Page 40 of Daddy Enforcer
“Asshole,” I seethe. “If Trent was here now…”
Fury surges through me, hot and sharp, my hand gripping the phone so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t crack. That bastard…
Trent’s not just a controlling prick; he’s a full-blown criminal, stealing from Billie and others, cozying up to the Varkov syndicate—thugs who deal in blood as much as money.
This confirms every suspicion I’ve had since Billie found that file, since Mr. G’s warnings about financial irregularities. The rushed e-docs, Zane’s sudden exit, the way he’s kept Billie isolated—it’s all part of Trent’s game. He sent the boy here, claiming it was for his safety, but now I’m sure it’s to keep him out of the picture while he cleans up his mess.
Or worse.
My mind flashes to the Varkovs’ reputation—eliminating loose ends, no mercy. If Trent’s in deep with them, Billie’s life could be in real danger, not just some vague threat he fed him to get him out of the way.
I might hate the thought of it with all my heart, but there’s every chance that the whole hideout thing is a setup to take Billie out of the public eye, have him killed, and then claim big on the insurance.
It’s only a possibility, but I’m not going to rule it out, especially not the way that things appear to be escalating. The Varkov’s being involved is a gamechanger, and not in a good way. For all I know, the Varkov’s are blackmailing Trent… as much of an asshole as he is, it might be the case that his own life is being placed under serious threat unless he follows their orders. And that spells bad news for Billie.
I take a steadying breath, forcing my anger down. Losing it won’t help him. I fire off a reply to Cole…
MAX: Embezzlement’s bad, but I’m thinking worse. Varkov ties mean asset’s life is at risk. Could be more than money—possible setup. Dig deeper, focus on syndicate connections, prioritize asset’s safety. Report ASAP.
I hit send and set the phone down, my jaw tight as I pour my coffee.
The mug’s heat grounds me, but my mind’s racing. Trent’s playing a dangerous game, and Billie’s caught in the middle, oblivious, trusting him like he did for years.
I think of him asleep in my bed, so vulnerable, so trusting inmenow, and it’s like a knife in my chest. I need hard evidence to take Trent down, to keep him safe, and Cole’s my best shot.
Until then, I’ve got to keep him close, keep him happy, make the remaining time in the cabin count before we’re forced to move.
I strip down to my boxers, the cold air biting my skin as I move to the living area’s rug, ready to stretch.
“Urgh,” I grumble, my shoulder a little stiff, not to mention the slight tightness in my calves.
I’d kill fora gym right now, the familiar clang of weights to burn off this rage, but stretching’s what I’ve got. I start with hamstring pulls, feeling the familiar tug in my muscles, then move to quad stretches, focusing on my breathing to keep my head clear.
My body’s still strong, honed from years of training—farm work as a kid, deadly missions after—but I’m not blind to the years creeping up.
A twinge in my knee reminds me why stretching matters, even if I grumble about it.
I’m halfway through a deep lunge, my mind still churning over Trent and the Varkovs, when a soft giggle breaks my focus…
“Oooh, I’ve got a hot Yoga Daddy!” Billie snickers.
I turn, and there’s Billie, leaning against the bedroom doorway, his snowflake pajamas rumpled, Felix dangling from one hand.
My darling boy’s eyes are sleepy but sparkling with that mischievous glint I’ve come to love, a smile playing on his lips as he watches me.
“Morning, Daddy,” Billie says, his voice soft and teasing, a hint of his pop star sass creeping in. “You look funny stretching like that. All serious and bendy.”
I chuckle, easing out of the lunge, the anger in my chest softening at the sight of him.
“Funny, huh? This is serious business, Little One,” I say. “Keeps me ready to chase after brats like you.”
I wink, and he laughs, padding over to the rug, his bare feet silent on the wood. He’s so damn cute, all tousled hair and sleepy eyes, and it’s hard to believe this is the same boy who owns stadiums, who had me unraveling in the snow yesterday.
“I could teach you some new stretches,” Billie says, his grin widening as he drops Felix on the couch. “Popstar moves, you know? Way better than your boring old-man ones.”
His sass is in full force, but it’s playful, and I can’t help but laugh, the sound easing the storm in my gut.
“Old man?” I growl, raising an eyebrow as I stand, hands on my hips. “Careful, or you’ll be stretching over my knee.” His cheeks flush, but he’s still grinning, and I know he’s half-hoping for it, that fire from yesterday still smoldering in his eyes. “Alright, show me what you’ve got. But no funny business, or you’re in trouble.”
