Page 49 of Daddy Enforcer
“You trying to give me a heart attack?” I laugh. “You’re a sight for sore eyes boy.”
“Daddy! Silly!” Billie giggles in response, wiggling his wet butt and making me frown in a mixture of disapproval and titillation. And the fact he has a perfect and highly excitable cock is simply an added bonus.
My heart catches at the sight of Billie as he merrily skips away—his free spirit, the way he moves like he doesn’t have a care in the world, so different from the guarded pop star I first met.
He’s comfortable with me now, no trace of the shy boy who blushed at my touch, and it’s doing something to me, seeing him so open, sohimself.
My Little, my Billie, dancing through the cabin like it’s his stage, and I’m his only audience. I want to freeze this moment, keep him safe in this bubble forever, but a gnawing unease in my gut tells me time’s running out.
Mind on the job.
This is real, and it’s happening right now.
And there’s something amiss…
I set my mug down, my eyes flicking to my phone on the table.
No message from Mr. G yet, no word on when we’re moving to the next safe spot.
It’s been hours since I was expecting something, and the silence is wrong, like static in the air before a storm.
“What is going on…” I mutter to myself. “I need to get a handle on this, and fast.”
I pick up the phone, checking the signal—patchy, barely one bar, flickering in and out. My unease spikes, a cold prickle down my spine.
This doesn’t feel right.
In the Guard, no news is rarely good news, and with Trent’s Varkov ties and Zane’s coerced exit on my mind, every instinct I’ve honed over years of missions is screaming that right now we’re sitting ducks.
My mind flashes back to a mission early in my Guard days, barely a year into service…
I was part of a squad holed up at a checkpoint in a desert hellhole, waiting for our team leader’s signal to move. Hours passed, no word, and the air felt heavy, like it was holding its breath. My gut churned, the same way it’s churning now, telling me something was off. Against protocol, I made the call to move the squad out, leading them through a narrow pass just as rocket fire slammed into our position. I knew I was taking a risk—a risk that could see me seriously reprimanded or even expelled from the Guard entirely. But I had to make the call, even if the consequences for me would prove personally disastrous. But… we’d barely cleared the blast zone when the explosions hit, dust and debris raining down where we’d been. My squad mates high fived and fist bumped me, but in truth I was more relieved than anything else. Later, we learned our team leader had been ambushed, knocked unconscious, unable to warn us. My gut instinct saved us that day, earned me a commendation, and it’s never steered me wrong since.
This moment, this silence, feels eerily similar, and I’m not waiting for a signal that might never come.
“Billie!” I shout, my voice sharp as I stride toward the bedroom. “Hurry up! We’re not waiting any longer. We’re leavingnow.”
My tone’s harsher than I mean, but the urgency’s real, my pulse pounding with the need to move. But this isn’t the time for emotions, this is the time for direct action and decisive movements.
Billie steps out of the bedroom, his eyes wide with panic, wearing nothing but a pair of pale green briefs, his damp hair flicked up at the front.
“Daddy, what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice trembling, Felix clutched to his chest like a shield.
The sight of him, so vulnerable, twists something in me, but I push it down, focusing on the mission.
“Stay calm, Little One,” I say, softening my voice but keeping it firm. “You need to be brave. Get dressed—jeans, sweater, jacket,fast. We’re leaving the truck behind and taking the snow-skis to town. We’ll source a new vehicle there. Move, now.” I step closer, resting a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “You’ve got this, Billie. I’m right here. I ain’t going anywhere.”
My darling boy nods, his eyes still wide but trusting, and darts back into the bedroom, grabbing clothes.
I move to the living area, pulling on my own jacket and boots, my mind racing.
The truck’s too traceable—Trent or his Varkov buddies could have eyes on it, especially if they’re tracking us. Snow-skis are faster, less predictable, and we can blend into the town’s bustle to find a new ride.
I grab my go-bag—essentials, burner phone, cash, and a concealed Glock—and check the skis outside, ensuring they’re fueled and ready.
The forest is quiet, too quiet.
I smell the danger. My body prickles with adrenalin. I sense that this is a moment where my boy will rely on me more than he has on anyone at any point in his life.
