Page 25 of Daddy Enforcer
“No complaints about this, alright,” I say, my voice low and gruff. “No demanding kombucha or whatever fancy stuff you’re used to.”
He rolls his eyes but nods, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Fine, Daddy. I’ll be good,” Billie says softly.
TheDaddyslips out so easily now, and it hits me like a punch, making my pulse kick up. I focus on stirring the porridge, trying to keep my head clear. He’s accepting this without his usual demands, which is a damn good sign.
Maybe the pact is already working…
I serve him a bowl, drizzling a thin sliver of syrup over the top, and he digs in without a single whine, his spoon clinking against the bowl.
“Not bad,” Billie says, licking a bit of syrup off his lip. “Could use more sugar, but I’ll survive.”
His tone’s playful, not bratty, and I feel a surge of pride. Billie’s trying, and it’s more than I expected from the boy who threw a fit over soup a couple days ago.
While he eats, I move to the living area, opening my laptop to check my encrypted email.
The coded message from Mr. G two days ago is still nagging at me—financial irregularities, team under suspicion. I’ve been waiting for more intel, and sure enough, there’s a new email, marked urgent. I scan it, my jaw tightening as I read…
G: Asset’s manager, T. Ashville, flagged for inconsistent financial reporting. Possible links to offshore accounts, other dubious activity. Motive unclear—protection or deflection? Advise caution. Update sensors, maintain lockdown.
My gut clenches. Trent, the guy who hired the Guard, who sent Billie here for “protection,” might not be the good guy he plays in public.
Was this whole setup—whisking Billie away, the vague threat—a way to keep him out of the picture while Trent covers his tracks?
My mind races, piecing together the clues.
I glance at Billie, happily eating his porridge, oblivious to the storm brewing. I can’t tell him yet—not until I have proof. But my instincts are screaming that Trent’s playing a game, and Billie’s the pawn.
I’m no expert in how showbiz works, but I know that just like any other industry where serious money is involved, there is always a dark side to go along with that. And typically, those individuals who pull the strings are typically the ones with the darkest secrets of all.
I close the laptop, forcing my focus back to the present.
We need supplies—food, fuel, maybe something to keep Billie occupied.
“Hey, Little One,” I say, standing and stretching. “How about a trip to town? We’ll take the snow-ski out back, grab some supplies. If you’re good, maybe we’ll find some treats. Sound fun?”
In theory, I could leave Billie alone in the cabin—but on balance it’s less of a risk to take him with me, keep him as low-key as possible around town, and we’ll be in and out before anyone recognizes him.
The boy’s face lights up at my suggestion, his spoon clattering into the bowl.
“A snow-ski? Like, zooming through the snow? Oh my gosh, yes!” Billie squeals with delight.
He bounces in his chair, his eyes sparkling with glee, and I can’t help but grin. This side of Billie—excited, unguarded, almostchildlike—it’s pure Little, and it’s pulling at something deep in me.
“Can we get candy?” Billie asks, full of hope. “Or, like, glitter pens? I used to love those when I was a kid.”
I raise an eyebrow, leaning against the table.
“Glitter pens, huh? We’ll see. Depends on how well you behave,” I grumble.
I’m teasing, but the idea of picking up some Little items—coloring books, maybe a stuffy—crosses my mind. It could help him explore this side of himself, ease him into it.
“But you stick close, follow my rules,” I warn. “No wandering off. Got it?”
“Yes, Daddy!” Billie says, his voice bright, and damn if that doesn’t hit me right in the chest.
Billie is leaning into this, and I love it.
