Page 19 of Daddy Protector (Night Ops Daddies #1)

Cole

With Richie peaceful and calm after the paddling, the safe house is quiet, the rain’s steady patter against the windows a muted backdrop to the faint hum of my laptop on the table.

I tap away at the keyboard, reaching out to the network of black ops contacts I have made over the years. Someone has to know something. There must be a connection somewhere. There just has to be. Hunter needs my help and so too does the boy.

The wood-burning stove in the living area crackles, casting a warm, flickering glow across the stone walls. My mug steams, the black coffee bitter on my tongue as I sip, my eyes fixed on the screen.

An email from Henry just came through, encrypted as always, and I decrypt it with a few keystrokes, my pulse quickening. His message is short but heavy:

HENRY: Progress being made. Serious threat. Runs deep. Could be a tricky resolution. Talk later.

It’s progress, a lifeline, but it’s not enough—not yet.

I lean back in the chair, the wood creaking under my weight, and rub my jaw, the weight of the mission pressing harder with every passing hour.

“All okay down there?” I say, looking over toward Richie.

“All okay,” Richie answers, not even turning back to look at me as he plays.

Across the room, Richie’s on the living area floor, sprawled on the rug with Fizz propped beside him.

He’s playing with a handful of wooden toys I found in the chest of drawers yesterday…

carved animals, a bear, a deer, a fox, their edges smoothed by time.

He’s arranging them in a little circle, his voice soft as he murmurs a story to Fizz, his dark hair flopping over his face, his hoodie sleeves pushed up.

It’s innocent, pure, his Little side shining in the way he giggles when the fox chases the deer, his fingers dancing.

He looks so petit, so unguarded, and my chest tightens, a mix of pride and something deeper, something I’m not supposed to feel.

Richie is Hunter’s son, he’s my mission, but he’s also Richie…

my Little, the boy who called me Daddy, who kissed me in the truck, and who trusts me to punish him when he’s naughty.

Damn. This isn’t getting any easier.

Richie wants more, it’s obvious to both of us.

And I want more too…

That kiss haunts me, the memory of his lips, warm and eager, sparking a fire I can’t douse. I want Richie, more than I’ve ever wanted anyone, but it’s not just desire, it’s a bond, Daddy and Little, built in stormy nights and bookstore beanbags.

But Hunter’s my brother, the man who saved my life many times, who trusted me to protect his son, not to fall for him.

My loyalty to Hunter is ironclad, a debt I’ll never repay, and every moment I let my feelings for Richie grow, I’m betraying that trust. I see his face sometimes, his steady gaze, his laugh, and I wonder what he’d say if he knew I kissed him or pulled his briefs down to his ankles and spanked his naked ass.

There’s every chance Hunter would take me out there and then. He didn’t get his reputation as the toughest ever Night Ops Guard for nothing…

Then there’s the Night Ops Guard mantra, drilled into me from my first mission: never get emotionally connected .

It’s a code that’s kept me alive, kept me sharp through jungles, deserts, and ambushes. Emotions cloud judgment, dull instincts, and I’ve seen what happens when Guards break that rule… hesitation, mistakes, blood.

With Richie, I’m breaking it every day, every time I smile at him play, every time I let him call me Daddy, every time I replay that kiss.

I’m connected, too deep to pull back, and it scares me, not just for the mission but for him. If I falter, if I miss a threat because I’m caught in my feelings, he could pay the price. And if that happens, I could never, ever forgive myself.

I sip my coffee, the mug warm in my hands, and lean back, the chair groaning. This is a tough situation, a knot I can’t untangle.

Richie’s laughter rings out, soft and bright, as he makes the wooden bear hug Fizz, and my heart aches with how right it feels to be his Daddy, to protect him, to care.

But Hunter’s out there, fighting, and Henry’s email is a reminder that the threat’s closing in.

I need to stay focused, honor my code, keep Richie safe without letting my heart lead. It’s a battle I’m not sure I can win, but as I watch him play, his innocence a light in the safe house’s shadows, I know I’ll fight for him, no matter the cost.

This is my mission, my duty, my heart, and I’m in deeper than I ever meant to be.

I’ve been in tough missions. In many ways, tougher and more dangerous missions than this. And so too have Henry and Kash. But one thing was a constant, we had Hunter watching our backs. I cast my mind back…

The suffocating heat of a South American jungle, years ago.

It was Henry’s first Night Ops Guard mission, a high-stakes op in the Amazon.

The memory is sharp, like a blade cutting through time.

We were tasked with intercepting a drug lord’s convoy deep in the rainforest, a man whose cartel fueled violence across three countries.

The jungle was a living beast—vines choking the trees, air thick with humidity and the stench of decay, insects buzzing like static.

Our team was small: me, Hunter, Henry, Diaz, and a scout named Rippon.

I was still green myself, a few missions under my belt, but Hunter was a rock, his calm a beacon in the chaos. As always, Hunter was our lead.

Henry was young then, his eyes wide behind the greasepaint streaking his face. He’d trained hard, passed every test, but the jungle was no simulation, and the weight of the mission—live fire, real stakes—had him rattled.

We were crouched in a thicket, the convoy’s route a muddy trail a hundred yards off, the distant rumble of engines growing closer.

Henry’s hands shook as he checked his rifle, his breath shallow, and I saw the panic creeping in, the kind that could get us all killed.

I wanted to say something, to steady him, but I froze, unsure, my own nerves fraying under the jungle’s oppressive weight.

Hunter saw it too, his eyes flicking to Henry, reading him like a map.

He slid closer, his voice low, steady, cutting through the noise around.

“Henry, look at me,” he said, his tone firm but not harsh, like a father guiding a scared kid.

“You’re here because you’re ready. This jungle, this mission…

it’s just noise. Focus on the next step: sight your target, breathe, pull the trigger. I’ve got your back, and so does Cole.”

Hunter clapped Henry’s shoulder, a gesture both commanding and reassuring, and I watched Henry’s shaking hands still, his jaw tightening as he nodded, a spark of resolve replacing the fear.

Hunter didn’t stop there.

He took command, his presence a tether for us all.

“Cole, flank left with Diaz,” he ordered, his eyes locking on mine, calm but intense. “Henry, you’re with me. We hit the lead vehicle, disable it, and scatter the rest. Move clean, move fast.”

His voice was a lifeline, clear and unyielding, and I felt my own nerves settle, his confidence infectious.

Hunter led us through the plan again, step by step, his words painting a path through the chaos, giving Henry something to hold onto.

When the convoy rolled in, tires churning mud, Hunter signaled, and we moved like a single unit. Henry fired true, his shots steady, disabling the lead truck’s engine, and Hunter’s calm held us together as we repelled the cartel’s counterattack, their shouts swallowed by the jungle’s roar.

After, as we melted back into the trees, mission complete, Hunter pulled Henry aside.

“You did good, kid,” Hunter said, his voice warm now, a rare smile breaking through. “First one’s always the hardest. You’re one of us now.”

Henry stood taller, the rookie gone, a Night Ops Guard in his place.

Hunter turned to me, his gaze steady.

“You saw that, Cole? When it’s tough, when someone’s faltering, you step up,” Hunter said. “Take control, give them something solid to lean on. That’s what makes a leader. And I see those qualities in you, remember that.”

His words stuck, a lesson in strength, in care, that’s guided me ever since…

The memory fades, the jungle’s heat replaced by the safe house’s warmth, Richie’s soft giggles pulling me back into the real world once more.

Hunter’s lesson echoes as I watch Richie play, his innocence a light in my storm.

I’m faltering now, torn between duty and desire, but I need to step up, take control… for Richie, for Hunter, for the mission.

Richie needs me to be solid, his Daddy and his protector, no matter how much my heart pulls me toward him.

Right now, it doesn’t matter that Hunter is his father, or what he might think of our relationship. All that matters, beyond anything else, is that I do what needs to be done to defend this fine young man.

Be the leader.

Be the protector.

Be the Daddy…

I sip my coffee, the mug warm, and resolve to honor Hunter’s trust, to lead through this, even if it means going to some uncomfortable places in my relationship with him.

This is my toughest mission yet, and failure simply isn’t an option.

And with another stormy night incoming, I’m thinking that an early bath and bedtime for the boy is just what’s required to get us through until morning…