Page 27 of Daddy Defender
“Shit,” Henry mutters under his breath, and my gut twists.
I’ve learned enough about Henry to know it means trouble.
“What is it?” I ask, my voice losing some of its edge, hunger forgotten for a second. “Henry, what’s wrong?”
Henry doesn’t answer right away, just types a quick reply, his fingers moving fast. When he looks up, his eyes are all business, the kind of focus that says we’re not playing anymore.
“Cole,” he says, voice clipped. “Safehouse is compromised. Vince’s people, or someone working with him, knows we’re here, or in the general area at the very least. We’re leaving.Now.”
My heart lurches, Vince’s name like a punch to the gut.
The news report from last night flashes in my mind—cartel ties, murders, Vince still out there, hunting me. I want to tell Henry about it, to spill everything, but fear clamps my mouth shut…
What if he thinks I’m too deep in this mess?
What if he ditches me?
Instead, I stomp my foot again, frustration bubbling over.
“No way! I need food, Henry!” I squeal. “You can’t just drag me out without breakfast!”
Henry steps closer, towering over me, but his voice softens, a warmth in it that catches me off guard.
“Little One,” Henry says, firm but friendly, his eyes holding mine. “I know you’re hungry, I am too, but we gotta move. I’ll find us a diner on the way to the next safehouse, somewhere we can grab pancakes, hot chocolate, coffee, whatever you want. But right now, you need to trust me. This isn’t a game we want to lose. I can promise you that.”
Little One.
The words hit me like a warm wave, soothing my grouchy edges, making my Little side hum with an unexpected glow. I want to fight it, to keep my walls up, but that nickname, the way he says it—like he sees me, really sees me—makes my cheeks flush.
I’m still mad, still hungry, but the fight drains out of me, just a little.
“Fine,” I mutter, crossing my arms tighter, trying to hide how much his words affect me. “But it better be a good diner. Withfluffypancakes.”
Henry’s lips twitch, almost a smile, but he’s already moving, grabbing a safehouse duffel from the counter and slinging it over his shoulder.
“Deal,” Henry growls, evidently not keen on letting me think he’s going soft for my sass. “Grab Poot and anything you need from the bedroom. We’re out in two minutes.”
I huff, stomping back to the bedroom to snatch Poot and my sketch pad, shoving them into my bag.
My stomach growls again, and I glare at the empty kitchen as I pass it, like it’s personally betrayed me.
But Henry’s voice, thatLittle One, keeps echoing in my head, making me feel… safe, maybe?
It’s confusing as hell, and I don’t like it.
I’ve been burned before, and Henry’s Daddy vibes, no matter how warm, don’t mean he’s different from Vince… do they?
Back in the living area, Henry’s already at the door, scanning the street through a crack in the blinds. His body’s tense, and I realize how serious this is.
Vince’s people found us. I don’t know how, but they did.
My hands shake as I clutch my bag, Poot’s tusk poking out, and I swallow hard, trying to push down the fear.
“Ready?” Henry asks, not looking back, his voice all business.
“Yeah,” I say, quieter now, my grouchiness fading under the weight of reality. “Let’s go.”
Henry, my defender—whether I like it or not, opens the door, stepping out first, his hand hovering near his waist like he’s ready to draw a gun I haven’t seen.
