Chapter 19
Luke
“All set?” Connor asks.
“Yup, I’m all good,” I reply.
The sky’s barely pink, dawn just cracking open over the Crestwood hills, as I slide into the passenger seat of Connor’s sports car, my backpack clutched in my lap. Swift’s orange beak pokes out, a familiar comfort against the nervous buzz in my chest.
My romper’s swapped for jeans and a hoodie, but I can still feel the ghost of that pale blue unicorn-and-star fabric, the way Connor’s eyes lit up when he saw me in it…
Last night’s kiss has me all tangled up, my heart a mess of desire and fear. I steal a glance at Connor as he slides into the driver’s seat, his jaw tight, his silver-streaked hair catching the early light.
He’s all Guard focus, checking his mirrors, his gun tucked under his jacket as ever, but I know he felt it too—that spark, that fire, reigniting something we both tried to bury.
I want to lean into it, to let my Little side curl up in his Daddy warmth, but the fear’s stronger, clawing at me.
We’ve both had relationship troubles. I’ve been burned before—ghosted by an ex who couldn’t handle my Little side, left with a bruise on my heart that still aches.
I ghosted Connor back then, too, scared of what we could’ve been, and now I’m terrified of opening that door again… of having to face another heartbreak.
But the way he kissed me, soft then hungry, like I was everything—it’s got my head spinning, my journalist side warring with my Little side, both wanting him in different ways.
“We’re moving again,” Connor says, his voice gruff as he shifts into gear, the engine growling to life. “Safehouse in the next town, Riverbend. It’s deeper cover, harder to track. Stay sharp, Little Scoop.”
“Sharp as a tack,” I reply, smiling to try and hide my fear.
I nod, my eyes on the road as we pull out of Crestwood.
The road twists through the mountains, pines blurring past, and I try to focus on the scenery, not the heat of Connor’s presence beside me.
My mind drifts to high school, to the story that started it all…
my junior year, when I exposed a rival school for cheating their way to the state debate championship.
I’d been relentless, digging through emails, interviewing coaches, piecing together a paper trail that proved they’d bribed a judge.
When I won the award for best story at the junior state journalism conference, standing on that stage with my cheap plastic trophy, I felt unstoppable, like I could take on the world.
My parents were so proud of me, my teachers too.
I felt a kind of satisfaction that I just can’t get anywhere else.
The world can be a mean old place, but I know that I can make it a little better with every investigation, every story I break.
That fire’s still burning, stronger now, pushing me to keep going, even with a cartel breathing down my neck. With Connor by my side, that fire feels like it could burn through anything.
A half hour into the journey, a glint in the side mirror snaps me back, a black SUV closing in fast, too fast for these winding roads.
My stomach drops, and I grip Swift tighter.
“Connor,” I say, my voice tight, “Behind us.”
Connor glances in the rearview, his eyes narrowing, all Guard instinct kicking in.
“Shit,” Connor mutters, his hands tightening on the wheel. “Hold on, Luke.”
The SUV surges closer, its engine roaring, and I catch a glimpse of the driver—a hard-faced guy with a buzzcut, his eyes locked on us.
Cartel.
I know it in my bones, the same gut-twist I felt in the hotel lobby when those shooters opened fire.
My heart’s pounding, fear clawing at me, but my journalist side’s screaming to stay sharp, to do something. Connor floors it, the sports car lurching forward, but the SUV’s right on our tail, its bumper inches from ours.
“He’s trying to run us off,” Connor growls, swerving to avoid a nudge from the SUV.
The road’s narrow, a sheer drop on one side, and I can feel the panic rising, my Little side wanting to hide, but I shove it down.
I’m not helpless.
I’m Luke Modine, and I’ve got this.
An idea hits me, desperate but maybe just crazy enough.
“Connor, your golf clubs!” I say, twisting to face him. “I saw them in the trunk. If I pop it open, they’ll fly out—might mess him up.”
Connor’s eyes flick to me, a flash of surprise, then respect.
“Smart thinking, Little Scoop,” Connor says, his voice tight but steady. “Do it. Now.”
I reach across to the driver’s side and fumble for the trunk release under the dash, my hands shaking but moving fast.
The button clicks, and the trunk pops open, Connor’s golf bag sliding out, clubs scattering across the road. The SUV swerves, tires screeching as a driver hits one, then another, the metal clanging against the pavement.
I glance back, my heart in my throat, and see the SUV veer wildly, the driver losing control. It skids off the road, crashing into a ditch with a sickening crunch, dust billowing.
“Holy crap,” I breathe, my hands trembling as I clutch Swift, my eyes wide. “Did we… did that work?”
Connor’s lips twitch, a grim smile.
“Damn right it did,” Connor says, his voice rough but proud. “Nice move, Luke. You might just have saved our asses.”
My cheeks flush, a mix of adrenaline and pride, and I feel that bond between us deepen, like a knot pulling tighter. He respects me—not just as a Little, but as a partner, someone who can think on his feet.
“Thanks,” I say, my voice shaky but warm. “But… that was definitely a cartel guy, right?”
“Yeah,” Connor replies, his jaw tight as he takes a sharp turn onto a side road, his eyes scanning the mirrors trying to make out what he can despite the trunk being open leading to a distinct lack of visibility.
“We’re not out of the woods yet. I’m taking a detour, making sure no one else is tailing us.
Stay sharp. And if you have any more tricks up your sleeve, I’m more than ready to hear them if required. ”
“Got it,” I reply, nearly calling Connor Daddy but just managing to hold off.
My heart is still racing, but there’s a fire in me now, stronger than the fear.
That SUV, the hit list, Mike’s murder—it’s all proof I’m on the right track.
Haynes’s dirty, and whatever’s on that flash drive is big enough to make a cartel panic. I can’t give up, not now, not when I’m this close.
My mind flashes back to that high school conference stage again, the weight of that trophy in my hands, the rush of knowing I’d exposed the truth. I was sixteen then, fearless, and I’m not letting a cartel scare me off now. Not with Connor beside me, his steady presence like a shield.
“You okay, Little Scoop?” Connor asks, his voice softer now, his eyes flicking to me as he navigates the detour, the road winding through dense forest.
“Yeah,” I say, hugging Swift tighter, my voice steadier than I feel. “Scared, but… I’m okay. That was intense.”
“You did good,” Connor says, his hand reaching over to squeeze mine, his touch warm and grounding. “Real good. Most people would’ve frozen. You didn’t. That’s not nothing. You should feel proud of yourself. I know that I’m proud of you.”
I blush, my Little side basking in his praise, but my journalist side’s still spinning, thinking about the flash drive, the story, the danger.
“Connor,” I say, my voice quiet but firm, “I can’t stop. This story—it’s too big. It means I’m onto something. I have to keep going.”
Connor nods, his eyes back on the road, but I see the respect in them, the understanding.
“I know,” he says. “And I’m not asking you to stop. We’re going to nail these low-down assholes together, as a team.”
My heart skips, that bond tightening even more.
A team.
I like the sound of that, even if it scares me how much I’m starting to rely on him, to want him.
Our kiss last night—it’s still burning in me, making me want to lean across the console and kiss him again, to lose myself in him.
“We’re a team,” I echo, my voice soft but sure, and his hand squeezes mine again, a silent promise.
The road stretches ahead, the forest giving way to open fields as we near Riverbend, the next safehouse waiting.
The danger’s closer than ever, but so’s Connor, and for the first time, I feel like I can face it.
My passion for the truth, my need to expose Haynes—it’s as strong as ever, and with Connor by my side, anything feels possible.
Even if my heart’s still wrestling with precisely what that means for my future...