Page 64 of Daddy Defender
Because if he doesn’t, I don’t know how I’ll keep paddling…
Chapter 22
Henry
Locked and loaded.
Focused, calm.
One objective, one outcome…
I slow my heartrate and look around me. The pier stretches into the night like a jagged scar, its weathered planks bathed in the sickly yellow glow of sodium lamps.
The ocean’s a restless beast tonight, waves slamming against the pilings, their roar drowning out the distant hum of nearby bars and boardwalks.
I’m crouched behind a rusted shipping crate, my gun steady in my hands, the weight of it an old friend.
Cole’s to my left, his massive frame coiled like a panther, his suppressed rifle scanning the shadows.
Connor’s up high, perched on the warehouse roof, his sniper scope glinting faintly as he sweeps the approach.
The air’s thick with salt and tension, the kind that hums before a firefight. We’re ready to end this—Vince, his men, the cartel’s grip on Bodie’s life.
But my gut’s twisting, and it’s not just the op.
It’shim.
Bodie.
My Little One… out there in Shred, playing bait to draw that bastard into our trap.
I check my watch—22:47. The leak we spread through Cole’s contacts—bars, surf shops, shady docks—worked like a charm.
Word’s out that Bodie’s camping by the pier, alone, vulnerable.
Vince’s ego won’t let him sit this out. He’ll come, thinking he can snatch him, silence the boy before he spills his dirty secrets to the feds.
But he’s walking into a Night Ops ambush, and we don’t miss. Still, Cole’s intel from this afternoon burns in my mind: the cartel’s done with Vince’s screw-ups. They’ve sent muscle to clean the house, do what needs to be done, and Bodie’s the loose end they want tied.
If they’re here tonight, this isn’t just a takedown—it’s a war.
“Eyes on Shred,” Connor’s voice crackles through my earpiece, low and clipped. “He’s parked fifty meters out, driver’s side facing the pier. No movement yet. Over.”
I nod, though Connor can’t see it, my jaw tight. We’ve been in this position too many times before, our trust is grounded in something deeper than most men will ever comprehend. If Connor says it’s clear, it’s clear. No response required.
Bodie’s in position, his van a beacon under the pier’s lights, just as we planned. He’s supposed to show his face—briefly, from a distance—then peel out, straight to the safehouse.
Connor’s got Bodie in his crosshairs, Cole’s covering the approach, and I’m ready to move the second Vince shows.
But letting the boy be bait, even for a second, goes against every Daddy instinct screaming to lock him down, keep him safe. His words on the beach this morning echo in my head, his blue eyes fierce, trusting.
He’s brave, my Little One, but bravery doesn’t stop bullets.
“Stay sharp,” I mutter into the comms, my voice a low growl. “Vince won’t come alone. Cartel’s in play. I can sense it. This isn’t going to be an in and out job.”
“Copy,” Cole rumbles, shifting slightly, his rifle trained on the pier’s entrance. “Got movement—two vehicles, black SUVs, rolling slow. No plates.”
My pulse kicks up, senses sharpening. “Connor, confirm.”
