12. Henry
Henry
The shack’s quiet, save for the ocean’s low rumble and the creak of the floorboards under my boots. Maybe it’s just me, but I actually prefer this kind of back to basics vibe than some of the more luxurious safehouses that I know that Night Ops Guard keeps in the big cities.
I’m a simple man. I like a roof over my head, food, and company—provided it’s good company of course.
And speaking of company…
Bodie’s curled up on the sagging couch, sketching in that new pad I gave him, Poot propped beside him like a furry sentinel, ready to spring into action should he be required.
I have to admit, that walrus is pretty damn cute. Or maybe it’s just the fact that Bodie so clearly adores him? Whatever it is, I’m glad that the boy quite clearly gets comfort and love from his stuffy.
Sure, Bodie can sass with the best of them, but he’s got a sweet Little side too. Maybe it’s the best of both worlds…
Fuck. Don’t think like that.
Bodie isn’t your boy.
He’s an innocent civilian caught up in a whole heap of trouble…
I watch as Bodie’s pencil scratches soft and free on the paper, his messy hair flopping as he hums some tune I don’t recognize.
The boy’s calmer now after the shower spanking… but I can still feel the heat of his defiance, the way he pushed until I had to set him straight.
Bodie’s a firestorm, but that bravery he showed—wanting to surf, to live free despite Vince’s shadow—it’s got me hooked.
And his confession about Vince’s money-laundering? That’s a crack in his walls, a sign he’s starting to trust me. I need to keep that door open, but I’ve got work to do first…
I step onto the porch, the salt air sharp, and pull my burner phone from my pocket.
Cole needs to know what Bodie spilled—it’s not much, but it’s a start. I tap out a message, keeping it tight, Guard-style:
H: Bodie talked. Vince used his surfing career to launder money—fake comps, sponsorships.
He didn’t know at first, tried to leave when he figured it out.
Says there’s more he’s holding back. Dig deeper on Vince Gray, focus on financials, cartel ties.
We’re at the beach safehouse, and safe—for now. Keep me posted.
I hit send, knowing Cole’s already on it, probably pulling strings with his intel network.
Cole might be a gruff Daddy like me, but he can be charming when he needs to, and I’ve seen him in action when it comes to establishing contacts and recruiting street spies.
The man knows what he’s doing, and I’d trust him with my life.
But this somehow feels different—it’s not my life I’m trusting him with, it’s Bodie’s.
If Vince’s cartel is anything like that news report Bodie hid, we’re dealing with big players—guys who don’t miss twice. And if they fail with the low level thugs, they’ll soon send the soldiers, and then the assassins.
These are the kind of merciless killers that I’ve come into contact with too many times as a Guard—men who will kill entire families without thinking twice, who live to serve their bosses and don’t have a moral bone in their damned bodies.
My jaw tightens, thinking of those shooters at the bar, the man who trailed his van.
I need Cole’s dirt to nail this bastard before he gets closer.
And as tough and surfer-cool as Bodie might think he is, I don’t want to expose him to anything worse than what he’s already been through.
For all I know, his resilient spirit might only be a thread away from totally unravelling.
For now, the shack’s secure and Bodie’s safe, but I’m not letting my guard down.
Leaning against the railing, I let my mind drift, the ocean’s rhythm pulling me back to an old mission, one that taught me how trust can turn the tide...
Five years ago… Damascus… a Guard op to snatch a rebel novelist from a crazed dictator’s grip.
We had a street spy, a kid named Sami, barely twenty, all sharp eyes and quick feet. Sami was a local, knew every alley, every whisper in the market. He’d slip through checkpoints, feed us intel on guards, routes, even the dictator’s mood swings.
But Sami was skittish, burned by too many betrayals.
It took weeks—shared smokes, bad jokes, me teaching him chess on a busted board—to get him to open up.
When Sami did open up though, his intel was gold: the novelist’s exact location, down to the room. We got in, got out, no shots fired.
Sami’s trust saved the op, maybe our lives too…
Bodie’s like Sami in a way—wary, holding back, but with intel that could break this wide open. The boy’s confession about Vince’s laundering is just the start.
If I keep Bodie safe, keep showing him I’m not the enemy, he’ll spill the rest. And whatever he’s hiding—more about Vince, his crew, his plans—it could be the key to neutralizing him.
My Daddy side wants to push, to set rules that make him talk, but I know better. Trust is earned, not demanded, and that spanking showed me he responds to boundaries.
I just need to stay steady, be the Daddy he can lean on, and he’ll come around.
Back inside, Bodie’s still sketching, his tongue peeking out as he shades a wave.
His Little side’s out, soft and focused, and it hits me hard—how much I want to protect that, to keep his world small and safe.
But the weight of Vince’s threat, the Guard’s ghosts, it’s heavy today.
Hicks’ face flashes in my mind, that chopper blast in Bogotá, the guilt I’ve carried since. Maybe it’s Bodie’s trust, or the way he looked at me after the spanking, but I feel an urge to share, to let him see the man behind the rules.
“Hey, sweet boy,” I say, easing onto the couch beside him, keeping my voice low. “Put the pencil down for a sec. I want to tell you something.”
Bodie glances up, his blue eyes wary but curious, that pout twitching.
“What, another rule?” Bodie giggles, but he closes the sketchpad, tucking Poot closer. “ Fine . What’s up?”
I lean back, scrubbing a hand over my face, the scar above my eyebrow itching like it always does when I think of Hicks.
“Not a rule. A story,” I say. “About a guy I worked with, a teammate. Name was Hicks. Best damn pilot the Guard had. Saved my ass more times than I can count.” My voice catches, and I clear my throat, staring at the shack’s cracked ceiling.
“Few years back, we were on a job in Colombia. Extracting a politician’s kid from a cartel.
Supposed to be clean—in, out, gone. Hicks was waiting with the chopper, ready to fly us out. ”
Bodie shifts, his knees drawn up, listening.
I keep going, the words rough but steady.
“We got the kid,” I continue. “Cleared the area, made it to the extraction point. Then an RPG came out of nowhere. Hit the chopper. Hicks didn’t have a chance.
Fireball took him, the bird, everything.
I was carrying the kid, running, but I kept thinking —if I’d pushed for better intel, if I’d seen the ambush coming, Hicks might still be here.
” My fists clench, the guilt sharp as ever. “He was a brother. And I let him down.”
Fuck. That’s heavy.
Maybe too heavy.
I hope Bodie can handle it…
The shack’s quiet, just the waves outside and Bodie’s soft breathing. I brace for him to pull back, to see the blood on my hands and flinch. But he doesn’t.
Bodie’s hand rests on my arm, small and warm, his touch grounding me.
“Henry,” Bodie says, his voice soft, no sass, just his sweetness and empathy shining through. “That wasn’t your fault. Hicks wouldn’t have blamed you. No way. He knew the risks, right? You guys were a team, doing dangerous stuff. He’d want you to keep going, not carry that guilt forever.”
Bodie’s eyes meet mine, steady and kind, like he’s seeing past the Guard, past the Daddy, to the man underneath…
I swallow hard, his words sinking in, loosening something tight in my chest.
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, my voice gruff. “Doesn’t feel that way most days.” I cover his hand with mine, squeezing gently. “Hey… thanks. You saying that means more than you know.”
Bodie’s cheeks flush, and I see it—the trust building, his walls cracking just a bit more.
It’s progress, and I’ll take it.
The moment’s heavy, and as nice as it feels to share something, I don’t want Bodie dwelling on my ghosts.
I stand, brushing off the weight, and clap my hands.
“Alright, enough of that,” I declare. “We’re low on food… as in, we have no food. I’m not letting you starve. We’re heading to the town nearby, grabbing some takeout to bring back. That’s an order, sweet boy.”
My tone’s firm, Daddy mode kicking in, but I keep it light, wanting to see that spark of his flare.
Bodie rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop himself from grinning, his Little side dancing out.
“Bossy!” he says, teasing, his voice all playful defiance. He hops up, tucking Poot and the sketchpad under his arm, and sticks out his tongue. “Fine, but I’m picking the food. And you’re buying, Mr. Big Daddy.”
I chuckle, the sound rough but warm, his sass hitting me right in the chest.
“Deal, but no funny business in town,” I say, knowing that I still need to keep Bodie on a tight leash. “You stick close, or that butt’s gonna regret it.”
I point at him, mock-stern, and he giggles, the sound bright and unguarded, like at the diner. It’s dangerous, how much I like all this, but I’m not fighting it—not today.
We head out, locking the shack, and climb into the van—or should I say Shred as Bodie formally introduces me to his trusty ride.
“Nice name,” I say. “Suits him.”
“Shred’s the best,” Bodie giggles.
The van coughs to life, and I pull onto the coastal road, the ocean a silver shimmer to our left. Bodie’s in the passenger seat, Poot on his lap, humming again, his fingers tapping the sketchpad.
I keep my eyes sharp, scanning for tails, but the road’s clear, the town just ten minutes out.
My mind’s split—half on Vince, half on Bodie.
Ther boy’s trust is key, not just for the intel but for us, for whatever this is becoming. For the first time in years, I feel like I might balance the scales, not just for him but for me too.
The town’s a sleepy strip of shops and diners, perfect for blending in.
I park near a takeout joint, and Bodie’s already out, his sneakers hitting the pavement, that grin still in place.
“Come on, Bossy,” Bodie calls, tossing me a look over his shoulder. “Let’s eat like kings.”
I shake my head and smile, ready to keep him safe, and to keep him close.
Vince’s out there, but right now, it’s just us, a food run, and a Little who’s starting to feel like mine…