Yes, Swift, we got another one!” he says, and I can’t help but smirk, picturing him high-fiving that pelican stuffy like it’s his teammate.
He’s been different since yesterday’s spanking in the games room, more open, more playful, leaning into our Daddy and boy dynamic in a way that’s got my Daddy side firing up like never before.
That table tennis bat left an impression—literally and figuratively—and his giggle afterward, the way he accepted my care, told me he’s starting to trust me.
But trust only goes so far when he’s still holding onto that flash drive, and I know he’s itching to get back to his sources, rules or no rules…
I very much still need to keep an eye on him, and be ready to administer the necessary discipline if he steps out of line too.
I force my eyes back to the laptop, scanning Cole’s latest intel. Haynes’s cartel buddies are moving fast—chatter about a shipment at the West Quay docks, enforcers sniffing around the city, looking for Luke.
The safehouse is secure, but it’s only a matter of time before they start checking the mountains. Cartels don’t give up, and with Luke’s name on their hit list, staying put is asking for trouble.
I’ve been through this before—many ops where the bad guys were always one step behind until they weren’t. We need to move, throw them off our trail, keep Luke safe while he cracks that flash drive.
There’s a new safehouse in a nearby town, a low-key apartment in a quiet suburb, perfect for laying low. No games room, though, and I chuckle at the thought of Luke’s reaction when I tell him. That Little’s gonna pout like nobody’s business…
I lean back in the chair, the wood creaking under my weight, and rub my jaw, picturing him storming around, calling me “Mr. Bossy” with that defiant spark in his eyes.
Hell, I’m half-tempted to pack the table tennis bat just to see him blush again, to remind the young man who’s in charge when he pushes too far.
The thought of Luke’s naked ass sends a jolt of heat through me, my Daddy side stirring, and I curse under my breath. This is getting out of hand—his sass, his giggles, the way he’s got me wrapped around his finger without even trying.
Those old feelings from three years ago are back, stronger now, and it’s not just the mission’s intensity. It’s Luke, all fire and vulnerability, and it’s making me want things I shouldn’t…
Another thunk! from the games room, followed by a whoop. “Take that, table!” he says, and I can’t help but laugh, shaking my head. He’s a damn force, competitive as hell, and I love it—always have.
But I need to focus.
I tap out a message to Mr. G, confirming the move to the new safehouse:
CONNOR: Relocating to secondary safehouse, town of Crestwood. Client’s secure but we’re going to go deeper—mission can still be completed under tighter controls. Intel confirms cartel activity in West Quay. Request backup for surveillance on docks shipment. Advise.
I hit send and lean forward, my eyes scanning the laptop again, but my mind’s still half in the games room, half in the past…
That first date, the way Luke leaned over the pool table, his grin daring me to keep up. He’d sunk a trick shot, called it, and laughed when I missed my own, his eyes sparkling under the bar’s neon lights.
That kiss later, outside, had been a damn explosion—his lips soft, his body pressed against mine, the world fading until it was just us.
I’d thought it was the start of something, but then… he ghosted, and I spent years convincing myself it didn’t matter. Now? He’s right here, in my care, and those feelings are roaring back, hotter, deeper, complicating everything.
“Fuck, get a grip,” I grumble to myself, picking up my coffee cup and taking a final sip to finish it off.
I put the cup down and shove the laptop aside before standing to stretch my legs, my boots thudding on the hardwood.
The games room door is open, and I catch a glimpse of Luke, bent over the pool table, lining up a shot. His jeans hug the round of his ass, his hair soft and shiny, and he’s muttering to Swift, propped on the table’s edge like he’s giving tactical advice and pointers.
I lean against the doorway, arms crossed, watching him sink another ball with a flick of his wrist. Damn, he’s good…
“You’re gonna wear out that table, Little Scoop,” I call, my voice teasing but gruff.
Luke jumps, the cue clattering, and spins to face me, his cheeks flushing pink.
“Jeez! Warn a boy!” Luke says, his pout full-blown but playful, his eyes sparkling. “I’m just practicing. Me and Swift are unbeatable, right?”
The boy holds up the stuffy, waving his beak, and I laugh, the sound rough but real.
“Unbeatable, huh?” I say, stepping into the room. “You were pretty good back in the day, but I seem to recall smoking you at least once.”
Luke gasps, mock-offended, and points his cue at me.
“Lies! You cheated, and you know it,” Luke squeals. “That last shot was totally a fluke.”
I grin, loving this side of him, the way his Little side shines through when he’s playful like this.
“Fluke? Keep telling yourself that, young man,” I retort. “But you’re not distracting me. We need to talk.”
Luke’s pout deepens, but he sets the cue down, leaning against the table, Swift clutched in his arms.
“Talk? About what? More rules?” His voice is teasing, but I can see the wariness in his eyes, like he’s bracing for another lecture.
I nod, keeping my tone serious but not harsh.
“We’re moving again,” I say, preparing for the worst as I see the look in his eyes. “New safehouse, nearby town called Crestwood. It’s safer, harder for the cartel to track us. We leave this afternoon.”
Luke’s face falls, and I can see the disappointment crash over him like a wave. “Moving? But this place is awesome! The games room, the fireplace, the s’mores we didn’t even make yet!”
The darling Little hugs Swift tighter, and I fight a smile at how damn cute he is, even when he’s pouting.
“I know, Little Scoop,” I say, stepping closer, my voice softening. “But the cartel’s closing in. We can’t stay static. Crestwood’s secure, low-key. We’ll be fine there.”
Luke crosses his arms, Swift dangling from one hand, and gives me that defiant look I’m starting to love too much.
“Fine? Does it have a games room?” Luke asks. “Because I’m kind of a pool champion now, and I need to keep my skills sharp.”
I chuckle, shaking my head.
“No games room,” I say, and his jaw drops, his pout turning comically dramatic. “But we’ll make do. Maybe I’ll pack the table tennis bat, just in case you need a reminder to behave.”
The boy’s cheeks flush bright pink, his eyes widening, and I see the memory of yesterday’s spanking flash across his face. He giggles, a nervous, Little sound, and hides his face in Swift’s feathers.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Luke mumbles, but there’s a spark in his eyes, a playful acceptance of our dynamic that’s got my Daddy side roaring again.
“Try me,” I say, my voice low, teasing, but with enough edge to make him squirm. “You keep being a good boy, and we won’t need it. But push me, and we’ll see.”
Luke sticks out his tongue, all bratty defiance, and I laugh, the sound easing the tension in my chest. This is what I need—his trust, his playfulness, his leaning into me, even if it’s just a little.
It keeps him safe, keeps him listening, and yeah, it’s feeding something personal, something I’m not ready to name.
Those old feelings are back, stronger than ever, and watching Luke now, bouncing on his toes, Swift in his arms, I know it’s not just the mission driving me. It’s him.
“Okay, okay,” Luke says, setting Swift on the table and picking up his cue again. “But you owe me a rematch in a bar or something when we get to this boring new safehouse. No games room? Rude.”
I smirk, leaning against the wall, my arms crossed.
“Deal, Little Scoop,” I say, my voice soft but full of intent. “But you’d better start packing. We roll out in an hour.”
Luke duly groans, dramatic as hell, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips as he lines up another shot, the crack of the balls echoing through the room.
I watch the boy for a moment, that competitive edge shining through, and feel that heat again, that pull…
He’s trouble, no doubt, but he’s my trouble, and I’m not letting anything happen to him—not the cartel, not Haynes, not his own damn stubbornness.
I head back to my laptop, the image of him leaning over the pool table burned into my mind and try to focus.
Crestwood’s waiting, and so’s the next step in this mission.
But as I pack up my gear, I can’t help but grin at the thought of his reaction to the new safehouse—and whether I’ll need to put the table tennis paddle back into action sooner rather than later…