6. Henry
Henry
“Remain calm,” I say, fully in Guard mode as my heartrate settles and my brain begins to make plans for our next move.
Shred’s engine roars as I floor it, the van’s tires chewing gravel as we tear away from the cove. My knuckles are white on the wheel, every muscle taut, my Guard instincts telling me everything I need to know.
“Please let me and Poot be okay,” Bodie says, desperation in his voice as he clutches his stuffy.
“Don’t worry,” I reply, my jaw clenched, ready for anything. “I’ve got you and Poot covered.”
Those bullets weren’t warning shots—they were kill shots, aimed to end Bodie. The only reason he’s still breathing is because I was there, and whoever pulled the trigger didn’t expect a fight.
And they certainly didn’t expect to come up against one of the most elite protection and extraction forces in the world. Bodie’s a lucky boy, whether he wants to admit that or not.
But this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
The night’s too dark, the road too empty, and I know better than to think we’re clear just because no one’s tailing us yet.
The reality is that whoever set this up probably didn’t send a full squad because they assumed it would be easy.
I’m willing to bet the house on the fact that more will come, and they’ll come with bigger weapons and even worse intentions.
I glance in the rearview mirror, catching Bodie’s reflection.
The boy’s curled up on the mattress in the back, clutching that walrus stuffy like it’s his lifeline. His face is pale, eyes wide, darting like he expects another bullet to rip through the van any second.
Bodie’s on edge, teetering, and I can’t blame him.
Most people would’ve cracked after two near-misses like that. But he’s still fighting, still got that fire, even if it’s buried under fear right now.
My Daddy side stirs, wanting to pull over, wrap him up, and tell him he’s safe.
But I can’t do that. Saying that it’s safe’s a lie until I know who’s after him and why .
The tinny wail of nursery rhymes blares from his cassette player, some cheery tune about stars that’s like nails on a chalkboard in this moment.
I grit my teeth, trying to think through the noise.
We need a plan—somewhere to hole up, a way to track this shooter, maybe call in Cole or Raze for backup.
But the music’s drowning out my thoughts, making it impossible to focus.
“Bodie,” I say, keeping my voice low, controlled, “Turn that down. Now.”
Bodie doesn’t move, just hugs his stuffy Poot tighter, his eyes fixed on the van’s floor. The music keeps going, loud and relentless.
I get it—he’s scared, clinging to his Little side for comfort. But we’re not out of danger, and I need him to listen.
“Bodie,” I say again, sharper, “I’m not asking. Turn it down, or we’re gonna have a problem.”
His head snaps up, and there’s that defiance, flaring like a match.
“It’s my van,” Bodie mutters, his voice shaky but stubborn. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
And then, because he’s apparently decided to test me, he cranks the volume up , the nursery rhymes blasting so loud they rattle my skull.
Worse, Bodie scoots forward, holding the damn cassette player right by my ear, the cheery melody mocking me.
“Bodie!” I bellow.
My temper snaps. I’ve been patient—too patient—dealing with his attitude, his accusations, his refusal to see I’m trying to keep him alive.
I spot a gravelly side-track branching off the coastal road, shrouded by pines, and I yank the wheel, pulling Shred over with a jolt.
The van skids to a stop, dust clouding around us, and I kill the engine.
The sudden silence is deafening, broken only by the fading hum of that stupid tape. I turn in the seat, fixing Bodie with a look that’s all Daddy, no bullshit.
“You’re out of chances, boy,” I say, voice low, edged with steel. “You’re gonna be disciplined. Right now.”
Bodie’s eyes widen, a mix of shock and something else—fear, maybe, or curiosity. He clutches Poot, his pout returning, but there’s no backing down now.
He pushed too far, and I’m done letting him run wild when his life’s on the line.
I step out, round to the side door, and slide it open.
“Out,” I say, pointing to the gravel. “We’re settling this. There have to be ground rules and consequences. That’s how I work. And in a situation like this, it could be the difference between life and death. Trust me, I know all about that.”
“Oh just shut up!” Bodie replies, stomping his foot on the ground. “I don’t do rules. I don’t do consequences. I live my life free of all that bullshit!”
“Well you leave me little choice,” I growl, taking Bodie by his hand. “Safeword. Now. And don’t pretend like you don’t know what a safeword is either, boy.”
Suddenly, I can see from the look in Bodie’s eyes that he knows this is real. There’s a brief moment of hesitation before Bodie dips his head and utters his safeword.
“Rodeo,” Bodie says. “My safeword is rodeo .”
“Good,” I reply. “And you can trust me when I say that I will respect it. But now the time for talking is over. Turn around, place your hands on the side of the van. Do it.”
“Make me!” Bodie spits, evidently not totally done with being a brat.
I take Bodie and spin him around before moving one arm at a time and fixing him in position. The boy is going to make me work for this. But I hope he knows that this is a going to be a real spanking from real Daddy…
“I’m going to count down from ten,” I say, reaching around and unbuttoning Bodie’s jeans and sliding them down over his slender thighs toward his ankles. “You may thank me if you wish, or you may stay silent. But I won’t hear a damn word of sass out of you. Got it?”
“Whatever,” Bodie replies, gasping as he feels me hook my fingers inside his briefs and slide them down to his ankles alongside his jeans. “If your spanking is as bad as your driving, I’m probably not even going to feel it!”
Damn, this boy doesn’t have any quit in him, that’s for sure.
“Enough, let’s put your theory to the test,” I bark, drawing my hand back and before I bring it down on Bodie’s milky-white left butt cheek, his tan line emphasizing the difference between his butt and sun-kissed legs.
“ Mmmph ,” Bodie gasps, doing his best to not give me any sign that he felt it. “Is that your best? Ha!”
I don’t need another invitation to prove myself.
This round, perky surfer’s butt is going to get a toasting like it’s never experienced before. And when I’m done, I’m going to be left with a quiet, remorseful boy.
“Nine! Eight! Seven!” I bellow, landing my swats with unerring accuracy as Bodie’s muted gasps turn into cries of pain.
The way his ass is reddening, I wonder if Bodie is close to using his safeword. But until I hear it, I won’t stop until I’m done.
“Six! Five! Four!” I say, my cock unapologetically rock-hard inside my pants as my true Daddy Dom side comes to the fore and I deliver the kind of spanking that only a genuine Daddy can.
Bodie might not know how to show proper respect or trust in authority, but there’s no denying that he’s hot as hell.
And maybe that’s part of his problem—he clearly attracts the wrong kind of guy, the type of man who wants lawless fun rather than the kind of innocent play and frolics that a Little like him needs.
But now isn’t the time for me to be thinking.
It’s time to wrap this spanking up good and proper…
“ Owwww !” Bodie calls out, the first sign of weakness as he hops from foot to foot, clearly feeling the sting surge over him.
I can see his cock bouncing from side to side as he hops and jumps in pain, and if I didnt know better I’d say it was semi-hard too. But I can’t allow myself to get distracted by his meat—I’ve got a spanking to finish.
I finish off with the final spanks and take a moment to admire my handiwork. The boy knows he can’t take me lightly now, that’s for certain.
“Now let’s get inside the van and I’ll cool that bottom for you,” I say. “I trust a good Little like you has plenty of cooling creams and gels.”
“ Mmm-hmmm , for surfing.” Bodie says, gingerly climbing up into the van, his jeans and briefs still around his ankles, his manhood bobbing up and down as I catch a glimpse. “They’re in my mini fridge.”
“Got it,” I reply, nodding over toward the mattress. “Go and lie down. Daddy will make your hot little butt feel better. And hopefully you’ll feel better too, now that we’ve established those ground rules.”
Bodie simply nods and heads toward the mattress and flops down onto it.
The boy needed that spanking—and I suspect he’s needed one for quite some time too.
Despite his sassy, bold nature, I think that this is one boy who’s been craving a Daddy in his life for a long, long time. I’m not saying that’s me. But if this spanking can go some way to letting him see things more clearly, then I’m doubly glad that I could be the one to do it.
Bodie’s quieter now, sitting back on the mattress, his cheeks flushed, eyes downcast. Poot’s in his lap, his fingers tracing his worn tusks, and the cassette player’s off, thank God.
The air’s heavy, charged, but there’s a shift—he’s not fighting me anymore, at least not right now. My Daddy side feels it, that pull to protect him, to set rules and keep him safe, but I know better than to think one lesson’s fixed his stubborn streak.
Still, he’s listening, and that’s a start…
I crouch by the open van door, keeping my voice steady, soft but firm.
“Bodie, look at me,” I say. He hesitates, then meets my eyes, his blue gaze wary but not defiant.
“You’re in deep trouble. Those bullets weren’t a game.
Someone wants you dead, and they’re not gonna stop just because we got away.
I’m not letting that happen. I’m gonna look after you until this threat’s neutralized.
You don’t have to like it, but you’re gonna follow my rules. Understand?”
I make sure to keep my eyes on the boy, scanning for any signs that he might be holding information back or even plotting to do anything crazy.
Bodie nods, just a small dip of his chin, his fingers tightening on Poot.
“Okay,” Bodie whispers, and it’s the first time he’s sounded small, like his Little side’s peeking out, needing someone to take the reins.
It hits me hard, that trust, fragile as it is. I want to pull him close, tell him he’s safe, but we’re not there yet. Not with a shooter out there and his walls still half-up.
“Good,” I reply. “Now how’s that butt feeling?”
“It’s feeling… spanked ,” Bodie answers, a hint of a smile on his face. “I guess you really are a better spanker than you are a driver.”
I roll my eyes. But I’ll let that one spark of sass pass. I mean, Bodie’s actually kind of funny, quick-witted too.
I step out of the van and stand, scanning the dark track, the pines looming like silent guards.
No headlights, no engine hums.
We’re clear for now, but we can’t stay here.
Options…
My cottage is too exposed, and motels are too public.
There’s a safehouse an hour north, a Guard stash nobody knows about. It’s got gear, comms, enough to hold us until I can dig into who’s after him.
Vince, he said, back in the van, his voice raw with fear. Smuggler, probably, maybe cartel. Whatever he is, he’s got reach, and I need to know how deep it goes.
I’ve come up against worse people, that’s for certain. But if Vince is connected to a real-deal cartel, then that changes things. That’s the kind of big league that I don’t want any part of unless it’s entirely necessary.
“Get in the front,” I tell him, sliding the door shut. “We’re moving.”
Bodie obeys, clutching Poot, and climbs into the passenger seat.
I start Shred, the engine coughing—just about enough gas to keep us going—but holding. I pull back onto the road, keeping my eyes peeled for any sign of trouble.
Bodie’s quiet, his earlier fire nothing more than embers now, and I let the silence settle. Bodie needs to rest, and I need to think.
As we drive, my mind drifts to the Night Ops Guard, to the weight I’ve carried since I signed up…
The job’s honor but it’s got a dark side.
Missions go wrong. People die—good people, innocents caught in the crossfire. That op in Bogotá wasn’t clean, no matter what the senator said. Hicks, our pilot, was a vet, a mentor, and he went down because our intel missed the cartel’s RPGs.
Another job in Syria, years back, we saved a diplomat but lost a village kid who got too close to the blast zone. His face still haunts me, small and still, collateral damage in a war we didn’t start.
Fuck . I’ve seen some things that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
But every Guard carries ghosts, and I’m no exception.
Protecting Bodie, keeping him alive, it’s more than instinct—it’s a chance to balance the scales. To do something right, something pure, after all the blood and gray morals.
Bodie’s a pain in the ass, sure, but he’s innocent, caught in someone else’s game. If I can neutralize this threat, get him back to his waves and his Little world, it’ll mean something. Not redemption, maybe, but close enough to count.
The road stretches ahead, the van’s headlights cutting through the dark.
Bodie’s curled against the window, Poot in his arms, his breathing slow, like he’s drifting toward sleep.
I keep my eyes on the horizon, my Daddy side vowing to shield him, my Guard side ready to fight.
Whoever’s after him, they’re about to learn what happens when you cross a Night Ops Daddy.
And I’ll be damned if I let them touch him or fire a single bullet in his, or anyone else’s, direction ever again…