Page 26 of Mountain Daddy (Broken Boss Daddies #1)
NIKOLAI
I van's warning still burns in my ears as dawn breaks.
The Kozlovs are angrier than I thought.
The timeline's shorter than I thought. I watch Chleo demolish his cereal at the kitchen table, chocolate milk dribbling down his chin. His innocence like a knife to my chest.
He has no idea his world's about to change again. That his father's past is circling like vultures, waiting to strike.
“Can we go outside today?” Chleo asks, mouth full of cereal. “I wanna see if there are fish in that creek we passed.”
Perfect excuse. I need to scout the perimeter anyway. Check for watchers. For threats.
“Good idea,” I say, keeping my voice light. “Let's go after breakfast.”
Lilly's eyes meet mine over Chleo's head. Questioning. Worried.
I give her a slight nod. I'll keep him safe. Trust me.
She understands. Doesn't like it, but understands.
“Bundle up,” she tells Chleo. “It's cold out there.”
Ten minutes later, we're heading out.
Chleo's hand in mine.
Small.
Warm.
Trusting.
I make sure my jacket hangs loose enough to conceal my weapon but tight enough for quick access. Life-saving habits.
“Stay where I can see you,” I tell him as we follow the path from the cabin.
He nods solemnly. Then races ahead anyway, scanning the ground for interesting rocks, sticks, bugs. Anything that catches his attention.
“Is this one special?” He holds up a rock. Ordinary. Gray. Unremarkable.
“Very special,” I say. “Good eye.”
His face lights up like I've handed him gold. He shoves it in his pocket, already searching for the next treasure.
We reach the creek after a five-minute walk. It's narrow. Clear water rushing over smooth stones. Tall pines create shadows that dance across the surface.
I scan the tree line. The opposite bank. The path behind us. Looking for anything out of place. Any movement that doesn't belong.
Nothing yet.
Chleo crouches by the water's edge, poking at minnows with a stick.
“Don't fall in,” I warn. “Your mom will kill me.”
“I won't.” He concentrates on the water. “Did you know sharks can't stop swimming or they'll die?”
“Is that right?”
“Yep. Their bones would sink to the bottom. Like rocks.” He demonstrates by dropping a pebble into the water. “Plop!”
I smile despite myself. Despite the danger I know surrounds us. “You're pretty smart, kid.”
“Mama says I get it from her,” he says, then looks up at me with those eyes—my eyes. “But maybe I get it from you too?”
The question punches through me.
“Maybe you do,” I say quietly.
He nods, satisfied. Goes back to poking at the water.
I feel it before I see it. That prickle at the back of my neck. The weight of eyes watching.
My body shifts subtly. Angling between Chleo and the tree line. Scanning shadows. Looking for the telltale glint of a scope. The rustle of clothing against bark.
There. Movement. Fifty yards up. Behind a large pine.
I don't look directly at it. Don't give away that I've spotted them.
Instead, I call to Chleo. “Hey buddy, want to see something cool?”
He looks up, curious. “What is it?”
I crouch beside him. Position us so my back is to the watcher. Pretend to show him something in the water.
My jacket falls open. Reveals the revolver at my hip. Not obvious. Not threatening. Just visible enough that whoever's watching can see I'm armed.
A warning.
Chleo's eyes widen when he spots the gun. “Is that real?”
“Yes.”
“Can I hold it?” His voice full of excitement. Boy curiosity. No fear.
I smile, but my eyes never stop scanning the tree line. “Not until you're older.”
“How much older?” he presses.
“We'll talk about it when you're ten,” I say, knowing I'm buying time. Knowing I never want him to need to hold a weapon. To live the life I've lived.
He sighs dramatically. “That's forever.”
“It'll go fast,” I assure him. “Trust me.”
Another movement catches my eye. Further up. A second watcher? Or the first one repositioning?
“Time to head back,” I say, keeping my voice casual. “Your mom's probably wondering where we are.”
He groans but doesn't argue. Takes my hand as we stand. I position him on my right side. Away from the watchers. Between me and the path back to safety.
We walk slowly. No running. No sign that I know we're being observed. Just a father and son heading home from a morning adventure.
But my senses are electric. Cataloguing every sound. Every shadow. Every potential threat.
That's when I see it.
A flash of metal embedded in a tree trunk just off the path. Right at eye level.
I stop. “Chleo, tie your shoe.”
“But it's not?—”
“Tie it,” I repeat, voice firm.
He kneels, confused but obedient. While he's distracted, I step to the tree. Examine what I already know I'll find.
A hunting knife. Buried two inches deep in the wood. A scrap of paper pinned beneath it. Three words scrawled in black ink.
We see you.
I pull the knife free. Fold the paper. Slip both into my pocket before Chleo looks up.
“All done!” he announces.
“Good job,” I say, voice steady despite the rage building inside me. “Race you to the car?”
His face lights up at the challenge. He takes off running, and I follow close behind. Let him win by half a step.
“I beat you!” he crows, bouncing on his toes beside my SUV.
“You did,” I agree, unlocking the doors. “You're fast.”
I scan the area one last time as I help him into his booster seat. No movement. No watchers. But I know they're there. Know they're waiting.
“Did you have fun?” I ask as I start the engine.
“Yeah!” he grins, all teeth and innocence. “Can we come back tomorrow?”
“We'll see,” I say, noncommittal. Knowing we might not be here tomorrow. Might be running by then.
I drive slowly down the mountain road. Careful. Checking the mirrors every few seconds for tails.
Chleo chatters on.
I make the right noises. Ask the right questions. Play the role of engaged father while my mind races.
The knife in my pocket feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. The note burns against my thigh.
We see you.
Not a threat.
A statement.
A fact.
They've found us. Tracked us to the cabin. Been watching long enough to know our routines. Our weak spots.
My grip tightens on the wheel. The past, it seems, is finally here.