Page 60 of Daddy Enforcer
Chapter 24
Max
The clock on my wrist ticks over, the sound sharp in the quiet of the warehouse district’s outskirts.
I’m crouched behind a rusted shipping container, the cold metal biting through my gloves as I scan the empty lot ahead.
Cole’s to my left, his rifle steady, his eyes locked on the horizon.
Connor’s on my right, checking the security triggers we’ve set—motion sensors, tripwires, all feeding back to Mr. G and his analysis team, who’re watching through hacked surveillance cams and online feeds.
We’re ready, positioned like a steel trap, waiting for Trent and the Varkov generals to walk into it.
One clean strike, and the threat to Billie ends forever. I’ve been in this situation so many times, but never with anything like the personal attachment that I’m feeling this time. It’s not even close.
My pulse is steady, my training keeping me sharp, but my mind keeps slipping to him, to my Little, safe back at the penthouse with Max and Richie.
I picture Billie in that cute romper, giggling with his new friends, his eyes bright with that sassy spark I love…
I imagine building him a playroom in a house like he’d dream of—a cozy suburban place, like the one he talked about in the car after his dream. It’d have pastel walls, shelves stuffed with glitter pens and coloring books, a big fluffy rug for him to sprawl on with Felix. Maybe a little table for tea parties with his stuffies, fairy lights strung up to make it magical.
I see my darling boy there, twirling in shorts and t-shirt, maybe even a fluffy diaper, his laughter filling the space, and it hits me so hard my chest aches.
I want that future for him, for us.
Hell, I even picture a dog—maybe two—bounding around a backyard, chasing Billie as he squeals, their barks mixing with his giggles. A golden retriever, loyal and goofy, and maybe a smaller one, a terrier with enough spunk to match his fire.
It’s a wonderful fantasy, one that feels so close I can taste it, but none of it happens if I don’t keep my head in the game.
I shake it off, forcing my focus back to the mission.
The warehouse district is a maze of crumbling buildings and shadowed alleys, perfect for an ambush but dangerous if we’re not sharp.
Trent and his Varkov generals are due any minute, their meeting with the cartel our window to end this.
I glance at Cole, his jaw tight, his fingers drumming on his rifle.
Connor’s checking his comms, his face as stoic as ever, but I can feel the tension in both of them.
“What’s taking these bastards so long?” I mutter, my voice low, the wait gnawing at me. “They should be here by now.”
Cole grumbles, shifting his weight.
“Probably stopped to polish their egos,” Cole snipes. “Trent’s not exactly known for punctuality.” His tone’s dry, but there’s an edge to it, the same frustration I’m feeling.
Connor snorts, his eyes still on the horizon.
“Or the Varkovs are double-checking their exit routes,” Connor says. “They’re not dumb enough to walk in blind, anywhere or any time. For all we know, they’re planning on bringing Trent this far and killing him.”
He’s right—Varkovs are slippery, we can’t afford to underestimate them, even if them killing Trent would make it one less kill shot from our point of view.
My mind drifts back to Billie, unbidden, to his voice last night, small and scared, asking if I’d come back from this...
I promised him I would, kissed his forehead, his lips, and meant every word.
But I know the truth—this mission’s high-risk, maybe the highest I’ve faced since that desert op where my gut saved my squad.
Hell, I don’t know.
