Page 27 of Daddy Protector (Night Ops Daddies #1)

Cole

Every part of me knows that we simply have to get this right.

Operations rarely go without a single hiccup, but I feel like this one is different.

A single wrong step, and Xavier could be gone – or worse, he could end up wreaking more havoc. But I believe in our plan. Between me, Henry, and of course Richie, I think our minds are sharper, stronger, and more determined than anything that Xavier could strike back with.

Still, I know that we’re up against it.

The city’s outskirts are a desolate wasteland, a sprawl of crumbling warehouses and weed-choked lots, the old mill rising like a rusted monument under a moonless sky.

The air is heavy with damp concrete, diesel fumes, and the faint rot of abandoned machinery, the distant hum of traffic drowned by the night’s oppressive silence.

My Night Ops Guard team—Henry, Kash, and two seasoned operatives, Loader and Breeze—move like specters through the shadows, our comms crackling softly, our positions locked in for the ambush.

Richie’s at my side, crouched behind a shattered concrete wall, his backpack with Fizz and his otter book stashed safely in the truck a mile back. His dark eyes are sharp, his breathing controlled, no hint of the fear that gripped him during the safe house attack.

It’s incredible to witness.

Richie has grown under my guidance, his plan to lure Xavier here a brilliant stroke, and pride swells in my chest, even as my focus stays razor-sharp.

He’s my Little, my partner, my everything, and I’ll shield him with my life, but tonight, he’s proving he’s a force, a warrior forged in our shared journey to this point.

“All good?” I say to Richie, my voice low.

“All good, Commander,” Richie replies, keeping things just as professional as I demanded.

We exchange nods and I get back to my brief.

The mill’s interior is a labyrinth of rusted machinery, broken beams, and jagged glass, its shattered windows letting in slivers of starlight that glint off puddles on the cracked concrete floor.

The air inside is stale, thick with dust and the metallic tang of decay, every creak of the structure a potential threat.

We’ve rigged the terrain to our advantage—choke points wired with tripwires, shadows deepened by strategic cover, a decoy setup with Kash posing as Hunter, his silhouette framed in a gap near a rusted conveyor, baiting Xavier’s vengeance.

Richie’s idea, leaked through a hacked cartel channel, has drawn him in, and our scouts confirm he’s approaching with a small crew, his arrogance blinding him to the trap.

That was always the thing about Xavier. As skilled as he was, as deadly with a gun or his hands, his ego was always gnawing away at him.

Hunter tried to help Xavier, tried to show him the Night Ops Guard way.

But somehow, Xavier always knew best – or he certainly did in his own warped mind.

That’s gone now though. No more talk of Xavier being a Night Ops Guard…

he’s chosen his own path, and it’s about as far away from being a Night Ops Guard as it’s possible to get.

“ Hmmm ,” I grumble, scanning ahead.

My night vision goggles cast the world in eerie green, my rifle steady in my hands, my sidearm holstered, a combat knife strapped to my thigh.

Richie grips a small pistol, one I trained him to use in the motel lot, his stance confident but untested in live fire.

I touch the boy’s shoulder, my voice a low murmur over the commotion.

“Stay low, kid,” I say. “Follow my lead, no heroics.”

“Yes, Commander,” Richie answers.

He nods, his eyes locking onto mine, trust and resolve shining through, the Little who calls me Daddy now a vital part of this fight, his courage a testament to our bond.

Henry’s voice crackles in my earpiece, steady and gruff.

“Target approaching, east entrance,” Henry says. “Four hostiles, Xavier leading. Ready on your signal.”

This is the moment.

It’s now or never.

This is for Hunter, for the Night Ops Guards, and most of all it’s for Richie…

I signal the team with a subtle hand gesture, my pulse steady, years of ops grounding me.

We wait, the mill’s silence broken by the crunch of boots on gravel outside, the faint clink of gear.

Xavier steps into view, his lean frame unchanged from Mogadishu, his sharp features twisted in a smirk, his eyes glinting with malice as he spots Kash’s decoy.

Xavier’s men fan out, rifles raised, but they’re sloppy, overconfident, unaware of our positions hidden in the rafters, behind crates, in the shadows.

I whisper to Richie, “Now,” and we move, silent as wraiths, to our flanking spot, the trap’s jaws closing.

All it takes is one signal from me and the operation is in full swing…

The ambush ignites with controlled chaos. Henry’s team opens fire from the high ground, their suppressed rifles spitting rounds that spark off metal beams, pinning Xavier’s crew.

I shield Richie, my body between him and the gunfire, guiding him to a stack of rusted barrels as we advance, my rifle dropping a gunman who strays too close, his body crumpling with a dull thud.

Xavier’s quick, diving behind the conveyor, his shouts rallying his men, but we’ve cut their exits, the mill a steel cage.

Kash, playing Hunter, draws Xavier’s focus, dodging a burst of gunfire that shatters a window, glass raining down. But a second shooter flanks Kash, unnoticed, slipping through the shadows, his rifle rising.

I’m too far, my line of sight blocked by a beam, and my stomach lurches—Kash’s exposed, and Xavier’s closing in, his smirk visible through my goggles.

Richie reacts faster than I expect, his quick thinking slicing through the chaos.

He spots a loose pipe on the floor, grabs it, and hurls it with force at a stack of crates near the shooter, the crash echoing like a thunderclap. The gunman startles, his shot going wide, spraying sparks, and Kash spins, dropping him with a precise burst to the chest.

“Yes!” Richie says, pumping his fist.

Richie’s grin flashes, fierce and proud, his instincts saving a life.

“Good boy,” I growl, my voice thick with admiration. The Daddy in me beams at his growth, his courage proving he’s not just my Little but a partner, honed by my guidance, his strength a mirror to my own.

Xavier’s crew is down, bodies strewn across the mill’s floor, blood pooling in the dust, but he’s still moving, a predator slipping through the shadows, his rifle trained on Kash’s position.

“Not this time, asshole,” I say, knowing that we need to move and move quickly to trap this viper.

I signal Henry to tighten the net, and we converge, Richie at my heel, his pistol ready, his eyes locked on me, trusting my every move.

The mill’s maze narrows, rusted walls closing in, and I spot Xavier, darting toward a side exit, his lean frame a fleeting shadow.

I break cover, sprinting to cut Xavier off, Richie behind me, his steps light but steady. Xavier turns, his smirk twisting into a snarl as he recognizes me.

“Cole,” Xavier spits, raising his rifle, but I’m faster, my training a reflex, my love for Richie a fire driving me forward. “Time to die, motherfucker.”

We clash in a brutal dance, his shots grazing past as I dive behind a beam, returning fire, my bullets forcing him back into a corner.

Richie stays low, his presence a pulse in my awareness, reminding me what’s at stake—his safety, Hunter’s life, our future.

I channel Hunter’s lesson from the jungle: take control, be the leader .

I feint left, drawing Xavier’s fire, then roll right, closing the distance, my rifle slung as I draw my sidearm.

Xavier’s out of position, his magazine empty, scrambling for a clip, and I seize the moment. Our eyes lock, his filled with hate, mine with resolve, and I fire…

A single bullet to his head, clean, final.

Xavier collapses, his smirk erased, his body still, the mill falling silent except for the echo of my shot and the drip of water from a broken pipe.

Suddenly I’m surrounded by noise from my squad, but I take a moment to process what just happened. Needless to say, I’ve never had to kill a Night Ops Guard before, even one as disgraced as Xavier.

I lower my weapon, my breath ragged, and turn to Richie, who’s standing, his pistol lowered, his eyes wide but steady, dust smudging his face.

“It’s over,” I say, my voice hoarse, pulling the brave young man into my arms, my embrace a shield around my Little. “Hunter’s safe. You’re safe.”

Richie nods, his face pressed against my chest, his trust in me unbroken, his courage tonight a testament to his growth under my guidance.

Henry and Kash join us, Kash clapping Richie’s shoulder, his voice gruff.

“Saved my ass, kid,” Kash laughs. “Hell of a throw.”

Richie blushes, and I squeeze his hand, pride swelling—my Little, my partner, a hero who turned the tide.

“Thanks, Kash,” Richie says, proud. “Had to help my Night Ops Guard bros out!”

The men laugh and I can see that they’ve taken Richie to their hearts – far from an easy task. But there’s business left to wrap up. We might have seen the last of Xavier, but we’re still Night Ops Guards and need to act accordingly.

We clear the mill, confirming no survivors, and Henry’s team secures the site, our comms buzzing with updates.

Hunter’s no longer under threat, the cartel’s chain severed with Xavier’s death, and Richie’s safe, the weight of weeks lifting like a fog.

I look at Richie, his face fierce yet soft, his eyes bright with relief, and see the young man he’s become… capable, fearless, still my Little but so much more.

Our bond, Daddy and Little, has evolved through this fight, his quick thinking, his trust, proving we’re a team, unbreakable.

I kiss his forehead, my voice soft.

“You did good, boy,” I say. “I’m so proud.”

He smiles, leaning into me, and I know, with Xavier gone, we’ve won—not just the battle, but a future where we can face anything, together, our love a light in the mill’s grim shadows.

All that’s left is for us to say those magic words.

Oh, and tell Hunter too…