18. Henry
Henry
I’m pacing.
Call it a bad habit, call it may way of dealing with stress, but it’s what I do.
But the safehouse living room feels too damn small tonight, the walls closing in like a cartel hideout before a raid.
My boots are scuffing the sagging floorboards, my mind running through every angle of the shitstorm we’re in. I knew this wouldn’t be easy, but I’ve got a feeling that it’s going to be harder than I could ever have expected.
Bodie’s on the couch, curled up with his sketchpad, his pencil scratching softly as he draws, Poot and Billy tucked beside him.
I can’t deny how cute he is.
Bodie’s biting his lip, his blue eyes flicking up at me every few seconds. He’s trying to stay calm, but after spotting that creep in town, he’s shaken, and I can see it in the way his fingers grip the pencil too tight.
My Daddy side wants to scoop Bodie up, pull him into my lap, but I need to stay sharp. Vince’s men—and who knows, maybe the cartel too— are out there, and we’re on borrowed time.
I check my watch—21:30.
Cole and Connor should be here any minute. The Night Ops Daddies move fast, and I need their intel, their muscle, to end this. I can trust these guys with everything, and I know for damn sure that I’d do the same for them too.
Vince’s not just a jealous ex; he’s a cartel-backed sonofabitch who thinks he can hunt Bodie to keep him quiet. But he’s about to learn what happens when you cross a Daddy Guard.
My jaw clenches, the memory of Bodie’s confession—Vince threatening to expose his Little side—burning like acid. That lowlife will pay, and I’m done playing defense.
It’s time to fight back, and fight back hard.
A low rumble cuts through the quiet—tires on gravel. I move to the window, peering through the blinds…
Cole’s blacked out SUV pulls up, headlights off, blending with the shadows. Three figures step out: Cole, all bulk and quiet menace; Connor, strong but stealthy, his sniper’s eyes scanning…and Richie, Cole’s little, all sweetness and light.
I unlock the door, giving Cole a nod as they slip inside, quick and silent, like we’ve done on a dozen ops.
“Brother,” Cole says, his voice a low rumble, clapping my shoulder. Cole looks focused, his eyes steady, but I see the weight of his own Little’s safety in his gaze. “Connor’s got the drone feeds. Shit’s hot.”
Connor grunts, dropping a duffel on the floor, his buzzcut catching the dim light.
“Enemies are circling closer,” Connor says, voice clipped. “Spotted two in town, armed, low-profile. Cartel pros, not the usual street punks.”
Connor glances at Bodie, then back to me, his eyes asking if he’s solid.
“He’s good,” I say, my voice firm, but I look at Bodie, who’s paused his sketching, his eyes wide as he takes in the newcomers. “Bodie, this is Cole, Connor, and Richie. They’re here to help.”
Richie waves, his smile bright despite the tension, his Little side shining through.
“Hi, Bodie!” Richie says, bouncing on his toes. “I love your stuffies! That duck’s got some serious style.”
Richie points at Billy’s sunglasses, and Bodie’s pout softens, a shy grin breaking through.
“Thanks,” Bodie says, clutching Billy. “He’s Billy. This is Poot.”
Bodie holds up the walrus, and Richie giggles, pulling a panda stuffy from his tote.
“This is Fizz,” Richie says, plopping down next to Bodie. “Wanna play? We could make a stuffie beach party!” His energy’s infectious, and Bodie nods, his Little side perking up as they start arranging cushions like sand dunes.
I catch Cole’s eye, and he smirks, his Daddy side proud of Richie’s warmth.
“Let’s talk,” I say, jerking my head toward the kitchen. Cole and Connor follow, leaving the Littles to their game, their giggles a soft counterpoint to the storm brewing in my head.
We hunker down around the rickety kitchen table, the air thick with purpose.
Connor unrolls a tablet, pulling up drone feeds—grainy shots of Sunny Ferns, towns along the coast, red dots marking enemy positions.
“They’re tightening the net,” Connor says, tapping the screen. “Safehouse is clear for now, but they’re patrolling the coastal road. Vince’s calling shots from a distance, probably holed up in a safehouse of his own.”
Cole leans back, arms crossed, his bulk making the chair creak.
“This asshole’s scared,” Cole says. “He knows Bodie’s a liability, could spill his laundering scam to the feds. And that’s got him scared shitless that the cartel will cut their losses with him—and his throat too. He’s paying big for these mercs, but he won’t show his face unless we force him.”
“Exactly,” I say, my voice low, a plan forming. “We draw Vince out. Make him come for us personally. He’s cocky, thinks he’s untouchable. We use that, set a trap, and end this.” My fists clench, thinking of Bodie’s fear, his trust in me. “No more running. We take the fight to him.”
Cole’s eyes glint, a slow grin spreading.
“Sounds familiar,” Cole says, and I know he’s thinking of Damascus, five years back.
“Damascus playbook,” I say, nodding. “We leak Bodie’s location, make it look like he’s alone, vulnerable.
Vince’s ego won’t let him delegate—he’ll want to handle Bodie himself.
We set up at the old pier, plenty of cover, choke points.
Cole, you and me on the ground, Connor on overwatch with the rifle.
When Vince shows, we take him down, non-lethal if we can.
Hand him to the feds with enough dirt to bury him. ”
Connor’s eyes narrow, calculating.
“Pier’s good,” Connor says. “I can perch on the warehouse roof, clear sightlines. But we need bait that screams Bodie without putting him in the crosshairs.”
“His van,” I say. “Shred’s his signature. We park it at the pier, make it look like he’s camping out. Vince’s knows it’s his. Bodie stays here, locked down, while we handle the rest.”
Cole grunts, approval in his tone.
“Risky, but solid,” Cole says. “I’ll get my contacts to spread the leak—local bars, surf shops, places Vince’s men will hear it.
We move tomorrow night, before they tighten the net further.
” He glances at the living room, where Richie’s making Fizz “surf” a cushion, Bodie laughing. “Is your boy handling this okay?”
“He’s braver than he knows,” I say, my voice softening. “But he’s scared. Vince’s got him twisted up, threatening his Little side. All the bullying shit you’d expect. I’m keeping him steady, but he needs this to be over.”
My Daddy side stirs, protective, fierce, and I know I’d burn the world to keep him safe.
Connor packs up the tablet, his voice low.
“We’ll get it done,” Connor say. “Vince’s cartel pals won’t save him.”
Connor stands, ready to move, and Cole nods, clapping my shoulder again.
“Let’s wrap this,” Cole says. “Richie’s got an early bedtime, and I don’t want him cranky.” His grin’s half-teasing, but I see the Daddy in him, balancing mission and care.
We head back to the living room, where Bodie and Richie are deep in their stuffy game, cushions scattered like a beach party gone wild.
Richie’s giggling, making Fizz “dance,” while Bodie’s got Billy narrating in a goofy voice. It’s pure Little Space, and my chest tightens, seeing Bodie’s joy despite the danger.
The darling boy is mine to protect, mine to cherish, and I’m not letting Vince steal this from him.
“Time to roll, Richie,” Cole says, his voice gentle but firm. Richie pouts but hops up, hugging Fizz. He runs to Bodie, throwing his arms around him.
“Bye, Bodie! Let’s play again soon, okay?” Richie says, his eyes bright.
“Totally,” Bodie says, smiling, hugging his new friend back. “Billy’s gonna want a rematch. And Poot too!”
Bodie’s Little side’s glowing, and I feel a surge of pride. I haven’t seen him like this before, but I know one thing for sure—I like it a lot.
Connor grabs his duffel, giving me a nod, and Cole scoops Richie up, his giggles echoing as they head out.
The door clicks shut, and the safehouse falls quiet, just me and Bodie, the ocean’s hum filling the space. He’s on the floor, sketchpad open, but his eyes are on me, wary but trusting, like he’s waiting for my next move.
I cross the room, easing onto the couch beside him, my boots heavy on the floor.
“You were brave tonight, Little One,” I say, my voice low, Daddy mode in full swing. “Letting Richie in, holding it together with my Guard brothers here. I’m proud of you.”
I brush a strand of his hair, my touch light, and the boy’s cheeks flush, his pout softening.
“Thanks, Daddy,” Bodie says, the word soft, real, hitting me right in the chest. But then his eyes spark, that defiant streak flaring. “But it’s not even that late! I wanna stay up, maybe sketch some more or play with Billy and Poot.”
He sticks out his tongue, testing me, his Little side pushing boundaries.
I raise an eyebrow, leaning closer, my voice firm but warm.
“Oh, no, Little One,” I say, my voice low and firm.
“It’s way past bedtime, and you’re not arguing your way out of it.
” I point at him, mock-stern, and he giggles, but I see the tiredness in his eyes, the weight of the day catching up.
“You need rest, and Daddy’s making sure you get it.
But…” I pause, a smile tugging my lips. “How about a bedtime story to seal the deal?”
Bodie’s face lights up, pure Little Space joy, and he claps his hands, bouncing.
“Yes, please!” Bodie says, his voice high, all sass forgotten. “A good one, Daddy, with waves and stuffies and… magic!”
Bodie scrambles onto the couch, tucking himself under my arm, Poot and Billy in his lap, his head against my chest. He’s got his sketchpad with him too, but I don’t think there will be any time for drawing…
I chuckle, wrapping my arm around him, pulling him close.
“Alright, my sweetness, one story, then lights out,” I say.
I clear my throat, letting my voice drop into that soothing Daddy tone.
“Once upon a time, in a magical cove called Brightness Beach, there was a brave Little surfer boy named Bodie. He had two loyal stuffies, Poot the walrus and Billy the duck, who rode the biggest waves with him. One day, a stormy sea monster named Krackstink tried to scare them away from the beach…”
Bodie giggles, snuggling closer, his eyes half-closed as I spin the tale—waves crashing, Poot and Billy outsmarting the monster, Bodie riding a ten-footer to save the day.
Bodie’s breathing slows, his body soft against mine, and I know he’s slipping into Little Space, safe and small in my arms. My Daddy side roars, protective, complete, and I keep going, my voice steady, until his eyes flutter shut, his sketchpad slipping to the floor.
I ease him down, tucking a blanket around him, Poot and Billy nestled close.
“Sleep tight, Little One,” I whisper, brushing a kiss on his forehead. He murmurs something, a soft “Daddy,” and my heart clenches.
This—his trust, his Little side, his fire—is worth every risk, every bullet.
I stand, checking the locks, the windows, my Glock within reach.
Tomorrow, we set the trap for Vince, and I’ll end this, for him.
But tonight, he’s mine, safe in Little Space, and I’m his Daddy, guarding his dreams.
I know that tomorrow will be dangerous, so I’m going to make sure that whatever happens, we have a morning to remember as Daddy and sweet, darling Little…