Page 5 of Daddy Protector (Night Ops Daddies #1)

Richie

Wait… am I awake?

Urgh. It wasn’t a nightmare.

It’s very real…

Thunder crashes, yanking me from a restless sleep. My eyes snap open, heart pounding, as rain hammers the car’s windshield like a thousand tiny fists. I close my eyes quickly, I don’t want Cole knowing that I’m awake yet.

I need to gather my thoughts, just like how Pop would tell me to.

I shift my body so I’m facing away from Cole, make a little snoring sound, and open my eyes just a little.

The world outside is a blur of black and silver, the howling wind bending the trees into wild, scary shapes. I’m curled up, my hoodie bunched under my head, and the car sways slightly as Cole steers us off the highway.

The headlights carve a narrow path down a winding side-road, swallowed by dense forest on both sides. It’s the middle of the night, and I feel like we’re driving into nowhere – and for all I know, we might be.

I glance in the window’s reflection at Cole, his profile sharp against the dashboard’s faint glow.

Argh … fine. I’ll admit it…

He’s handsome. Dark hair, strong jaw, eyes that seem to see everything. But he’s so bossy, so uptight, like he’s got a rulebook wedged up that strong, powerful ass.

My fingers itch for my phone, but Cole confiscated it back at the diner. I guess I was asking for it, but I’m smart enough to get it back in my possession before long. I’ve outwitted stricter babysitters than Cole over the years, that’s for sure.

The thought makes me pause.

Babysitter ? No, that’s not right. Cole’s different to Pop’s other security men.

There’s something about Cole, something I can’t pin down. The way he watches me, not just protective but… caring, like he’s ready to fix whatever’s broken.

He can’t be, can he?

It’s weird, but part of me wonders if he’s a Daddy. Not like my father, Hunter, but… you know, that kind. I shake my head, cheeks warming. It’s just a feeling, probably nonsense. I’m tired, and this storm’s got my brain all scrambled.

The car slows, tires crunching on gravel.

Lightning flashes, illuminating a small cottage ahead. It’s cute, like something from a fairy tale… stone walls, a steeply pitched roof, ivy clinging to the chimney. If I was here with my friends, we’d have all kinds of Little fun. But I’m not. So I guess that fun is out of the question.

The windows glow faintly, promising warmth, and a wooden porch wraps around the front, its rocking chair swaying in the wind. It’s cozy, the kind of place you’d curl up with hot cocoa and a book.

For a safe house, it’s surprisingly charming I guess, but I’m not naive enough to think it’s as innocent as it looks. It never is.

Cole cuts the engine, the sudden silence deafening except for the storm’s roar. “Richie, we’re here,” Cole says. “Time to get inside. We’ve got some serious talking to do.”

I roll my eyes, mostly to hide the nervous flutter in my stomach.

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Bossy,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably. “Can’t it wait till morning?”

Cole’s lips twitch, almost a smile, but he doesn’t take the bait.

“Move it, kid,” Cole answers, not taking any BS. “You’ll catch a cold out here.”

I grab my backpack, shove the door open, and sprint through the rain, my sneakers slipping on the wet stone path.

Cole’s right behind me, his hand hovering near my elbow like he thinks I’ll face-plant.

I don’t, but the gesture makes my chest feel weirdly warm – even if it is annoying that Cole thinks he needs to be there in case I’m not even capable of hauling ass properly.

“Okay…” I say, looking around. “This is… interesting.”

The porch creaks under our weight, and Cole unlocks the door, ushering me inside.

The cottage smells of cedar and old books, and it’s as cozy as it looks. A stone fireplace dominates the living room, logs already crackling, casting a golden glow over a plush rug and a worn leather couch.

A small kitchen nook sits in the corner, its wooden table cluttered with maps and a radio. There’s a staircase leading up, probably to bedrooms, and a single lamp on a side table spills soft light.

It’s homey, but I spot the telltale signs of a safe house: reinforced window locks, a security panel by the door, and a faint hum of cameras I can’t see.

I drop my backpack, shaking water from my hair.

“Nice place,” I say, my voice laced with sarcasm. “What’s the catch?”

Cole closes the door, locking it with a heavy click.

“No catch. Just stay put and listen,” Cole says, his voice gravelly.

He peels off his jacket, revealing a black shirt that clings to his frame a little too well. I look away, annoyed at myself for noticing.

“Listen to what? More of your rules?” I say as I cross my arms, my voice sharper than I mean it to be.

I’m still sore about the phone, about being dragged into this mess, about Pop not trusting me to handle my business alongside him rather than being hidden away.

Cole studies me, his eyes softening just a fraction.

“Richie, I know this sucks,” Cole says, his biceps flexing as he stretches, probably sore from the long drive. “But you’re not safe out there. Not until we figure out who’s after you. And what’s really going on with your father.”

I want to snap back, to tell him I can handle myself, but the weight of his words lands hard.

Someone’s after me? Because of Pop, because of his life as a Night Ops Guard? It’s possible. And it makes sense that this is why Cole’s on my ass so hard – and why Pop put Cole there in the first place rather than one of his usual guys.

I sink onto the couch, the cushions swallowing me.

“Fine. Talk,” I say. “But don’t expect me to like it.”

Cole pulls a chair from the kitchen table, sitting across from me, his posture all business but his voice calm and collected.

“I’m not your enemy, Richie,” Cole begins. “I’m here to keep you safe. That means you follow my lead, no arguments. Can you do that?”

I meet his gaze, searching for a crack in his armor.

There’s that feeling again, that Daddy vibe… steady, protective, like he’d burn the world down to keep me safe. It’s confusing, and I don’t know if I hate it or… something else.

“ Maybe ,” I say, my voice softer, even if I want to sound all tough, it’s just not happening. “But I’m not a kid, Cole. Treat me like I’ve got a brain.”

Cole laughs. It’s annoying, but the way his thick, powerful upper body heaves and flexes is making it worth it.

“Deal. Now, get some rest,” Cole says. “We’ll go over the plan in the morning.”

I nod, too tired to fight.

The storm is raging outside. But in here, with the freshly lit fire crackling and Cole’s quiet strength filling the room, I feel… safe.

For now, that’s enough…

“ Hmmm … what time… is it?” I say, wriggling in bed and pulling Fizz in close. “That was a nice… dream. And now I’m super-hungry…”

The scent of porridge pulls me from sleep, warm and oaty, curling through the air like a hug.

I blink, sunlight sneaking past the cottage’s heavy curtains, painting the bedroom in soft gold. The storm’s gone, leaving only the drip of rainwater from the eaves.

For the briefest of moments, I’m not in a safe house, not on the run. I’m a kid again, safe in our summer house, Pop stirring porridge in the kitchen.

The exact memory hits me clear as day…

It was a July morning, the summer after Mom died, when we went to the lake house to honor her. Pop wasn’t with the Night Ops Guard that month—rare as a blue moon—and he woke us early, me and my brother and sister, with that same porridge smell.

The kitchen was all wood and windows, lake sparkling outside, and Pop hummed some old song Mom loved.

We sat at the rickety table, bowls steaming, blueberries scattered on top because Mom always said they made it fancy.

Pop laughed, loud and real, telling stories about him and Mom as young lovers, stealing apples from a grouchy neighbor’s tree.

My sister giggled, my brother rolled his eyes, but I hung on every word, feeling Mom there in the warmth of it all.

That morning, we were whole again, even with Mom gone…

I clutch Fizz, my most cherished stuffy, tighter to my chest, the memory fading.

Then another image flashes: my dream last night. And it’s a very different kind of memory…

Cole, his voice low and steady, calling me his boy, his hands gentle but firm, like he could protect me from anything.

Then a change of pace as the feeling of his hands all over my special place, and my ass too…

and then him bending me over and giving me a long, slow spanking that set my butt on fire and made my legs tremble…

My cheeks burn, and I bury my face in Fizz’s fur. A naughty dream about Cole? Jeez, what’s wrong with me? He’s my bodyguard, not some… Daddy.

The D-word sticks in my brain, tempting, dangerous.

I shake my head hard. No. I can’t think like that, no matter how safe he makes me feel, no matter how his eyes seem to see right through me. It’s just stress, that’s all.

I shove the dream down deep, where it can’t mess with me.

I’m Hunter Selleck’s son, not some lovesick boy. I need to be smart, professional. Cooperate with Cole, earn his trust, and then take control.

Pop’s out there, tangled in whatever threat’s chasing us, and I’m not sitting on the sidelines. I’ll play the good boy, let Cole think he’s in charge, then outsmart him. I’ll find Pop, figure out who’s after us, and show them all I’m more than some silly boy.

I sit Fizz on the bed, his button eyes staring like he’s cheering me on. Fizz knows what I can do, he’s been with me for long enough to know that I don’t take any crap or sit in the reserve seats for anyone.

My resolve hardens as I pull on a sweater and jeans, the floorboards cool under my bare feet. The porridge smell is growing stronger, and I follow it to the kitchen, steeling myself for whatever Cole throws at me.

He’s there, standing at the stove, and my stupid heart skips.

Cole’s swapped last night’s tactical gear for a tight-fitting vest that shows off every muscle, and light blue jeans that hug his legs just right. His dark hair’s a little messy, like he just rolled out of bed, and he’s stirring a pot with a focus that’s almost cute. Almost.

I squash the flutter in my chest and slide into a chair at the wooden table, the maps and radio from last night neatly stacked to one side.

“Morning,” I say, keeping my voice light, neutral.

Play the game, Richie. You’ve got this…

Cole glances over, his eyes sharp but warm.

“Morning, Richie. Sleep okay?” Cole asks, oblivious to the fact that I’m setting him up good and proper.

“Like a rock,” I lie, folding my hands in my lap. “That smells good.”

Cole nods, spooning porridge into two bowls. “Figured we could use something warm. Long day ahead.” He sets a bowl in front of me, steam rising, a sprinkle of brown sugar on top. It’s so like Pop’s it aches, but I hide it behind a small smile.

“Thanks,” I say, picking up the spoon. The first bite is perfect, creamy and sweet, and for a second, I’m back at that lake house table. I push the memory away.

Focus . Just stay… focused.

“So, what’s the plan?” I ask. “You said we had to talk.”

Cole sits across from me, his own bowl untouched for now.

“We stay here until I get word from my contacts,” Cole says, his voice even and controlled. “Could be a day, could be a week. You don’t leave the house, you don’t contact anyone. We keep you off the grid. Got it?”

I raise an eyebrow, stirring my porridge like I’m not plotting a takeover.

“Sounds boring,” I smirk, not wanting to arouse too much suspicion by dropping my sassy attitude entirely. “What am I supposed to do, knit?”

“You stay safe,” Cole answers, unimpressed. “That’s your job. Mine’s to handle the rest.”

I nod, all innocent.

“Okay, fine,” I say, showing Cole that I grudgingly accept the situation.

Big, dumb bodyguard. He’s good, I’ll give him that, but he doesn’t know I’ve got Pop’s brains.

I’ll play along, watch his moves, learn his routines.

When he’s not looking, I’ll dig into those maps, maybe even that radio.

I’ll find a way to reach Pop, to get answers.

And when the time’s right, I’ll show Cole I’m not just some kid to protect… I’m the one who’ll crack this wide open.

I take another bite, the porridge making me feel warm and fuzzy. I might be devious and smarter than the average cat, but I’m still a porridge loving Little.

Cole’s watching, his gaze steady, and for a split second, I feel that Daddy vibe again, like he’s ready to catch me if I fall.

I look down, my cheeks warm again.

Nope. Not going there. Definitely not.

I’m Richie Selleck, and I’m in charge of this story, starting now…