Page 72 of Daddy Defender
The asshole is stirring, groaning, his eyes fluttering open, blood crusting his jaw.
“You’re… screwed, Guard,” Vince mumbles, his voice slurred, defiant even now.
“Wrong,” I growl, grabbing his wrists, zip-tying them tight.
I haul him out, dragging him to a nearby pole, and bind him to it with more ties, his body sagging.
Vince’s not goinganywhere.
I pull a burner phone from my tac vest, dialing the local police’s anonymous tip line.
“Got a suspect tied up at the pier,” I say, my voice low, disguised. “Vince Gray, wanted for smuggling, money laundering, assault, cartel ties, harassment. Evidence in his SUV. Move fast.”
I hang up, tossing the burner into the waves, and step back, watching Vince slump, his head lolling.
Sirens wail in the distance, faint but closing, the cops already on their way.
Vince’s done—his cartel dreams, his threats to Bodie, all of it.
The feds will bury him, and if the cartel doesn’t get him in prison, he’ll rot for life. But my job’s not over. Bodie’s waiting, and I’m not whole until he’s in my arms.
“Time to ghost,” I say into the comms, my voice rough with exhaustion. My arm’s throbbing now, blood soaking my sleeve, and every muscle screams from the fight. “Cole, Connor, head out. Debrief tomorrow.”
“Copy,” Cole says, already moving, his frame vanishing into the shadows toward his SUV. “Stay sharp, brother.”
“On my way,” Connor adds, his voice fading as he descends from the roof, heading for his own exit.
I scan the pier one last time, the carnage a testament to our work—bodies scattered, the SUV a wreck, Vince tied like a gift for the cops.
The sirens grow louder, red and blue lights flickering on the horizon.
Time to move.
I spot one of the cartel’s SUVs, undamaged from the first wave, keys still in the ignition. It’ll do. I slide in, fire it up, and peel out as the first cop cars hit the lot on the opposite side.
I’m clear.
The coastal road stretches dark ahead, the ocean a restless shadow to my left. My body’s screaming—pain in my arm, bruises blooming where I took hits—but my mind’s on Bodie…
His voice on the radio, small but brave, warning me about the SUV. My Little One, holding it together, trusting his Daddy.
I picture Bodie in Shred, curled up with his stuffies, his romper probably on, waiting for me. My chest tightens, a mix of pride and need. He’s changed me, this surfer boy with his fire and his sweet, sassy Little side… and I’m not letting him go.
The checkpoint’s close, a dirt pull-off hidden by dunes.
I ease off the gas, turning onto the sandy track, the SUV’s shocks groaning. Shred’s there, tucked under the dune’s shadow, exactly where he should be.
Relief hits like a wave, but I stay sharp, parking a safe distance and cutting the engine.
My gun is in hand as I step out, scanning for threats.
The night’s quiet, just waves and the faint wail of sirens far behind.
No cartel, no tails. He’s safe.
I approach Shred, my boots crunching softly, and tap the rear door, my voice low.
“Bodie, it’s Daddy. Open up, Little One.”
