Page 28 of Daddy Defender
I follow, sticking close, the morning air cool against my skin.
Shred’s parked out front, looking as beat-up but loyal as ever, and I climb into the passenger seat, Poot next to me in the backpack.
Henry slides into the driver’s side, starting the engine with a cough, and we peel out, the safehouse shrinking in the rearview.
The road stretches ahead, empty for now, but my heart’s still racing.
Vince’s out there, closer than I thought, and Henry’s the only thing standing between me and whatever’s coming.
I glance at him, his jaw set, eyes scanning the horizon, and that warmth fromLittle Onelingers, mixing with my fear.
Henry promised a diner, pancakes, and I cling to that, my Little side craving something normal, something safe.
But as Shred rumbles toward the next safehouse or wherever the hell we’re headed, I can’t shake the feeling that normal is a long way off—and trusting Henry, even just a little, might be the scariest thing I’ve done yet…
Chapter 10
Henry
I pull into the gravel lot of Sally’s Diner, the neon sign flickering against the morning haze. The van’s engine coughs and splutters a little as I slow down and scan for a parking spot—but this is a reliable vehicle with plenty of miles left on the clock, or at least I hope it is.
“Now this is what I’m talking about,” I say, smiling. “My kind of place.”
The diner is a squat, chrome-edged joint, the kind of place that’s been slinging black coffee and greasy breakfasts since before I was born.
The lot’s half-full—pickups, a couple of semis, a rusty sedan—perfect for blending in. We’re about forty-five minutes from the new safehouse, a Guard base perched over a beach, and this stop is as much for Bodie’s ever-growling stomach as it is for my need to refuel and clear my head.
Vince’s goons are too close, and my gut’s telling me they’re not done yet.
I kill the engine, the van coughing to a stop, and glance at Bodie. He’s slumped in the passenger seat, Poot’s out of the backpackand tucked under his arm, his pout softer now but still there, like he’s daring the world to screw him over again.
The boy’s hair is an adorable mess after last night’s chaos, and those freckles on his nose catch the light, making him look younger, more Little than he’d ever admit.
Damn, he’s a firecracker… but that scared kid from the safehouse is still in there, clinging to his stuffy and his sass.
“Food,” Bodie says, his voice half-demand, half-whine, eyes lighting up as he spots the diner. “You promised pancakes, Henry.Fluffyones. Don’t let me down.”
I grunt, fighting a smirk.
“You’ll get your pancakes, boy,” I say. “As long as you behave in there. No stunts, no attitude. We’re keepinglow.”
Bodie rolls his eyes, hugging his bag tighter. “Whatever, Mr. Bossy. Just feed me.”
My Daddy side stirs, wanting to pull him close, set firmer rules, but I let it slide.
Bodie’s hungry, spooked, and that spanking only tamed him so much. There’s way more sass and bratty behavior in his armory, of that I’m sure.
I slide out, boots crunching gravel, and Bodie follows, his sneakers scuffing as we head inside.
The bell above the door jingles, and the diner’s a wall of noise—clinking plates, laughter, a jukebox pumping out some old country tune. It’s packed with truckers, locals, a few bleary-eyed travelers, all too wrapped up in their own worlds to notice us.
Good.
Anonymity’s our friend right now.
We grab a booth near the back, vinyl seats cracked but clean, the table stained with years of syrup and coffee rings. Bodie slides in across from me, propping Poot’s bag beside him like he’s got a seat of his own.
The boy’s eyes scan the laminated menu, and that pout shifts into a grin, his Little side peeking out as he spots the pancake section. It’s cute as hell, and I have to look away before I start imagining him in a highchair with a bib, giggling over a stack of flapjacks.
